Gregorio

"You know nothing of all this?" he added, suspiciously, as his narrative ended.

"Nothing."

"My God! it is so awful I thought all the world knew of it. You often nursed and played with the boy?"

"Ay, and fed him. We Arabs love children, even Christian children, and I will help you if I can."

"Why should Amos want the boy?" asked Madam Marx, as she put coffee and tobacco before the guests.

"Because I owe him money, and he knew the loss of my son would be the deadliest revenge. He will make my son a Jew, a beastly Jew. By God, he shall not, he shall not!"

"We must find him and save him," said the woman.

"He will never be a Jew. That is not what Amos wants your son for; there are plenty of Jews." Ahmed spoke quietly.

"They sacrifice children," he continued, after a moment's pause; "surely you know that, and if you would save your boy there is not much time to lose."

Gregorio trembled at Ahmed's words. He wondered how he could have forgotten the common report, and his fingers grasped convulsively the handle of his knife.

"Let us go to Amos," he said, speaking the words with difficulty, for he was choking with fear for his son.

"Wait," answered the Arab; "I will come again to-night and bring some friends with me, two men who will be glad to serve you. We Arabs are not sorry to strike at the Jews; we have our own wrongs. Wait here till I come."

"But what will you do?" asked Madam Marx, looking anxiously on the man she loved, though her words were for the Arab.

"Gregorio will ask for his son. If the old man refuses to restore him, or denies that he has taken him, then we will know the worst, and then--"

Gregorio's knife-blade glittered in the sunset rays, as he tested its sharpness between thumb and finger. The Arab watched with a smile. "We understand one another," he said. There was no need to finish the description of his plan. With a solemn wave of his hand he left the cafe.

"That man Ahmed," said Madam Marx, "has a grudge against Amos. It dates from the bombardment, and he had waited all these years to avenge himself. I believe it was the loss of his wife."

"Amos made her a Jewess, eh?" And then, after a pause, Gregorio added:

"So we can depend on Ahmed. To-night I will win back my son or--"

"Or?" queried madam, tremblingly.

"Or Amos starts on his journey to hell. God, how my fingers itch to slay him! The devil, the Jew devil!"

X. AT THE HOUSE OF AMOS

As Ahmed had advised, Gregorio settled himself patiently to await the summons. Madam would have liked to ask him many questions, and to have extracted a promise from him not to risk his life in any mad enterprise his accomplice might suggest. But though the Greek's body seemed almost lifeless, so quietly and immovably he rested on his chair, there was a restless look in his eyes that told her how fiercely and irrepressibly his anger burned. She knew enough of his race to know that no power on earth could stop him striking for revenge. And she trembled, for she knew also that directly he had begun to strike his madness would increase, and that only sheer physical exhaustion would stay his hand.

Madam Marx was unhappy, and as she waited on her customers her eyes rested continually on the Greek, who heeded her not. Once she carried some wine to him, and he drank eagerly, spilling a few drops on the floor first. "It's like blood," he muttered, and smiled. Madam hastily covered his mouth with her trembling fingers.

Just before midnight Ahmed arrived with his two friends. Gregorio saw them at once, and, calling them to him, they spoke together in low voices for a few moments. There was little need for words, and soon, scarcely noticed by the drinkers and gamblers, they passed out into the street and walked slowly toward the Jew's house. Ahmed rapidly repeated the plan of action. When they reached the door they stood for a moment before they woke the Arab, and these words passed between them:

"For a wife."

"For a sister."

"For a son."

Gregorio then demanded admittance and led the way, followed by his three friends. He had visited the house of Amos before, on less bloody but less delightful business, and he did not hesitate, but strode on to where he knew the Jew would be. His companions stood behind the curtain, awaiting the signal.

Amos looked somewhat surprised at the Greek's entrance, but motioned him to a seat, and, as on the occasion of his first visit, clapped his hands together as a signal that coffee and pipes were required.

"It is kind of you to come, for doubtless you wish to pay me what is owing."

"I wish to pay you."

"That is well. I hope you are better again. I regretted to find you so ill two nights ago."

"I am better."

The conversation ceased, for Gregorio was restless and his fingers itched to do their work. Something in his manner alarmed Amos, for he summoned in two of his servants and raised himself slightly, as if the better to avoid an attack. But he continued to smoke calmly, watching the Greek under his half-closed lids.

"I have another piece of business to settle with you."

"Do you want to borrow more money because I refuse to lend you any?"

"No; it is you who have borrowed, and I have come to you to receive back my own."

"I fail to understand you."

Gregorio tried to keep calm, but it was not possible. Rising to his feet, he bent over the Jew and cried out:

"Give me back my son, you Jew dog!"

"Your son is not here."

"You lie! by God, you lie! If he is not here you have murdered him."

"Madman!" shouted Amos, as the Greek's knife flashed from its sheath; but before he or his servants could stay the uplifted arm the Jew sank back among his cushions, wounded to the heart. With a shout of triumph and a "Death of all Jews!" Gregorio turned savagely on the servants and, reinforced by his companions, soon succeeded in slaying them. Then leaving the dead side by side, the four men dashed through the house seeking fresh victims. Ten minutes later they were in the street again, dripping with the blood of women and men, for in their fury they had killed every human being in the house.

Down the narrow native streets they pushed on quickly, hugging the shadows, toward the Penny-farthing Shop. Madam Marx, her ears sharpened by fear, heard them, admitted them by a side door, and led them quickly to an upper room. Thither she carried water and clean garments, but dared not ask any questions. Sick with anxiety, she re-entered the bar and waited.

At length the murderers appeared and called for coffee, and Madam Marx attended to their wants. In a few minutes the Egyptians left, and Gregorio and she were alone. Coming near him, she placed her hand timidly on his shoulder, and asked him, in a hoarse whisper, to tell her what had happened.

"My son was not there."

"Well?"

"Well, you can guess the rest. Not one person remains alive of that devil's household."

Madam Marx gasped at the magnitude of the crime, and though her terrors increased, her pride in the man capable of so tremendous revenge increased also.

"What will happen to you?" she found voice to ask.

"Nothing. I must hide here. We were not seen. Besides, you remember the last time a Greek murdered a Jew--it was at Port Said--the matter was hushed up. Our consuls care as little for Jews as we do. My God, how glad I am I killed him!"

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