Free The Marquis of Bolibar by Leo Perutz Page A

order!"
    Six shots rang out. The dog howled and tugged madly at its collar. I let the beast go, took the torch from the sergeant's hand, and lit the dead man's face.
    The Marquis of Bolibar had resumed his former appearance. Death had broken the mould he had enforced upon his features while playing the part of a muleteer for our deception's sake. His face, as he lay there now, was just as I had seen it that morning: proud, motionless and awe-inspiring, even in death.
    The soldiers shovelled away the snow and set about burying him. I walked slowly back across the courtyard to the house. All at once I saw quite plainly what had happened, and what a strange and devious course the Marquis of Bolibar had taken. While leaving his house in secret that morning, he must have encountered Perico the waggoner, who was just making off through the woods with his stolen thalers. He had exchanged clothes with Perico, and his face, which was so mysteriously subject to his will, had taken on the waggoner's features. Thus disguised, he had entered the town incognito to put his plans into effect. And then, without warning, he had found himself as securely incarcerated in the role of a thief as he would have been in a prison cell. Unable to slough off that role without betraying his true identity, he was compelled to play it to the end and suffer a death intended for another.
    It was while all these thoughts were passing through my mind that I came to a sudden halt in the snow and smote my brow, for I now grasped the significance of the curious oath he had made us swear. Unheeded by anyone, with death staring him in the face and enemies on every side, the Marquis of Bolibar had entrusted us with the fulfilment of his task: we ourselves were to give the signals that would spell our own destruction.
    I felt disposed to laugh at the stupidity of this notion, but my laughter was still-born. The dead man's words still rang in my ears: Dios viene.
    God had come ... A shiver ran through me, together with a dread of something that could not be put into words - something that loomed before me as dark, menacing and fraught with danger as the gloomy shadows of those distant oak forests.
    I re-entered the sweltering room, which was thick with wine fumes and tobacco smoke. Günther and Brockendorf, their quarrel forgotten, were peacefully sleeping on the floor side by side. Donop sat perched on the table with the Marquis's dagger in his hand, examining the fine workmanship of the carved hilt. Eglofstein was standing in the middle of the room with Captain de Salignac, who had a vociferous and wildly gesticulating figure by the collar and was pushing the fellow ahead of him.
    "Eglofstein!" I called. "It was the Marquis of Bolibar you ordered to be shot."
    I had expected my announcement to be greeted with surprise, delight and jubilation, but the only response was a bellow of laughter.
    "Another Marquis of Bolibar?" cried Eglofstein. "How many of them are roaming the streets tonight? My friend Salignac has caught one too."
    He pointed to Salignac's prisoner. I could not discern his face, for it was hidden behind one of those black silk handkerchiefs with which married men in Spanish towns disguise themselves when pursuing their nocturnal amours.
    "Comrade Salignac," he said mockingly, "you've bought yourself a donkey at a horse fair. I advise you not to hang the worshipful alcalde of this town on our very first day here. We may have need of him."
     
     

GERMAN SERENADE
    We could not forbear to burst out laughing when we saw that our unhappy prisoner was none other than His Portliness the alcalde of La Bisbal. So uproarious did our laughter become that it roused Lieutenant Günther, who got to his feet, rubbed his eyes, and yawned. Brockendorf slumbered on, snoring fit to blow the door off its hinges.
    "What is it?" asked Günther, sleepily smoothing down his hair.
    The alcalde pursed his mouth into a sour smile at our boisterous hilarity. He twisted his cap in