“I don’t know, some poor beggar, I imagine,” said the merchant. “A deaf-mute, probably. When I asked him to come and help he began to moan in such a way that I couldn’t understand a word.”
“And when you went up to him he backed away, but you took him by the arm and forced him to help you push the carriage. Didn’t you? Admit it.”
“What if I did?” retorted Schroder, but suspiciously. “I didn’t hurt him. In fact, afterward I gave him two lira.”
“Did you hear that?” said Melito in a lower voice to the doctor; then, louder, to the merchant: “Quite so, why not? But you will admit that I saw it all.”
“There’s nothing to worry about, my dear Schroder,” said the doctor at this juncture, noticing the merchant’s black expression. “My excellent friend Don Valerio enjoys a joke. He simply wants to mystify you.”
Melito turned to the doctor and nodded. As he did so, the edges of his cloak were drawn a little apart and Schroder, who was staring at him, paled suddenly.
“Excuse me, Don Valerio,” he said, much less confidently than usual. “I see you have a pistol. You could have left it downstairs, I think; there is such a thing as etiquette even in these parts, unless I am much mistaken.”
“Good Lord! You really must forgive me!” exclaimed Melito, clapping a hand to his forehead in apology. “I don’t know how to excuse myself! I’d completely forgotten about it. I never wear it normally, that’s why I’d forgotten. But today I have to go out into the countryside on horseback.”
He seemed sincere enough, but left the pistol in his belt and went on shaking his head. “And tell me,” he went on, still addressing Schroder. “What impression did you get of that poor fellow?”
“What impression should I get? He was obviously a very unfortunate man.”
“And what about that bell thing he was ringing, did you not wonder what it was?”
“Well, you know,” said Schroder, speaking cautiously in the anticipation of some trap, “he might have been a gypsy; I’ve often seen them ring bells to draw a crowd.”
“A gypsy!” shrieked Melito, laughing as though the idea were hilarious. “Ah, so you thought he was a gypsy!”
Schroder turned angrily to the doctor.
“But what is all this?” he demanded harshly. “What do you mean by all this questioning? It doesn’t amuse me one bit, my dear Lugosi. If you want something from me, please speak out.”
“Now, keep calm, I beg you,” exhorted the doctor, to hide his own embarrassment.
“If you’re going to tell me that something happened to this tramp and that it’s my fault, please speak plainly,” went on the merchant, his tone becoming louder with every word he spoke, “please speak plainly, my dear friends. Do you mean that he has been killed?”
“Nothing of the sort,” said Melito, smiling, completely master of the situation. “What an idea. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. The doctor simply said to me, ‘Don Valerio, why don’t you come up too, it’s Mr. Schroder.’ ‘Ah, I know him,’ I said. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you come up too, he’ll be glad to see you.’ I’m sorry if I’ve been a nuisance . . .”
The merchant realized that he was proving an easy prey.
“It is you who must excuse me if I lost my temper. But it was a veritable cross-examination. If you have something to say, I wish you’d say it.”
“Well,” said the doctor promptly though cautiously, “yes, in fact there is something.”
“A statement?” inquired Schroder, increasingly sure of himself, trying to reattach the leeches, which had come off during his previous outburst, to his wrists. “Has someone lodged a complaint?”
“Don Valerio,” said the doctor. “Perhaps you had better speak.”
“Well,” said Melito. “Do you know who that man was who helped you put the carriage to rights?”
“No, I don’t, I tell you, how many more times must I say it?”
“I believe you,” Melito said. “I’m simply asking you whether you knew what sort of a man he was.”
“I don’t know—a gypsy, I thought, a tramp of some kind . . .”
“No. He wasn’t a tramp. Or rather, he may have been one once, but he’s not anymore. To put it plainly, that man was something beginning with ‘l.’”
“Something beginning with ‘l’?” Schroder repeated automatically, casting around in his memory; and a shadow of apprehension darkened his face.
“Yes. Beginning with ‘l,’” repeated Melito with a malicious smile.
“Larceny—you mean he was a thief?” said the merchant, his face lighting up at the certainty of having guessed right.
Don Valerio burst out laughing: “Ah, larceny, that’s wonderful! You were quite right, doctor: a most amusing gentleman, Mr. Schroder!” At that moment the sound of rain was heard against the window.
“Well, I must leave you,” said the merchant firmly, removing the two leeches and putting them back in the jar. “It’s raining now and I must be off, or I’ll be late.”
“Something beginning with ‘l,’” insisted Melito, standing up as well and fiddling with something hidden inside his voluminous cloak.
“I don’t know, I tell you. I’m no good at riddles. If you have something to say, please say it now . . . something with ‘l’ . . . landsknecht perhaps? . . .” he concluded jokingly.
Melito and the doctor were standing up now, side by side, with their backs to the door. Neither was smiling any longer.
“Neither of your guesses is right,” said Melito slowly. “He was a leper.”
As pale as death, the merchant looked from one to the other. “Well? And supposing he was a leper?”
“Unfortunately there’s no ‘supposing’ about it,” said the doctor, moving nervously behind Don Valerio for cover. “He was a leper, and now you’re one too.”
“That’s enough!” shrieked the merchant, quivering with rage. “Get out! That’s enough of this joking. Get out of here, the pair of you!”
It was then that Melito opened his cloak to reveal the barrel of his gun.
“I am the sheriff, my dear sir. And come quietly, I beg you—it’s in your own interest.”
“I’ll show you who you’re dealing with!” shrieked Schroder. “What’s next on your list?”
Melito
