"If he's daffy, he can't be trusted to any great extent."

Out of the ca.n.a.l they sped, Reggio's body swaying rhythmically as he propelled the craft. He seemed almost feverish in his haste. Soon they swung again into another narrow channel, where it was very dark, Reggio turning his head to look round just as he did so. What he saw, if anything, caused him to increase his efforts.

They began to feel a touch of the almost fierce anxiety which had seized upon their gondolier. He seemed fleeing before something of which he was in mortal terror. In the moonlight, before they were sent rushing through this second dark channel, d.i.c.k had obtained a full view of the Italian's face. It was pale and set, and his eyes seemed glowing with strange terror.

What thing was this from which Reggio fled like a hunted man? What peril pursued him, seen by him alone?

"Reggio!" spoke d.i.c.k.

"Silence! silence! silence!" implored the man at the oar.

"He sure has gone luny of a sudden!" whispered Brad. "There is no other explanation, pard."

"I don't like his behavior myself," confessed the professor. "He's getting me nervous. You know there are banded thieves in Venice, who prey on foreigners. Now--"

"There can be no connection between Reggio's singular conduct and the thieves of Venice," said d.i.c.k impatiently. "If he intended to rob us, he would not first excite our suspicion by his behavior."

"I judge that's correct," nodded the Texan. "I certain allow it's just a plain case of daffy on Reggio's part."

Once more they glided out upon the moon-lighted surface of the Grand Ca.n.a.l, and the professor drew a deep breath of relief.

"This is good enough for us, Reggio," he said. "You don't have to take us through those dark alleys to amuse us."

But the man addressed did not seem to hear. He swung the craft into the shadow of the palaces at one side of the ca.n.a.l, still sending it forward with unusual speed. Other gondolas he avoided or pa.s.sed with great skill. It was evident they attracted more or less attention by their surprising haste at that hour.

"I think, boys," said Zenas Gunn, "that it might be well for us to return to our rooms and dismiss Reggio."

But d.i.c.k's interest and curiosity had been aroused. Behind the peculiar behavior of the man he believed there was something worth understanding.

He scented a mystery, and mysteries always aroused and interested him.

"I couldn't think of giving up this pleasure in the open air for our gloomy old rooms," he said.

"Nor I, pard," joined in Brad. "I slept a whole lot this forenoon, so that I'd not be at all sleepy to-night. Night certain is the time to enjoy Venice. I opine I'll get into bad habits about hours while we're here; but I can't help it."

"You boys are tyrants!" exclaimed the professor. "Who is the master here, may I ask? Am I taking you round, or are you taking me round?"

d.i.c.k laughed, and a.s.sured the professor that he was the one in supreme authority, which seemed to relieve and satisfy the old man. In truth, the boys did just about as they pleased, but they succeeded in this by making Zenas believe he was the one who wished to do the things that interested them most. In carrying this out, d.i.c.k was far more clever than Brad.

"Reggio seems to be behaving better," said Merriwell.

"Correct," nodded Buckhart. "Mebbe it was a fit he had. It seems gone now."

"Though he keeps looking back."

Once more d.i.c.k spoke to the gondolier, asking him why he had seemed to flee through those narrow and dark channels, and why he kept turning his head to stare behind them.

Reggio paused and leaned forward.

"Ah!" he said, in a very low voice, "you don't-a know. I-I feel-a it in da air." He spoke in broken English now.

"What did you feel in the air?"

"Death!" whispered the gondolier. "You don't-a know. You not see-a heem follow us. He follow. That why I hurry vera much."

"Whoop!" muttered Brad. "That's a heap fine! So we had a race with death, did we? Well, partner, if that isn't daffy talk, what do you call it?"

"Do you mean that we were really and truly pursued by anything, Reggio?"

demanded d.i.c.k.

"I mean-a it. Death he follow us. But mebbe he not-a after us. He follow no more now."

CHAPTER XVII.

THE RING OF IRON.

A boat full of musicians appeared, gliding slowly past them in the moonlight, surrounded by many gondolas. To the throbbing of the harp and guitar, a score of voices were chanting an Italian song.

"Splendid! magnificent!" breathed the professor.

The singing ceased. The gondolas swung near the music barge, from which white, phantom hands were outstretched. Into those hands fell silver coins, and the gondolas swept away.

d.i.c.k spoke a word of command to Reggio, who quickly sent them close to the boat of the singers. Merriwell added his contribution to the collection the musicians were taking up.

"There's still music in Venice," said d.i.c.k, as they drifted away.

"But now," said Professor Gunn, "the musicians are professionals, who take that way of making a living."

"Then," spoke d.i.c.k, "in a certain sense it is true that-

"'In Venice Ta.s.so's echoes are no more, And silent rows the songless gondolier: Her palaces are crumbling to the sh.o.r.e, And music meets not always now the ear;

Those days are gone-but beauty still is here.'"

"Well quoted, my boy!" exclaimed the old pedagogue, in deep satisfaction.

"Let's follow the music boat," suggested Brad. "That singing has stirred up something a whole lot inside of me. I sure would like to hear some more."

So Reggio was instructed to follow the musicians.

Some fifteen minutes later, perhaps, the music boat turned into a narrow, close ca.n.a.l, where all was darkness and gloom, with never a gleam of light, save from the gondolas, where lamps twinkled and moved like wills-o'-the-wisp. The boats were lost in the blackness of the place, the lights alone marking their movements.

"Another right fine place for a race with death, pard," whispered Brad.

"Why have they turned in here?" whispered the professor apprehensively.