The Greatest Thrillers of Fergus Hume. Fergus Hume

so, and all was safe for the night, he went away to enjoy himself with his half-crown; while Hagar carried the newly-pawned article into the back parlor to examine it anew, as she ate her frugal supper. The crucifix, which was at once a symbol of peace and war attracted her strangely.

      Why did it possess these dual characteristics? To what end had its maker placed in the hands of priests this deadly and concealed weapon? The hands of the Christ were not attached to the cross bars; and the sheath--as it might be--of the poniard slipped easily off the blade, figure and all. Hagar wondered in her imaginative fashion if it had glimmered, a symbol of Christianity over the dying, or had flashed cruelty into the heart of some helpless human being. From the old bookseller in Carby's Crescent she had heard some strange stories of the Italian Renaissance--that wild and contradictory time. Religion had then gone hand in hand with paganism; Savonarola had grown up beside the Medici; Popes had decreed peace, and had plunged whole nations in war; and the laugh of a friend had oftentimes been but a prelude to the death-blow. Of this many-sided, sinful epoch the crucifix dagger was a symbol; it represented at once its art, its religion, and its lust of blood. Hagar evoked strange visions in her dingy parlor from that strange piece of silver.

      Afterwards, in the imperative demands of business, Hagar forgot her dreams about the crucifix, and looked upon it as an article of value merely pawned by its owner, and which would be redeemed in due time. A month later the ticket made out in the name of Gemma Bardi was brought to her by a man of the same nationality. This tall, slender, supple Italian, with oval olive face and fierce eyes had come to take the crucifix out of pawn. Although he produced the ticket and offered the money, Hagar hesitated at giving the article to him.

      "It was pawned by Gemma Bardi," said she, taking down the crucifix from where it hung in the obscurity.

      "My wife," replied the man, briefly.

      "She sent you to redeem it?"

      "Gran Dio! Why not?" he broke out, impetuously. "I am Carlino Bardi, her husband. She pawned the crucifix against my will, while I was absent in the country with my organ. Now that I have returned, I come with ticket and money to redeem it. I do not wish to lose the Crucifix of Fiesole."

      "The Crucifix of Fiesole," repeated Hagar--"is that what it is called?"

      "Of a surety, signorina; and it is worth much money."

      "More than ten pounds, I am sure," said Hagar, smiling, as she picked up the note silently placed on the counter by Carlino. "Well, I have no right to refuse you the crucifix. You give me the ticket, principal, and interest, so all is legal and shipshape. Take up your cross."

      "My cross!" echoed Carlino, with a flash from his big eyes. "Gemma is my cross."

      "Your wife! That is a strange way to speak of one dear to you."

      "Dear to me, signorina! That may be; but she is dear also to Pietro Neri. May the pains of hell seize him!"

      "Why? What has he done?"

      "Run away with Gemma," said Bardi, fiercely. "Oh, she went cheerfully enough. To get the money for my dishonor she pawned the crucifix."

      "Oh. So she did not send you to redeem it?"

      "No," replied Carlino, with tranquil insolence. "That was a lie I told to get back my property without trouble. But now it is mine"--he clasped the silver Christ convulsively to his breast. "I shall make Gemma and Pietro pay for their evil deed!"

      "You speak English well for a foreigner."

      "I ought to," answered the man, indifferently. "I have been ten years in England, and I have almost forgotten my Tuscan tongue. But I remember still what Tuscan husbands do to faithless women and their paramours. We kill them!"--his voice leaped an octave to a shrill scream of wrath--"we kill the man and the woman!"

      Thrilled by the terrible hatred of this passionate Latin nature, Hagar started back. The man was leaning across the counter, and showed no disposition to depart; nor did she want him to leave her, for there had come upon her a desire to learn the history of the Fiesole crucifix. Bending forward, she touched it lightly with the tips of her fingers.

      "How did this come into your possession?" she asked.

      "I stole it from a painter in Florence."

      "You stole it!" echoed Hagar, confounded by the frankness of this admission.

      "Yes. I was the model of an artist--one Signor Ancillotti, who had a studio in Piazza San Spirito, hard by the Ponte Santa Trinita of the Arno. This crucifix hung in his rooms, and once, when I was posing as his model, he told me the legend which gave it the name of the Crucifix of Fiesole. It was the story which made me steal it."

      "But why? What is the story?"

      "A common one," said Bardi, bitterly--"man's love and a woman's faithlessness to her husband There was a silversmith in Florence, what time the Magnificent ruled, who was called Guido. He had one fair wife whom he loved very dearly. She did not care for his love, however, and fled with a young Count of good family, one Luigi da Francia. From France, you understand, for from that country the race had come to Florence in the days of the Republic. Luigi was handsome and rich; Guido, ugly and rather poor, although a clever craftsman; so you cannot wonder that the wife--Bianca was her name--fled from the one's arms to the other's palace. Guido determined upon revenge, and manufactured this crucifix."

      "But I don't understand how---"

      "No more did any one else," said Bardi, cutting her short. "When Guido finished the crucifix he disguised himself as a priest, and went up to see Count Luigi in his palace at Fiesole. Afterwards the nobleman and Bianca were found dead with dagger thrusts in their hearts, and Guido was missing. Between the corpses lay this silver crucifix; but no one ever knew how they died."

      "Why not? Guido killed them with his dagger."

      "No," said Bardi, shaking his head. "Guido had no dagger with him at the time. Count Luigi was always afraid of assassination, for he had many enemies; and every visitor was searched by his retainers to see that they carried no concealed weapons. Guido, the supposed priest, was searched also, and had nothing on him but the silver crucifix. So the legend grew that whosoever had a faithless wife, the possession of the Crucifix of Fiesole would give him power to slay her and her lover, as Guido had slain his two deceivers. Therefore," added Bardi, grimly, "as I had then married Gemma, and thought that some day she might be faithless, I stole the crucifix from Signor Ancillotti. It seems I was right to do so."

      "A strange story," said Hagar, meditatively "and stranger still that the means by which Guido slew were not discovered long ago."

      "Do you know how he killed them?"

      "Certainly. By means of that crucifix."

      Bardi looked at the cross eagerly, and a lurid light came into his eyes as he gazed. "How?" he questioned, loudly. "Tell me, signorina."

      But Hagar refused to impart that knowledge.

      The story of the man deserted by his wife was so similar to that of the faithless Bianca and the forsaken Guido that Hagar dreaded lest Bardi should learn the secret of the concealed dagger and repeat the Cinque de Cento tragedy of Fiesole. With this idea in her mind she wished the Italian to depart, ignorant of the devilish ingenuity of the cross. But Fate willed that in her despite Bardi should gain the evil knowledge. He learnt it forthwith from the lips of Bolker.

      "Hullo!" cried that imp, as he entered the shop, to see Carlino holding the crucifix. "You have got that dagger?"

      "Dagger!" said Bardi, with a start.

      "Bolker, you wretched child, hold your tongue!" said Hagar, vehemently.

      "Why should I? My tongue's my own, and if that cove wants to know how this crucifix can be changed into a dagger, it's only fair. See here!" and before Hagar could interfere Bolker had the cross in his hands, and a finger on the spring. "You touch this, and the lower part of---"

      "Ah!" cried Bardi, snatching back the cross, and examining the deadly mechanism. "I see now how Guido killed his enemies. Gemma does not know of this; Pietro is ignorant; but they shall