“I’ll give you ‘ring the bell’!” retorted Schroder; he was still trying to shout, but his voice had died in his throat, the horror of the revelation had petrified him. Now he understood the whole thing: the doctor, visiting him the day before, had suspected something of the sort and had gone to the sheriff. By chance, the sheriff had seen him seize a leper by the arm three months ago and now he, Schroder, was condemned. The leeches had simply been to gain time. He said, “I don’t need your orders, you swine; I’ll show you yet . . .”
“Put on your coat,” ordered Melito, his face radiant with diabolical delight. “Your coat, and then out immediately.”
“Just a moment while I get my things,” said Schroder, already far less sure of himself. “As soon as I’ve packed my things I’ll be off, you can rest assured.”
“Your things will have to be burned,” replied the sheriff, smiling unpleasantly. “You’ll take the bell and that’s all.”
“Just a few items,” pleaded Schroder, previously so fearless and complacent; now he was appealing to the sheriff like a child. “My clothes, my money, surely you’ll allow me to have them!”
“Your jacket and your coat, that’s all. The rest will have to be burned. The horse and carriage have already been dealt with.”
“What? What do you mean?” stammered the merchant.
“Your horse and carriage have been burned, that’s the law,” replied the sheriff, enjoying his desperation. “Why, you had visions of a leper going around in a carriage, did you?”
He gave a coarse laugh, then said brutally, “Come on, get out of here! We’re not going to spend all day talking about it, you know. Get out immediately, you dog!”
Tall and sturdy as he was, Schroder was trembling all over as he left the room with the barrel of Melito’s gun pointed at his back, his mouth slackly open, his face blank.
“The bell!” shouted Melito, making him jump and throwing the mysterious parcel onto the ground in front of him, where it fell with a metallic clang. “Take it out and tie it around your neck.”
Schroder bent over effortfully as though he were a frail old man, picked up the parcel, slowly undid the string and produced a pristine copper bell with a neatly made wooden handle. “Around your neck,” barked Melito. “A little more speed, or I swear I’ll shoot!”
But Schroder’s hands were shaking so much that it was not easy for him to carry out the sheriff’s orders. Finally, however, he did manage to get the string around his neck so that the bell hung down over his stomach and rang at every movement.
“Take it in your hand and ring it, by Heaven! You can, I suppose, a great fellow like you! You make a fine leper!” Don Valerio went on mercilessly while the doctor, completely silenced by the hideous scene, shrank into a corner.
Unsteadily, Schroder began to negotiate the stairs; he was nodding his head from side to side like certain idiots one sometimes comes across on village streets. When he had gone down two steps he turned around to stare balefully at the doctor.
“It’s not my fault,” stammered Lugosi. “It’s just terribly unfortunate.”
“Come on now, move on,” interrupted the sheriff as though he were driving an animal. “Ring your bell, I tell you—people have got to know you’re coming!”
Schroder went on downstairs. He appeared at the door of the inn and walked slowly across the square. People, dozens and dozens of them, stood aside to let him pass, drawing back as he approached. The square was wide and he took some time to cross it. Stiffly, he rang the bell, which had a clear, gay sound: ding ding, it went.
The Slaying of the Dragon
IN MAY 1902, A PEASANT IN THE SERVICE OF COUNT Gerol, one Giosue Longo, who often went hunting in the mountains, reported that he had seen a large animal, resembling a dragon, in Valle Secca. Palissano, the last village in the valley, had long cherished a legend that one such monster was still living in certain arid passes in the region. But no one had ever taken it seriously. Yet on this occasion Longo’s obvious sanity, the exactitude of his account, the absolutely accurate and unwavering repetition of details of the event, convinced people that there might be something in it, and Count Martino Gerol decided to go and find out. Naturally he was not thinking in terms of a dragon; but it was possible that some huge rare serpent was still living in those uninhabited valleys.
He was to be accompanied on the expedition by the governor of the province, Quinto Andronico, and his beautiful and intrepid wife; the naturalist Professor Inghirami; and by his colleague Fusti, who was an expert in taxidermy. Quinto Andronico was a weak, skeptical man and had known for some time that his wife felt drawn to Count Gerol, but this did not worry him. In fact, he agreed willingly when Maria suggested that they should accompany the Count on his hunt. He was not the least bit jealous, nor even envious, although Gerol was greatly superior to him in wealth, youth, good looks, strength and courage.
Two carriages left the town shortly after midnight with an escort of eight mounted hunters and arrived at Palissano at about six the following morning. Gerol, Maria and the two naturalists slept; only Andronico remained awake, and he stopped the carriage in front of the house of an old friend of his, the doctor Taddei. After a few moments the doctor, woken by a coachman and still half-asleep, with a nightcap on his head, appeared at a first-floor window. Andronico greeted him jovially from below and explained the object of the expedition, expecting his listener to
