Part 32

“Amos is dead, and our debts are paid.”

“How did you pay them?”

“With this,” and as he spoke he touched the handle of his knife. “Don’t shudder; he deserved it, and I shall be safe in a few days. These affairs are quickly forgotten. Besides, there is another reason why we should not live as we have lately been living.”

Xantippe opened her eyes as she asked, “What reason?”

Gregorio relaxed his hold, for the memory of his loss shook him with sobs. Cat-like, Xantippe had waited her opportunity and sprang away from his grasp. The movement brought the man to his senses. He rushed at her with an oath, waving the knife in his hand. Xantippe prepared to defend herself. They stood, desperate, before each other, neither daring to begin the struggle. Through the awful silence came the sound of sobs and a plaintive voice crying:

“Gregorio, come back, leave her; I love you.”

“Is Madam Marx outside?” hissed Xantippe.

“Yes.”

“Then go to her. I tell you I hate you.” She pointed to the half-filled box--“I was going to leave here to-night. I will never return to you.”

“You were going with the Englishman?”

“He is a man.”

Gregorio paused a moment, then in a suppressed voice, half choking at the words, said:

“Our son--do you know what has happened to him? You shall not leave me.”

“I know about our son. I am glad to think he is away from your evil influence. Let me pass.” Xantippe moved toward the door, but Gregorio seized her by the throat.

“You are glad our son is killed; you helped Amos to kill him.”

Rage and despair impelled him. Laughing brutally, he struck her on the breast, and, as he tottered, sent his knife deep into her heart. For a few seconds he stood over her exulting, and then opened the door. Madam Marx, white with fear, rushed into the room. Seeing the murdered woman, a look of triumph came into her eyes. But it was a momentary triumph, for she realised at once the gravity of the crime. She had little pity or sorrow to waste on the dead, but she was full of concern for the safety of the murderer.

“This is a bad night’s work, Gregorio.”

“Is it? She deserved death. I am glad I killed her. God, how peacefully I shall sleep tonight!”

“This is a worse matter than the other, my friend; you must get away from here at once.”

“Let us leave the corpse; I am thirsty,” Gregorio answered, callously. With a last look at Xantippe dead upon the floor, the two left the room and made fast the bolt before descending the stairs. As they emerged from the doorway into the street, some police rode by, and Gregorio trembled a little as he stood watching them.

“I want a drink; I am trembling,” he said, huskily, and followed Madam Marx into the shop.

The sun was beginning to rise, and already signs of a new life were stirring. The day-workers appeared at the windows and in the streets.

“You must get away at night, Gregorio, and keep hidden all day.”

“All right. Give me some wine. I can arrange better when my thirst is satisfied.”

After drinking deeply he turned and laughed. “It has been a busy time since sunset.”

Then, as if a new idea suddenly struck him, he queried cunningly, “There will be a reward offered?”

“I suppose so.”

“Then you will be a rich woman.”