He knelt behind the chair, passed his arm under it, and turned a screw.
The springs opened and loosed their hold upon the inanimate body.
Julio held it by the arms and dragged it through the hall until he reached
a staircase conducting to a cellar. There he left the corpse, entered an
adjoining room, and returned with a lamp. Holding the light in his hand,
he descended until he reached a subterranean passage. Very deep under the
ground, and at the end of this passage, was a kind of vaulted cellar
closed by a heavy door. Julio opened the door, and by the light of the
lamp examined a grave which had been dug in one corner of the cellar, and
on the sides of which lay the earth which had been excavated.[20] After a rapid survey, he placed the lamp outside the door against the wall
of the passage, and returned for the dead body.
When he had carried his burden as far as the subterranean passage, he
panted for breath and seemed overcome by fatigue. He, however, exerted all
his strength in order to finish as soon as possible his painful task, and
dragged the corpse into the cellar. There he let it fall upon the side of
the grave already prepared for its reception. After resting a few moments,
he was about to cast it into the grave and cover it with earth, but he
desisted, saying: "Bah! the poor young man will not run away. Perhaps Signor Turchi has not
yet left. At any rate, I will first wash away the blood stains, and then I
will return to bury the body."
He took the lamp and left the cellar, without closing the door.
On reaching the room he found that his master had gone.
The solitude disquieted him, particularly as it was now nearly dark, and
he could hardly hope to finish before night cleaning the blood-stained
floors and staircase.
He appeared, however, to submit to necessity, and prepared for his work by
getting water and brushes.
The evening was far advanced, and still Julio was occupied in scouring.
How it happened he could not understand, but new spots of blood were
continually appearing, even in places that he had washed several times.
This was particularly the case in the room where the murder had been
committed. Do what he would, he could not efface the marks of blood. The
sweat poured down his cheeks and he vented his rage in angry words against
his master.
It may have been fatigue, or perhaps the deepening shades of night
rendered his nervous system sensitive to the slightest impression; for at
the least sound of the wind through the leaves of the trees, at the least
grating of the weathercock as it turned on its pivot, he stopped his work
and looked anxiously around him.