The Adventure of the Red Circle
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Sir Arthur Conan Doyle >> The Adventure of the Red Circle
"He is in unoccupied premises under suspicious circumstances,"
said Gregson. "That is good enough for the moment. When we have
him by the heels we can see if New York can't help us to keep
him. I'll take the responsibility of arresting him now."
Our official detectives may blunder in the matter of
intelligence, but never in that of courage. Gregson climbed the
stair to arrest this desperate murderer with the same absolutely
quiet and businesslike bearing with which he would have ascended
the official staircase of Scotland Yard. The Pinkerton man had
tried to push past him, but Gregson had firmly elbowed him back.
London dangers were the privilege of the London force.
The door of the left-hand flat upon the third landing was
standing ajar. Gregson pushed it open. Within all was absolute
silence and darkness. I struck a match and lit the detective's
lantern. As I did so, and as the flicker steadied into a flame,
we all gave a gasp of surprise. On the deal boards of the
carpetless floor there was outlined a fresh track of blood. The
red steps pointed towards us and led away from an inner room, the
door of which was closed. Gregson flung it open and held his
light full blaze in front of him, while we all peered eagerly
over his shoulders.
In the middle of the floor of the empty room was huddled the
figure of an enormous man, his clean-shaven, swarthy face
grotesquely horrible in its contortion and his head encircled by
a ghastly crimson halo of blood, lying in a broad wet circle upon
the white woodwork. His knees were drawn up, his hands thrown
out in agony, and from the centre of his broad, brown, upturned
throat there projected the white haft of a knife driven blade-
deep into his body. Giant as he was, the man must have gone down
like a pole-axed ox before that terrific blow. Beside his right
hand a most formidable horn-handled, two-edged dagger lay upon
the floor, and near it a black kid glove.
"By George! it's Black Gorgiano himself!" cried the American
detective. "Someone has got ahead of us this time."
"Here is the candle in the window, Mr. Holmes," said Gregson.
"Why, whatever are you doing?"
Holmes had stepped across, had lit the candle, and was passing it
backward and forward across the window-panes. Then he peered
into the darkness, blew the candle out, and threw it on the
floor.
"I rather think that will be helpful," said he. He came over and
stood in deep thought while the two professionals were examining
the body. "You say that three people came out form the flat while
you were waiting downstairs," said he at last. "Did you observe
them closely?"
"Yes, I did."
"Was there a fellow about thirty, black-bearded, dark, of middle
size?"
"Yes; he was the last to pass me."
"That is your man, I fancy. I can give you his description, and
we have a very excellent outline of his footmark. That should be
enough for you."
"Not much, Mr. Holmes, among the millions of London."
"Perhaps not. That is why I thought it best to summon this lady
to your aid."
We all turned round at the words. There, framed in the doorway,
was a tall and beautiful woman--the mysterious lodger of
Bloomsbury. Slowly she advanced, her face pale and drawn with a
frightful apprehension, her eyes fixed and staring, her terrified
gaze riveted upon the dark figure on the floor.
"You have killed him!" she muttered. "Oh, Dio mio, you have
killed him!" Then I heard a sudden sharp intake of her breath,
and she sprang into the air with a cry of joy. Round and round
the room she danced, her hands clapping, her dark eyes gleaming
with delighted wonder, and a thousand pretty Italian exclamations
pouring from her lips. It was terrible and amazing to see such a
woman so convulsed with joy at such a sight. Suddenly she
stopped and gazed at us all with a questioning stare.
"But you! You are police, are you not? You have killed Giuseppe
Gorgiano. Is it not so?"
"We are police, madam."
She looked round into the shadows of the room.
"But where, then, is Gennaro?" she asked. "He is my husband,
Gennaro Lucca. I am Emilia Lucca, and we are both from New York.
Where is Gennaro? He called me this moment from this window, and
I ran with all my speed."
"It was I who called," said Holmes.
"You! How could you call?"
"Your cipher was not difficult, madam. Your presence here was
desirable. I knew that I had only to flash 'Vieni' and you would
surely come."
The beautiful Italian looked with awe at my companion.
"I do not understand how you know these things," she said.
"Giuseppe Gorgiano--how did he--" She paused, and then suddenly
her face lit up with pride and delight. "Now I see it! My
Gennaro! My splendid, beautiful Gennaro, who has guarded me safe
from all harm, he did it, with his own strong hand he killed the
monster! Oh, Gennaro, how wonderful you are! What woman could
every be worthy of such a man?"
"Well, Mrs. Lucca," said the prosaic Gregson, laying his hand
upon the lady's sleeve with as little sentiment as if she were a
Notting Hill hooligan, "I am not very clear yet who you are or
what you are; but you've said enough to make it very clear that
we shall want you at the Yard."
"One moment, Gregson," said Holmes. "I rather fancy that this
lady may be as anxious to give us information as we can be to get
it. You understand, madam, that your husband will be arrested
and tried for the death of the man who lies before us? What you
say may be used in evidence. But if you think that he has acted
from motives which are not criminal, and which he would wish to
have known, then you cannot serve him better than by telling us
the whole story."
"Now that Gorgiano is dead we fear nothing," said the lady. "He
was a devil and a monster, and there can be no judge in the world
who would punish my husband for having killed him."
"In that case," said Holmes, "my suggestion is that we lock this
door, leave things as we found them, go with this lady to her
room, and form our opinion after we have heard what it is that
she has to say to us."
Half an hour later we were seated, all four, in the small
sitting-room of Signora Lucca, listening to her remarkable
narrative of those sinister events, the ending of which we had
chanced to witness. She spoke in rapid and fluent but very
unconventional English, which, for the sake of clearness, I will
make grammatical.
"I was born in Posilippo, near Naples," said she, "and was the
daughter of Augusto Barelli, who was the chief lawyer and once
the deputy of that part. Gennaro was in my father's employment,
and I came to love him, as any woman must. He had neither money
nor position--nothing but his beauty and strength and energy--so
my father forbade the match. We fled together, were married at
Bari, and sold my jewels to gain the money which would take us to
America. This was four years ago, and we have been in New York
ever since.
"Fortune was very good to us at first. Gennaro was able to do a
service to an Italian gentleman--he saved him from some ruffians
in the place called the Bowery, and so made a powerful friend.
His name was Tito Castalotte, and he was the senior partner of
the great firm of Castalotte and Zamba, who are the chief fruit
importers of New York. Signor Zamba is an invalid, and our new
friend Castalotte has all power within the firm, which employs
more than three hundred men. He took my husband into his
employment, made him head of a department, and showed his good-
will towards him in every way. Signor Castalotte was a bachelor,
and I believe that he felt as if Gennaro was his son, and both my
husband and I loved him as if he were our father. We had taken
and furnished a little house in Brooklyn, and our whole future
seemed assured when that black cloud appeared which was soon to
overspread our sky.
"One night, when Gennaro returned from his work, he brought a
fellow-countryman back with him. His name was Gorgiano, and he
had come also from Posilippo. He was a huge man, as you can
testify, for you have looked upon his corpse. Not only was his
body that of a giant but everything about him was grotesque,
gigantic, and terrifying. His voice was like thunder in our
little house. There was scarce room for the whirl of his great
arms as he talked. His thoughts, his emotions, his passions, all
were exaggerated and monstrous. He talked, or rather roared,
with such energy that others could but sit and listen, cowed with
the mighty stream of words. His eyes blazed at you and held you
at his mercy. He was a terrible and wonderful man. I thank God
that he is dead!
"He came again and again. Yet I was aware that Gennaro was no
more happy than I was in his presence. My poor husband would sit
pale and listless, listening to the endless raving upon politics
and upon social questions which made up or visitor's
conversation. Gennaro said nothing, but I, who knew him so well,
could read in his face some emotion which I had never seen there
before. At first I thought that it was dislike. And then,
gradually, I understood that it was more than dislike. It was
fear--a deep, secret, shrinking fear. That night--the night that
I read his terror--I put my arms round him and I implored him by
his love for me and by all that he held dear to hold nothing from
me, and to tell me why this huge man overshadowed him so.
"He told me, and my own heart grew cold as ice as I listened. My
poor Gennaro, in his wild and fiery days, when all the world
seemed against him and his mind was driven half mad by the
injustices of life, had joined a Neapolitan society, the Red
Circle, which was allied to the old Carbonari. The oaths and
secrets of this brotherhood were frightful, but once within its
rule no escape was possible. When we had fled to America Gennaro
thought that he had cast it all off forever. What was his horror
one evening to meet in the streets the very man who had initiated
him in Naples, the giant Gorgiano, a man who had earned the name
of 'Death' in the south of Italy, for he was red to the elbow in
murder! He had come to New York to avoid the Italian police, and
he had already planted a branch of this dreadful society in his
new home. All this Gennaro told me and showed me a summons which
he had received that very day, a Red Circle drawn upon the head
of it telling him that a lodge would be held upon a certain date,
and that his presence at it was required and ordered.
"That was bad enough, but worse was to come. I had noticed for
some time that when Gorgiano came to us, as he constantly did, in
the evening, he spoke much to me; and even when his words were to
my husband those terrible, glaring, wild-beast eyes of his were
always turned upon me. One night his secret came out. I had
awakened what he called 'love' within him--the love of a brute--a
savage. Gennaro had not yet returned when he came. He pushed
his way in, seized me in his mighty arms, hugged me in his bear's
embrace, covered me with kisses, and implored me to come away
with him. I was struggling and screaming when Gennaro entered
and attacked him. He struck Gennaro senseless and fled from the
house which he was never more to enter. It was a deadly enemy
that we made that night.
"A few days later came the meeting. Gennaro returned from it
with a face which told me that something dreadful had occurred.
It was worse than we could have imagined possible. The funds of
the society were raised by blackmailing rich Italians and
threatening them with violence should they refuse the money. It
seems that Castalotte, our dear friend and benefactor, had been
approached. He had refused to yield to threats, and he had
handed the notices to the police. It was resolved now that such
an example should be made of them as would prevent any other
victim from rebelling. At the meeting it was arranged that he and
his house should be blown up with dynamite. There was a drawing
of lots as to who should carry out the deed. Gennaro saw our
enemy's cruel face smiling at him as he dipped his hand in the
bag. No doubt it had been prearranged in some fashion, for it was
the fatal disc with the Red Circle upon it, the mandate for
murder, which lay upon his palm. He was to kill his best friend,
or he was to expose himself and me to the vengeance of his
comrades. It was part of their fiendish system to punish those
whom they feared or hated by injuring not only their own persons
but those whom they loved, and it was the knowledge of this which
hung as a terror over my poor Gennaro's head and drove him nearly
crazy with apprehension.
"All that night we sat together, our arms round each other, each
strengthening each for the troubles that lay before us. The very
next evening had been fixed for the attempt. By midday my
husband and I were on our way to London, but not before he had
given our benefactor full warning of this danger, and had also
left such information for the police as would safeguard his life
for the future.
"The rest, gentlemen, you know for yourselves. We were sure that
our enemies would be behind us like our own shadows. Gorgiano
had his private reasons for vengeance, but in any case we knew
how ruthless, cunning, and untiring he could be. Both Italy and
America are full of stories of his dreadful powers. If ever they
were exerted it would be now. My darling made use of the few
clear days which our start had given us in arranging for a refuge
for me in such a fashion that no possible danger could reach me.
For his own part, he wished to be free that he might communicate
both with the American and with the Italian police. I do not
myself know where he lived, or how. All that I learned was
through the columns of a newspaper. But once as I looked through
my window, I saw two Italians watching the house, and I
understood that in some way Gorgiano had found our retreat.
Finally Gennaro told me, through the paper, that he would signal
to me from a certain window, but when the signals came they were
nothing but warnings, which were suddenly interrupted. It is
very clear to me now that he knew Gorgiano to be close upon him,
and that, thank God! he was ready for him when he came. And now,
gentleman, I would ask you whether we have anything to fear from
the law, or whether any judge upon earth would condemn my Gennaro
for what he has done?"
"Well, Mr. Gregson," said the American, looking across at the
official, "I don't know what your British point of view may be,
but I guess that in New York this lady's husband will receive a
pretty general vote of thanks."
"She will have to come with me and see the chief," Gregson
answered. "If what she says is corroborated, I do not think she
or her husband has much to fear. But what I can't make head or
tail of, Mr. Holmes, is how on earth YOU got yourself mixed up in
the matter."
"Education, Gregson, education. Still seeking knowledge at the
old university. Well, Watson, you have one more specimen of the
tragic and grotesque to add to your collection. By the way, it
is not eight o'clock, and a Wagner night at Covent Garden! If we
hurry, we might be in time for the second act."