The Mad marksman.

Te Aroha News, Volume II, Issue 87, 31 January 1885, Page 5

The Mad marksman.

I iiad just taken a turn, in company with Doctor Noirot, through the vast gardens j that surrounded his hospital, and was advancing with him towards the entranco of his own special dwelling. The celebrated physician, whose particular field was insanity, was explaining to mo the case of one of his patients whom we had met in an alley, and who had saluted us with a patronising air. At that moment an explosion resounded a few paces from us. I grasped my host's arm. " What's that ?" I asked. "Has one of your patients shot himself ?" Doctor Noirot smiled. "Ko," said he. "Reassure yourself. It's still another very peculiar ca&e I want you to see." And turning obliquely to the left, he drew me toward a small pavilion hidden behind a grove of trees. Ho unlocked the door, led me across the narrow vestibule, and we found ourselves in a sort of long court surrounded by walls. A man was there, of lofty stature, clad in a strange hunting costume. lie had his back against the wall of the pavilion, and at the moment wo entered raised his right hand, armed with a pistol. Our arrival did not disturb him. fie aimed slowly with a sure hand. I followed the direction of the weapon, and saw at about twenty paces distant, at the foot of the opposite Avail, a white face, with a dark hole in the centre of the forehead. It was, as well as I could judge at that distance, the plaster mask oi a Greek head, in I thought I recognised the- classic type of Diana the huntress. The pistol was discharged. The heap did not move, and not oven a fragment flew from it. " Look !"' said the doctor to me in a low voice. " It's very curious. He never misses his mark." " No. All the balls are lodged in the same place, in that dark hole, smaller than a sixpenny piece." The man had drawn another pistol from his belt. He fired. As before, the mask remained intact. The weapon being loaded with several balls, the mark&man successively discharged five more balls. Not one of them cut the forehead of the white face. The doctor laid his hands upon the shoulder of the marksman, who wheeled about. His visage, though enframed by a strong beard, had an expression at once energetic and sad. " Stop an instant, please," said the doctor to him. The man made a sign of consent with his head. Then the doctor led me to the other end of the court, and behind the plaster mask showed me a plate of blackened iron that protected the wall. In the centre of the plate a round spot glistened with reflection of lead produced by the flattening of the balls. "You see," said he, showing me the exact correspondence of the brilliant spot with the hole that pierced the plaster mask, " you see that all tho balls pass through thore. You will not find one of them elsewhere" "It is marvellous," answered I. "But what strange history is associated with this man ?" "Come," said the doctor to me, "I will tell you on the outside." We again crossed the court and the vestibule of the pavilion. And this is what Doctor Noirot told mo, while behind us tho detonations commenced, with regular in- ( tevvnta between them. "This unfortunate man, said my host, "calls himself Guido Ventgura. Is he an j Italian, a Spaniard, or American? That's what wo don't exactly know. Probably he is an American, for it is the New World that particularly sends these virtuosos of the revolver and rifle. " Guido Ventura, when he came to Paris, was accompanied by a young woman named fyliss Arabella. She was a superb creature, scarcely twenty years of age, with the head of a goddess and the figure of a statue. Admirers were not lacking, and in less than a week it became the fashion to go to see the splendid Miss Arabella aid. in his exercises the celebi-ated marksman, Guido Ventura. She stood proudly, her arms folded, her visage impassable, fifteen Daces from Guido Ventura, who directed upon her the vain menace of his pistol, the infallihle ball of which cut a card pefcween her lingers, broke the bowl of a pipe two inches from her lips, and crushed the shell of a nut on her head. A slight trembling of the marksman's hand, and all would have been over with the supurb Arabella. But the hand of Guido Ventura never trembled. " Evidently Guido Ventura loved his creature like an idol. To be convinced of it, it sufficed to surprise one of those glances that shot from his eyea each time when in the foyer of tho theatre, where he was awaiting his turn to go upon the stage, when some gallant was unusually attentive to the handsome girl. Was he jealous also? Certainly. And he must have suffered atrociously, for his companion, so coquettish and beautiful, seemed to delight in exasperating his jealousy. " On one occasion the manager of the Alcazar d'Automme stopped her in the wings as she was escaping with a laugh from a circle of 'vine-excited coxcombs. " 'See here, my little one,' he whispered in her ear, 'you had better take care. Every evening that man holds your life at his mercy 1'

" Arabella burst out laughing. " ' He kill me !' cried she, shrugging her shoulders. ( Get along with you, ne thinks too much of me to harm a hair of my head 1' "And every night she stood before the muzzle of the pistol with the same tranquillity, fascinating the rebellion of her lover, as the eye of the tamer ' fascinates that of a wild beast. " One evening, when the name of Guido Ventura and that of Arabella had been shining scarcely a week upon the bills of the Alcazar d'Automme, a gentleman of fine appearance entered the foyer, went straight to woman, who uttered a slight cry of surprise, and, taking her hands, kissed the tips of her fingers. Guido Ventura, who had been talking with the manager, turned and suddenly grew very pale. The man who had just entered was a rich Yankee, whose attentions to Miss Arabella had made some noise in New York. It was because of him particularly that the marksman had made his engagement in Paris and hastened his departure from America, But this man now had taken a notion to follow them, for it was on account of Arabella that he had come to Paris. As soon as he ascertained where she had gone, he had taken passage on the next steamer. That night, as she was returning to her dressing-room, Guido Ventura made a terrible scene with his companion. " But the most terrible scene took place some nights later. For a weok the American had hung about Arabella's footsteps. Guido Ventura had striven to exact that the manager of the Alcazar d'Automme should prohibit him from entering the coulisse. But, having made his way into the managerial office with his hat in his hand, the American emerged rattling his wallet back into his pocket, and there was no longer question of his exile. " That night when Arabella was preparing^ to assume her page'a dress for the performance, Guido Ventura saw a paper fall from her corsage. He picked it up and read it. It was a love letter, proposing to the young girl an elopement and marriage the next day. When he came down into the foyer the marksman had knitted brows and a quivering lip. He took a pistol and aimed at his own image in mirror, and his own hand did not tremble. " Five minutes afterwards he was on the stage, commencing his exercises. As he turned, he saw behind him in the coulisse the American leaning against a flap. Just at that instant Miss Arabella planted herself in front of him, her arms folded, her nutshell placed upon her head. She smiled. On whom was she smiling? On the man who "was there behind them. Guido Ventura saw it clearly from the direction of her glance ! Suddenly, her eyes having moved, she ceased to smile, and a shadow passed across her visage. Standing before her, Guido Ventura took aim full at her forehead. The report rang out, and Miss Arabella fell dead upon the boards. When they tore from his arms the corpse that he had desperately clapped to his bosom, Guido Ventura was a madman. " Was it a crime ? Was it an accident 1 They thought only of stifling the affair. In Paris the dead are speedily out of mind. The first excitement over, people forgot the two heroe» of this bloody drama. '■ Since that Guido Ventua has been here in my establishment, passing half his days aiming at his plaster mask. Once he chanced to break it and for a week afterwards he was delirious. But he is inoffensive as yon can see." We returned to the pavilion and found the marksman loading his weapons. " Not a shot missed the mark, eh ?" said the doctor to him, in an affable tone. Tho man raised his head, and pointing with his finger to the plaster mask, answered in a hollow voice — "Not one ! Always in the centre of the forehead ! "