No Rest for the Dove Read Online Free PDF Page B

Signor Lahte up the wooden steps set into the soil, both of them rising once more toward warmth and light.
    When she was alone, Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment. The tallow candles continued to smoke and sputter. Then, she opened her eyes and slipped behind the table, to lift the head of the corpse with her hands. The neck seemed whole, but the top of the skull
was
damaged. Even more strange was the fact that the indented area was not at all swollen. This told her he must have died very soon after his injury occurred. Of course, he might also have died from inhaling what he could not swallow.
    Nearly overcome by this horrible thought, and the odor, Charlotte looked away; but soon, she forced herself to examine a patch of the matter on the coat more closely. It was unusually dark, and the observation caused her to feel a new shiver of unease.
    In another moment she heard a phantom echo of the angelic voice of Gian Carlo Lahte come into her questioning mind, and she felt a sudden rush of warmth.
Did he know this stranger?
Or had her imagination, too, become overly active? Longfellow had also wondered if his visitor was acquainted with the man—yet why would Signor Lahte not say so, if it was true?
    Blowing out both candles, Mrs. Willett climbed the steps and pulled the door closed behind her. At her appearance Longfellow strode forward, while his guest continued to pace slowly among the stones some distance away.
    “Are you satisfied, Carlotta? It seems clear to me that he was thrown onto his head.”
    “Yes, but—”
    “You question, too, where he’s come from. I’ll make a sketch, and send it off to Montagu in Boston. But I believe the signs point to an unsuccessful fellow less than a gentleman, lately arrived from abroad. You will have seen that his hair and skin are similar to those of many Scots and Irishmen … yet somehow, the face reminds me more of the Alps. However, as you’ll agree, physiognomy is not yet a true science. I would much prefer to see a sample of his hand. It’s unfortunate that he carried no papers.”
    “The clothing—” she began again.
    “That, too, is curious, but inconclusive. As to his pockets—these coins could have come from a number of places, if the gold ducats do suggest the Italian trade. Have you an idea of your own?”
    “He appears to have lost some wine, which I presume he drank while on the way here.”
    “I will give you no argument there.”
    “But when?”
    “When?”
    “He could hardly have vomited the wine up, I think, after a fall—at least, not if his death was due to the obvious injury. The blow must have come only moments before his heart ceased to beat.”
    “Do you refer to the lack of fluid within the depression? You’re probably right. Well, the man’s stomach could have rebelled first. Or he could have gotten off his horse, then lost his stomach, and stumbled. If he next fell back onto a rock …?”
    “But how would that explain the great force of the blow? From what I saw, I can hardly believe—”
    “All right, he was thrown
after
he regurgitated, which he managed to do while still
on
his horse.”
    “Perhaps, then, his death was caused by choking, andnot the fall. At least that would remove blame from a poor horse—”
    “In either case, it would have been accidental; thus, it is no further concern of ours.”
    “Still, I wonder. Wouldn’t the village rest more easily if a physician examined him?”
    “I suppose it might. Nothing, I hope, points to anything more unusual in your mind?”
    “Only the face. Didn’t it seem to you to be quite haggard? He could have suffered a recent illness—perhaps a mortal one. Richard, if the dark matter I saw—”
    “He hardly seems jaundiced, if you next mean to tell me he died of yellow fever! And he would have been ill, indeed, probably in the last stages of the disease, to produce what the Spanish call the
vomito negro
. In that case, I doubt he could have sat a horse all the way from