"Here's a letter from my dear old friend Silas Watson," said Uncle John, delightedly. "It's from Palermo, where he has been staying with his ward—and your friend, girls—Kenneth Forbes, and he wants me to lug you all over to Sicily at once."
"That's jolly," said Patsy, with a bright smile. "I'd like to see Kenneth again."
"I suppose he is a great artist, by this time," said Beth, musingly.
"How singular!" exclaimed Louise. "Count Ferralti told me only this morning that he had decided to go to Palermo."
"Really?" said Uncle John.
"Yes, Uncle. Isn't it a coincidence?"
"Why, as for that," he answered, slowly, "I'm afraid it will prevent our seeing the dear count—or whatever he is—again, at least forsome time. For Mr. Watson and Kenneth are just leaving Palermo, and he asks us to meet him in another place altogether, a town called—called—let me see; Tormenti, or Terminal, or something."
"Give me the letter, dear," said Patsy. "I don't believe it's Terminal at all. Of course not," consulting the pages, "it's Taormina."
"Is that in Sicily?" he asked.
"Yes. Listen to what Mr. Watson says: 'I'm told it is the most beautiful spot in the world, which is the same thing you hear about most beautiful places. It is eight hundred feet above the Mediterranean and nestles peacefully in the shadow of Mount Etna.'"
"Etna!" cried Uncle John, with a start. "Isn't that another volcano?"
"To be sure," said Beth, the geographer. "Etna is the biggest volcano in the world."
"Does it spout?" he asked, anxiously.
"All the time, they say. But it is not usually dangerous."
"The proper thing, when you go to Eu-rope," declared Uncle John, positively, "is to do Venice,where the turpentine comes from, and Switzerland, where they make chocolate and goat's milk, and Paris and Monte Carlo, where they kick high and melt pearls in champagne. Everybody knows that. That's what goin' to Eu-rope really means. But Sicily isn't on the programme, that I ever heard of. So we'll just tell Silas Watson that we'll see him later—which means when we get home again."
"But Sicily is beautiful," protested Patsy. "I'd as soon go there as anywhere."
"It's a very romantic place," added Louise, reflectively.
"Everybody goes to France and Switzerland," remarked Beth. "But it's because they don't know any better. Let's be original, Uncle, and keep out of the beaten track of travel."
"But the volcano!" exclaimed Mr. Merrick. "Is it necessary to stick to volcanoes to be original?"
"Etna won't hurt us, I'm sure," said Patsy.
"Isn't there a Greek theatre at Taormina?" asked Louise.
"I've never heard of it; but I suppose theGreeks have, if it's there," he replied. "But why not wait till we get home, and then go to Kieth's or Hammerstein's?"
"You don't understand, dear. This theatre is very ancient."
"Playing minstrel shows in it yet, I suppose. Well, girls, if you say Sicily, Sicily it is. All I'm after is to give you a good time, and if you get the volcano habit it isn't my fault."
"It is possible the Count said Taormina, instead of Palermo," remarked Louise, plaintively. "I wasn't paying much attention at the time. I'll ask him."
The others ignored this suggestion. Said Patsy to her uncle:
"When do we go, sir?"
"Whenever you like, my dears."
"Then I vote to move on at once," decided the girl. "We've got the best out of Naples, and it's pretty grimey here yet."
The other nieces agreed with her, so Uncle John went out to enquire the best way to get to Sicily, and to make their arrangements.
The steamer "Victor Emmanuel" of theNavigazione General Italiana line was due to leave Naples for Messina the next evening, arriving at its destination the following morning. Uncle John promptly booked places. The intervening day was spent in packing and preparing for the journey, and like all travellers the girls were full of eager excitement at the prospect of seeing something new.
"I'm told Sicily is an island," grumbled Uncle John. "Here we are, on a trip to Eu-rope, and emigrating to an island the first thing we do."
"Sicily is Europe, all right, Uncle," answered Patsy. "At least, it isn't Asia or Africa."
That assertion seemed to console him a little, and he grew cheerful again.
The evening was beautiful as they embarked, but soon after leaving the bay the little, tub-shaped steamer began to tumble and toss vigorously, so that all the passengers aboard speedily sought their berths.
Uncle John found himself in a stuffy little cabin that smelled of tar and various other flavors that were too mixed to be recognizable.As a result he passed one of the most miserable nights of his life.
Toward morning he rolled out and dressed himself, preferring the deck to his bed, and the first breath of salt air did much to restore him. Day was just breaking, and to the right he could see a tongue of fire flaming against the dark sky.
"What is that, sir?" he enquired of an officer who passed.
"That is Stromboli, signor, the great volcano of Lipari. It is always in eruption."
Uncle John groaned.
"Volcanoes to right of us, volcanoes to left of us volleyed and thundered," he muttered dismally, as he fell back in his chair.
The sky brightened, and the breath of the breeze changed and came to him laden with delicious fragrance.
"See, signore!" called the officer, passing again; "before us is mighty Etna—you can see it clearly from the bow."
"Volcanoes in front of us, volcanoes behind us!" wailed the little man. But he walked to the bow and saw the shores of Sicily looming inadvance, with the outline of the stately mountain rising above and dominating it.
Then the sun burst forth, flooding all with a golden radiance that was magical in its gorgeous effects. Patsy came on deck and stood beside her uncle, lost in rapturous admiration. Beth soon followed her.
Before long they entered the Straits of Messina and passed between the classic rock of Scylla on the Calabrian coast, and the whirlpool of Charybdis at the point of the promontory of Faro, which forms the end of the famous "Golden Sickle" enclosing the Bay of Messina.
"If this is really Eu-rope, I'm glad we came," said Uncle John, drawing a long breath as the ship came to anchor opposite the Palazzo Municipale. "I don't remember seeing anything prettier since we left New York."
Presently they had loaded their trunks and hand baggage, and incidentally themselves, into the boat of the Hotel Trinacria which came alongside in charge of a sleepy porter. After a brief examination at the custom-house, where Uncle John denied having either sugar, tobaccoor perfumery, they followed on foot the truck laden with their worldly possessions, and soon reached the hotel.
A pleasant breakfast followed, which they ate before a window overlooking the busy marina, and then they drove about the town for a time to see in a casual way the "sights." In the afternoon they took the train for Taormina. Messina seemed a delightful place, but if they were going to settle in Taormina for a time it would not pay them to unpack or linger on the way.
So they rolled along the coast for a couple of hours in a quaint, old-fashioned railway carriage, and were then deposited upon the platform of the little station at Giardini.
"I'm afraid there has been a mistake," said the little man, gazing around him anxiously. "There's no town here, and I told the guard to put us off at Taormina—not this forlorn place."
Just then Beth discovered a line of carriages drawn up back of the station. The drivers were mostly asleep inside them, although several stood in a group arguing in fluent Italian the gravequestion as to whether Signora Gani's cow had a black patch over its left shoulder, or not.
Some of the carriages bore signs: "Hotel Timeo;" "Grand Hotel San Domenico;" "Hotel Castello-a-Mare;" "Grand Hotel Metropole," and so forth. In that of the Castello-a-Mare the man was awakening and rubbing his eyes. Uncle John said to him:
"Good morning. Had a nice rest?"
"I thank you, signore, I am well refreshed," was the reply.
"By the way, can you tell us where the town of Taormina is? I hate to trouble you; but we'd like to know."
The man waved an arm upward, and following the motion with their eyes they saw a line of precipitous cliffs that seemed impossible to scale.
"Do you desire to go to the Grand Hotel Castello-a-Mare?" enquired the driver, politely.
"Is it in Taormina?"
"Most certainly, signore."
"And you will take us?"
"With pleasure, signore."
"Oh; I didn't know. I supposed you were going to sleep again."
The man looked at him reproachfully.
"It is my business, signore. I am very attentive to my duties. If you permit me to drive you to our splendide—our magnifico hotel—you will confer a favor."
"How about the baggage?"
"The trunks, signor, we will send for later. There is really no hurry about them. The small baggage will accompany us. You will remark how excellent is my English. I am Frascatti Vietri; perhaps you have heard of me in America?"
"If I have it has escaped my memory," said Uncle John, gravely.
"Have you been to America?" asked Beth.
"Surely, signorina. I lived in Chicago, which, as you are aware, is America. My uncle had a fruit shop in South Water, a via which is Chicago. Is it not so? You will find few in Taormina who can the English speak, and none at all who can so perfectly speak it as Frascatti Vietri."
"You are wonderful," said Patsy, delightedwith him. But Uncle John grew impatient to be off.
"I hate to interrupt you, Mr. Vietri," he hinted; "but if you can spare the time we may as well make a start."
The driver consented. He gracefully swung the suit-cases and travelling bags to the top of the vehicle and held the door open while his fares entered. Then he mounted to his seat, took the reins, and spoke to the horses. Some of the other drivers nodded at him cheerfully, but more as if they were sorry he must exert himself than with any resentment at his success in getting the only tourists who had alighted from the train.
As they moved away Uncle John said: "Observe the difference between the cab-drivers here and those at home. In America they fight like beasts to get a job; here they seem anxious to avoid earning an honest penny. If there could be a happy medium somewhere, I'd like it."
"Are we going to the best hotel?" asked Louise, who had seemed a trifle disconsolate because she had not seen Count Ferralti since leaving Naples.
"I don't know, my dear. It wasn't a question of choice, but of necessity. No other hotel seemed willing to receive us."
They were now winding upward over a wonderful road cut in the solid rock. It was broad and smooth and protected by a parapet of dressed limestone. Now and then they passed pleasant villas set in orchards of golden oranges or groves of olives and almonds; but there was no sign of life on any side.
The road was zigzag, making a long ascent across the face of the cape, then turning abruptly to wind back again, but always creeping upward until an open space showed the station far below and a rambling stone building at the edge of the cliff far above.
"Behold!" cried Frascatti, pointing up, "the Grand Hotel Castello-a-Mare; is it not the excellenza location?"
"Has it a roof?" asked Uncle John, critically.
"Of a certainty, signore! But it does not show from below," was the grave reply.
At times Frascatti stopped his horses to allow them to rest, and then he would turn in his seat to address his passengers in the open victoria and descant upon the beauties of the panorama each turn unfolded.
"This road is new," said he, "because we are very progressive and the old road was most difficulty. Then it was three hours from the bottom to the top. Now it is but a short hour, for our energy climbs the three miles in that brief time. Shall I stop here for the sunset, or will your excellenzi hasten on?"
"If your energy approves, we will hasten," returned Uncle John. "We love a sunset, because it's bound to set anyway, and we may as well make the best of it; but we have likewise an objection to being out after dark. Any brigands around here?"
"Brigands! Ah; the signor is merry. Never, since the days of Naxos, have brigands infested our fair country."
"When were the days of Naxos?"
"Some centuries before Christ, signor," bowing his head and making the sign of the cross.
"Very good. The brigands of those days must, of course, be dead by this time. Now, sir, when you have leisure, let us hasten."
The horses started and crept slowly upward again. None of the party was in a hurry. Such beautiful glimpses of scenery were constantly visible from the bends of the road that the girls were enraptured, and could have ridden for hours in this glorious fairyland.
But suddenly the horses broke into a trot and dragged the carriage rapidly forward over the last incline. A moment later they dashed into the court of the hotel and the driver with a loud cry of "Oo-ah!" and a crack of his whip drew up before the entrance.
The portiere and the padrone, or landlord—the latter being also the proprietaire—came out to greet them, extending to their guests a courteous welcome. The house was very full. All of the cheaper rooms were taken; but of course the Signor Americain would wish only the best and be glad to pay.
Uncle John requested them to rob him as modestly as possible without conflicting with their sense of duty, and they assured him they would do so.
The rooms were adorable. They faced the sea and had little balconies that gave one a view of the blue Mediterranean far beneath, with lovely Isola Bella and the Capo San Andrea nestling on its bosom. To the right towered the majestic peak of Etna, its crest just now golden red in the dying sunset.
The girls drew in deep breaths and stood silent in a very ecstacy of delight. At their feet was a terraced garden, running downward two hundred feet to where the crag fell sheer to the sea. It was glorious with blooming flowers of every sort that grows, and the people on the balconies imagined at the moment they had been transferred to an earthly paradise too fair and sweet for ordinary mortals. And then the glow of the sun faded softly and twilight took its place. Far down the winding road could be seen the train of carriages returning from the station, the vetturini singing their native songs as thehorses slowly ascended the slope. An unseen organ somewhere in the distance ground out a Neapolitan folk song, and fresh and youthful voices sang a clear, high toned accompaniment.
Even practical Uncle John stood absorbed and admiring until the soft voice of the facchino called to ask if he wanted hot water in which to bathe before dinner.
"It's no use," said Patsy, smiling at him from the next balcony with tears in her eyes; "There's not another Taormina on earth. Here we are, and here we stay until we have to go home again."
"But, my dear, think of Paris, of Venice, of—"
"I'll think of nothing but this, Uncle John. Unless you settle down with us here I'll turn milkmaid and live all my days in Sicily!"
Beth laughed, and drew her into their room.
"Don't be silly, Patsy dear," she said, calmly, although almost as greatly affected as her cousin. "There are no cows here, so you can't be a milkmaid."
"Can't I milk the goats, then?"
"Why, the men seem to do that, dear. But cheer up. We've only seen the romance of Taormina yet; doubtless it will be commonplace enough to-morrow."
Beth's prediction, however, did not come true. The morning discovered nothing commonplace about Taormina. Their hotel was outside the walls, but a brief walk took them to the Messina Gate, a quaint archway through which they passed into the narrow streets of one of the oldest towns in Sicily. Doorways and windows of Saracen or Norman construction faced them on every side, and every inch of the ancient buildings was picturesque and charming.
Some of the houses had been turned into shops, mostly for the sale of curios. Uncle John and his nieces had scarcely passed a hundred yards into the town when one of these shops arrested their attention. It was full of antique jewelry, antique furniture, antique laces and antique pottery—all of the most fascinating description. The jewelry was tarnished and broken, the lacehad holes in it and the furniture was decrepit and unsteady; but the proprietor cared nothing for such defects. All was very old, and he knew the tourist was eager to buy. So he scattered his wares inside and outside his salesroom, much as the spider spreads his web for the unwary, and waited for the inevitable tourist with a desire to acquire something ancient and useless.
The girls could not be induced to pass the shop. They entered the square, low room and flooded the shopman with eager questions. Notwithstanding Frascatti's assertion that few in Taormina could speak English, this man was quite intelligible and fixed his prices according to the impression his wares made upon the artistic sense of the young American ladies.
It was while they were intently inspecting some laces that the proprietor suddenly paused in his chatter, removed his hat and bowed almost to the floor, his face assuming at the same time a serious and most humble expression.
Turning around they saw standing outside the door a man whom they recognized at once astheir fellow passenger aboard the "Princess Irene."
"Oh, Signor Valdi!" cried Patsy, running toward him, "how strange to find you again in this out-of-the-way place."
The Italian frowned, but in a dignified manner took the hand of all three girls in turn and then bowed a greeting to Mr. Merrick.
Uncle John thought the fellow had improved in appearance. Instead of the flannel shirt and Prince Albert coat he had affected on shipboard he now wore a native costume of faded velvet, while a cloak of thin but voluminous cloth swung from his shoulders, and a soft felt hat shaded his dark eyes.
His appearance was entirely in keeping with the place, and the American noticed that the villagers who passed doffed their hats most respectfully to this seemingly well-known individual. But mingled with their polite deference was a shyness half fearful, and none stopped to speak but hurried silently on.
"And how do we happen to find you here,Signor Valdi?" Patsy was saying. "Do you live in Taormina?"
"I am of this district, but not of Taormina," he replied. "It is chance that you see me here. Eh, Signor Bruggi, is it not so?" casting one of his characteristic fierce glances at the shopkeeper.
"It is so, your excellency."
"But I am glad you have come to the shadow of Etna," he continued, addressing the Americans with slow deliberation. "Here the grandeur of the world centers, and life keeps time with Nature. You will like it? You will stay?"
"Oh, for a time, anyway," said Patsy.
"We expect to meet some friends here," explained Uncle John. "They are coming down from Palermo, but must have been delayed somewhere on the way."
"Who are they?" asked Valdi, brusquely.
"Americans, of course; Silas Watson and Kenneth Forbes. Do you know of them?"
"No," said the other. He cast an uneasy glance up and down the street. "I will meetyou again, signorini," he added. "Which is your hotel?"
"The Castello-a-Mare. It is delightful," said Beth.
He nodded, as if pleased. Then, folding his cloak about him, he murmured "adios!" and stalked away without another word or look.
"Queer fellow," remarked Uncle John.
The shopkeeper drew a long breath and seemed relieved.
"Il Duca is unusual, signore," he replied.
"Duke!" cried the girls, in one voice.
The man seemed startled.
"I—I thought you knew him; you seemed friends," he stammered.
"We met Signor Valdi on shipboard," said Uncle John.
"Valdi? Ah, yes; of course; the duke has been to America."
"Isn't his name Valdi?" asked Beth, looking the man straight in the eyes. "Has he another name here, where he lives?"
The shopman hesitated.
"Who knows?" was the evasive reply. "IlDuca has many names, but we do not speak them. When it is necessary to mention him we use his title—the duke."
"Why?" asked the girl.
"Why, signorina? Why? Perhaps because he does not like to be talked about. Yes; that is it, I am sure."
"Where does he live?" asked Patsy.
The man seemed uneasy under so much questioning.
"Somewhere in the mountains," he said, briefly. "His estates are there. He is said to be very rich and powerful. I know nothing more, signorini."
Realizing that little additional information could be gleaned from this source they soon left the shop and wandered into the Piazzo Vittorio Emanuele, and from thence by the narrow lane to the famous Teatro Greco.
For a time they admired this fascinating ruin, which has the best preserved stage of any Greek theatre now in existence. From the top of the hill is one of the most magnificent views in Sicily, and here our travellers sat in contemplative aweuntil Uncle John declared it was time to return to their hotel for luncheon.
As they passed the portiere's desk Mr. Merrick paused to ask that important official:
"Tell me, if you please, who is Signor Victor Valdi?"
"Valdi, signore?"
"Yes; the Duke di Valdi, I suppose you call him."
"I have never heard of him," replied the man.
"But every one seems to know him in Taormina."
"Is it so? We have but one duke near to us, and he—. But never mind. I do not know this Valdi."
"A thin faced man, with black eyes. We met him on the steamer coming from America."
The portiere dropped his eyes and turned toward his desk.
"Luncheon is served, signore," he remarked. "Also, here is a letter for you, which arrived this morning."
Uncle John took the letter and walked on to rejoin the girls.
"It seems hard work to find out anything about this Valdi," he said. "Either the folks here do not know him, or they won't acknowledge his acquaintance. We may as well follow suit, and avoid him."
"I don't like his looks a bit," observed Beth. "He seems afraid and defiant at the same time, and his temper is dreadful. It was only with great difficulty he could bring himself to be polite to us."
"Oh, I always got along with him all right," said Patsy. "I'm sure Signor Valdi isn't as bad as he appears. And he's a duke, too, girls—a real duke!"
"So it seems," Uncle John rejoined; "yet there is something queer about the fellow, I agree with Beth; I don't like him."
"Did Mr. Watson say when he would join us here?" enquired Louise, when they were seated at the little round table.
"No; but here's a letter from him. I'd quite forgotten it."
He tore open the envelope and carefully read the enclosure.
"Too bad," said he. "We might have stayed a few days in Messina. Watson says he and Kenneth have stopped at Girgenti—wherever that is—to study the temples. Wonder if they're Solomon's? They won't get to Taormina before Saturday."
"It won't matter," declared Patsy, "so long as they arrive then. And I'd a good deal rather be here than in Messina, or any other place. Of course we'll all be glad to see Kenneth."
"Mr. Watson wants us to be very careful while we are in Sicily," continued Uncle John, referring to the letter. "Listen to this: 'Don't let the girls wear jewelry in public places, or display their watches openly; and take care, all of you, not to show much money. If you buy anything, have it sent to your hotel to be paid for by the hall porter. And it is wise not to let anyone know who you are or how long you intend to remain in any one place. This may strike you as an absurd precaution; but you must remember that you are not in America, but in an isolated Italian province, where government control is inefficient. The truth is that the terribleMafia is still all powerful on this island, and brigandage is by no means confined to the neighborhood of Castrogiovanni, as the guide books would have you believe. The people seem simple and harmless enough, but Kenneth and I always keep our revolvers handy, and believe it is a reasonable precaution. I don't want to frighten you, John; merely to warn you. Sicily is full of tourists, and few are ever molested; but if you are aware of the conditions underlying the public serenity you are not so liable to run yourself and your nieces into needless dangers.' How's that for a hair-curler, girls?"
"It sounds very romantic," said Louise, smiling. "Mr. Watson is such a cautious man!"
"But it's all rubbish about there being danger in Taormina," declared Patsy, indignantly. "Mr. Watson has been in the wilds of the interior, which Baedecker admits is infested with brigands. Here everyone smiles at us in the friendliest way possible."
"Except the duke," added Beth, with a laugh.
"Oh, the duke is sour by nature," Patsy answered; "but if there really was danger, I'm surehe'd protect us, for he lives here and knows the country."
"You are sure of a lot of things, dear," said her cousin, smiling. "But it will do no harm to heed the advice, and be careful."
They all agreed to that, and Uncle John was glad to remember he had two brand new revolvers in the bottom of his trunk, which he could use in an emergency if he could manage to find the cartridges to load them with.
He got them out next morning, and warned his nieces not to touch the dangerous things when they entered his room. But Patsy laughed at him, saying:
"You are behind the times, Uncle. Beth has carried a revolver ever since we started."
"Beth!" he cried, horrified.
"Just as a precaution," said that young lady, demurely.
"But you're only a child!"
"Even so, Uncle, I have been taught to shoot in Cloverton, as a part of my education. Once I won a medal—think of that! So I broughtmy pet revolver along, although I may never have need to use it."
Uncle John looked thoughtful.
"It doesn't seem like a girlish accomplishment, exactly," he mused. "When I was young and went into the West, the times were a bit unsettled, and I used to carry a popgun myself. But I never shot at a human being in my life. There were women in the camps that could shoot, too; but the safest place was always in front of them. If Beth has won a medal, though, she might hit something."
"Don't try, Beth," said Louise; "you ought to make a hit without shooting."
"Thank you, dear."
As they left their hotel for a walk they came upon Count Ferralti, who was standing in the court calmly smoking a cigarette. His right hand was still in a sling.
No one was greatly surprised at his appearance, but Uncle John uttered an exclamation of impatience. It annoyed him that this fellow, whose antecedents were decidedly cloudy, should be "chasing around" after one of his nieces,Beth and Patsy smiled at each other significantly as the young man was discovered, but Louise, with a slight blush, advanced to greet Ferralti in her usual pleasant and cordial way.
There was no use resenting the intrusion. They owed a certain consideration to this boyish Italian for his assistance on the Amalfi road. But Uncle John almost wished he had left them to escape as best they might, for the obligation was getting to be decidedly onerous.
While Ferralti was expressing his astonishment at so "unexpectedly" meeting again his American friends, Uncle John discovered their English speaking cocchiere, Frascatti Vietri, lolling half asleep on the box of his victoria.
"Would your energy like to drive us this morning?" he asked.
"It is my duty, signore, if you wish to go," was the reply.
"Then you are engaged. Come, girls; hop in, if you want to ride."
The three nieces and Uncle John just filled the victoria. The count was disconsolate at being so cleverly dropped from the party, but couldonly flourish his hat and wish them a pleasant drive.
They descended the winding road to the coast, where Frascatti took the highway to Sant' Alessio, a charming drive leading to the Taormina Pass.
"By the way," Uncle John asked the driver, "do you know of a duke that lives in this neighborhood?"
The laughing face of the Sicilian suddenly turned grave.
"No, signore. There is the Prince di Scaletta; but no duke on this side the town."
"But on the other side?"
"Oh; in the mountains? To be sure there are noblemen there; old estates almost forgotten in our great civilization of to-day. We are very progressive in Taormina, signore. There will be a fountain of the ice cream soda established next summer. Quite metropolitan,ne c'e?"
"Quite. But, tell me, Frascatti, have you a duke in the mountains back of Taormina?"
"Signore, I beg you to pay no attention to the foolish stories you may hear from our peasants.There has been no brigandage here for centuries. I assure you the country is perfectionly safe—especial if you stay within the town or take me on your drives. They know me, signore, and even Il Duca dares not trifle with my friends."
"Why should he, Frascatti, if there is no brigandage? Is it the Mafia?"
"Ah, I have heard that Mafia spoken of, but mostly when I lived in America, which is Chicago. Here we do not know of the Mafia."
"But you advise us to be careful?"
"Everywhere, illustrissimo signore, it is well to be what you call the circumspection. I remember that in the State street of Chicago, which is America, peaceful citizens were often killed by bandits. Eh, is it not so?"
"Quite probable," said Uncle John, soberly.
"Then, what will you? Are we worse than Americans, that you fear us? Never mind Il Duca, or the tales they foolishly whisper of him. Here you may be as safe and happy as in Chicago—which is America."
He turned to his horses and urged them up aslope. The girls and Uncle John eyed one another enquiringly.
"Our duke seems to bear no good reputation," said Beth, in a tone so low that Frascatti could not overhear. "Everyone fears to speak of him."
"Singular," said Uncle John, "that Patsy's friend turns out to be a mystery, even in his own home. I wonder if he is a leader of the Mafia, or just a common brigand?"
"In either case," said Patsy, "he will not care to injure us, I am sure. We all treated him very nicely, and I just made him talk and be sociable, whether he wanted to or not. That ought to count for something in our favor. But my opinion is that he's just a gruff old nobleman who lives in the hills and makes few friends."
"And hasn't a name, any more than Louise's count has. Is it customary, my dear, for all Italian noblemen to conceal their identity?"
"I do not know, Uncle," answered Louise, casting down her eyes.
Uncle John grew to love Taormina. Its wildness and ruggedness somehow reminded him of the Rockies in the old pioneer days, and he wandered through all the lanes of the quaint old town until he knew every cornice and cobblestone familiarly, and the women who sat weaving or mending before their squalid but picturesque hovels all nodded a greeting to the cheery little American as he passed by.
He climbed Malo, too, a high peak crowned by a ruined castle; and also Mt. Venere, on the plateau of which an ancient city had once stood. His walking tours did him good, and frequently while the girls lay stretched upon the grass that lined the theatre enclosure, to idle the time or read or write enthusiastic letters home, Uncle John, scorning such laziness, would take his stick andclimb mountains, or follow the rough paths that diverged from the highway just beyond the Catania Gate.
The tax gatherer whose tiny office was just inside the gate came to know the little gentleman very well, and although he could speak no English he would bob his grizzled head and murmur: "Buon giorno, signore!" as the stranger passed out on his daily stroll.
One afternoon Mr. Merrick went down the hill path leading from the Castello-a-Mare to Capo di San Andrea, and as he passed around a narrow ledge of rock came full upon two men seated upon a flat stone. One was Valdi and the other Ferralti, and they seemed engaged in earnest conversation when he interrupted them. The Count smiled frankly and doffed his hat; the Duke frowned grimly, but also nodded.
Uncle John passed on. The path was wild and little frequented. He felt in his side pocket and grasped the handle of his revolver; but there was no attempt to follow or molest him. Nevertheless, when he returned from the beach he came up the longer winding roadway and was glad ofthe company of a ragged goatherd who, having no English, entertained "Il Signore" by singing ditties as he drove his goats before him.
The misgivings Uncle John had originally conceived concerning Count Ferralti returned in full force with this incident; but he resolved to say nothing of it to his nieces. Silas Watson would be with them in a couple of days more and he would consult the shrewd lawyer before he took any decisive action.
Next morning after breakfast he left his nieces in the garden and said he would take a walk through the town and along the highway west, toward Kaggi.
"I'll be back in an hour or so," he remarked, "for I have some letters to write and I want them to catch the noon mail."
So the girls sat on the terrace overlooking the sea and Etna, and breathed the sweet air and enjoyed the caressing sunshine, until they noticed the portiere coming hastily toward them.
"Pardon, signorini," he said, breathlessly, "but it will be to oblige me greatly if you will tell me where Signor Ferralti is."
"He is not of our party," answered Patsy, promptly; but Louise looked up as if startled, and said: "I have been expecting him to join us here."
"Then you do not know?" exclaimed the portiere, in an anxious tone.
"Know what, sir?" asked the girl.
"That Signor Ferralti is gone. He has not been seen by any after last evening. He did not occupy his room. But worse, far worse, will I break you the news gently—his baggage is gone with him!"
"His baggage gone!" echoed Louise, greatly disturbed. "And he did not tell you? You did not see him go?"
"Alas, no, signorina. His bill is still unsettled. He possessed two large travelling cases, which must have been carried out at the side entrance with stealth most deplorable. The padrone is worried. Signor Ferralti is American, and Americans seldom treat us wrongfully."
"Signor Ferralti is Italian," answered Louise, stiffly.
"The name is Italian, perhaps; but he speaks only the English," declared the portiere.
"He is not a rogue, however. Assure your master of that fact. When Mr. Merrick returns he will settle Count Ferralti's bill."
"Oh, Louise!" gasped Patsy.
"I don't understand it in the least," continued Louise, looking at her cousins as if she were really bewildered. "I left him in the courtyard last evening to finish his cigar, and he said he would meet us in the garden after breakfast. I am sure he had no intention of going away. And for the honor of American travellers his account here must be taken care of."
"One thing is singular," observed Beth, calmly. "There has been no train since last you saw him. If Count Ferralti has left the hotel, where could he be?"
The portiere brightened.
"Gia s'intende!" he exclaimed, "he must still be in Taormina—doubtless at some other hotel."
"Will you send and find out?" asked Louise.
"I will go myself, and at once," he answered."And thank you, signorina, for the kind assurance regarding the account. It will relieve the padrone very much."
He hurried away again, and an uneasy silence fell upon the nieces.
"Do you care for this young man. Louise?" asked Beth, pointedly, after the pause had become awkward.
"He is very attentive and gentlemanly, and I feel you have all wronged him by your unjust suspicions," she replied, with spirit.
"That does not answer my question, dear," persisted her cousin. "Are you especially fond of him?"
"What right have you to question me in this way, Beth?"
"No right at all, dear. I am only trying to figure out our doubtful position in regard to this young man—a stranger to all of us but you."
"It is really none of our business," observed Patsy, quickly. "We're just a lot of gossips to be figuring on Count Ferralti at all. And although this sudden disappearance looks queer, onthe face of it, the gentleman may simply have changed his boarding place."
"I do not think so," said Louise. "He liked this hotel very much."
"And he may have liked some of its guests," added Patsy, smiling. "Well, Uncle John will soon be back, and then we will talk it over with him."
Uncle John was late. The portiere returned first. He had been to every hotel in the little town, but none of them had received a guest since the afternoon train of yesterday. Count Ferralti had disappeared as if by magic, and no one could account for it.
Noon arrived, but no Uncle John. The girls became dispirited and anxious, for the little man was usually very prompt in keeping his engagements, and always had returned at the set time.
They waited until the last moment and then entered thesalle a mangerand ate their luncheon in gloomy silence, hoping every moment to hear the sound of their uncle's familiar tread.
After luncheon they held a hurried consultation and decided to go into town and search forhim. So away they trooped, asking eager questions in their uncertain Italian but receiving no satisfactory reply until they reached the little office of the tax gatherer at the Catania Gate.
"Ah, si, signorini mia," he answered, cheerfully, "il poco signore passato da stamattini."
But he had not returned?
Not yet.
They looked at one another blankly.
"See here," said Patsy; "Uncle John must have lost his way or met with an accident. You go back to the hotel, Louise, and wait there in case he returns home another way. Beth and I will follow some of these paths and see if we can find him."
"He may have sprained an ankle, and be unable to walk," suggested Beth. "I think Patsy's advice is good."
So Louise returned through the town and the other girls began exploring the paths that led into the mountains from every turn of the highway. But although they searched eagerly and followed each path a mile or more of its length, no sign of life did they encounter—much lessa sight of their missing uncle. The paths were wild and unfrequented, only on the Catania road itself a peasant now and then being found patiently trudging along or driving before him a donkey laden with panniers of oranges or lemons for the markets of Taormina.
On some of the solitary rocky paths they called to Uncle John by name, hoping that their voices might reach him; but only the echoes replied. Finally they grew discouraged.
"It will be sunset before we get back, even if we start this minute," said Beth, finally. "Let us return, and get some one to help us."
Patsy burst into tears.
"Oh, I'm sure he's lost, or murdered, or kidnapped!" she wailed. "Dear, dear Uncle John! Whatever shall we do, Beth?"
"Why, he may be at home, waiting for us to get back. Don't give way, Patsy; it will do no good, you know."
They were thoroughly tired when, just at sunset, they reached the hotel. Louise came to meet them, and by the question in her eyes they knew their uncle had not returned.
"Something must be done, and at once," said Beth, decidedly. She was the younger of the three girls, but in this emergency took the lead because of her calm and unruffled disposition and native good sense. "Is Frascatti in the courtyard?"
Patsy ran to see, and soon brought the vetturino into their sitting room. He could speak English and knew the neighborhood thoroughly. He ought to be able to advise them.
Frascatti listened intently to their story. He was very evidently impressed.
"Tell me, then, signorini," he said, thoughtfully; "is Senor Merreek very rich?"
"Why do you ask?" returned Beth, suspiciously. She remembered the warning conveyed in Mr. Watson's letter.
"Of course, I know that all the Americans who travel are rich," continued Frascatti. "I have myself been in Chicago, which is America. But is Signor Merreek a very rich and well acquainted man in his own country? Believe me, it is well that you answer truly."
"I think he is."
The man looked cautiously around, and then came nearer and dropped his voice to a whisper.
"Are you aware that Il Duca knows this?" he asked.
Beth thought a moment.
"We met the man you call Il Duca, but who told us he was Signor Victor Valdi, on board the ship, where many of the passengers knew my uncle well. If he listened to their conversation he would soon know all about John Merrick, of course."
Frascatti wagged his head solemnly.
"Then, signorina," he said, still speaking very softly, "I assure you there is no need to worry over your uncle's safety."
"What do you mean?" demanded Beth.
"People do not lose their way in our mountains," he replied. "The paths are straight, and lead all to the highways. And there is little danger of falling or of being injured. But—I regret to say it, signorini—it is a reflection upon our advanced civilization and the good name of our people—but sometimes a man who is rich disappears for a time, and no one knows how itis, or where he may be. He always returns; but then he is not so rich."
"I understand. My uncle is captured by brigands, you think."
"There are no brigands, signorina."
"Or the Mafia, then."
"I do not know the Mafia. All I know is that the very rich should keep their riches secret when they travel. In Chicago, which is America, they will knock you upon the head for a few miserable dollars; here my countrymen scorn to attack or to rob the common people. But when a man is so very rich that he does not need all of his money, there are, I regret to say, some lawless ones in Sicily who insist that he divide with them. But the prisoner is always well treated, and when he pays he is sent away very happy."
"Suppose he does not pay?"
"Ah, signorina, will not a drowning man clutch the raft that floats by? And the lawless ones do not take his all—merely a part."
The girls looked at one another helplessly.
"What must we do, Frascatti?" asked Patsy.
"Wait. In a day—two days, perhaps—you will hear from your uncle. He will tell you how to send money to the lawless ones. You will follow his instructions, and he will come home with smiles and singing. I know. It is very regrettable, but it is so."
"It will not be so in this case," said Beth, indignantly. "I will see the American consul—"
"I am sorry, but there is none here."
"I will telegraph to Messina for the military. They will search the mountains, and bring your brigands to justice."
Frascatti smiled sadly.
"Oh, yes; perhaps they will come. But the military is Italian—not Sicilian—and has no experience in these parts. The search will find nothing, except perhaps a dead body thrown upon the rocks to defy justice. It is very regrettable, signorina; but it is so."
Patsy was wringing her hands, frantic with terror. Louise was white and staring. Beth puckered her pretty brow in a frown and tried to think.
"Ferralti is also gone," murmured Louise, ina hoarse voice. "They will rob or murder him with Uncle John!"
"I am quite convinced," said Beth, coldly, "that your false count is a fellow conspirator of the brigand called Il Duca. He has been following us around to get a chance to ensnare Uncle John."
"Oh, no, no, Beth! It is not so! I know better than that."
"He would lie to you, of course," returned the girl bitterly. "As soon as the trap was set he disappeared, bag and baggage, and left the simple girl he had fooled to her own devices."
"You do not know what you are saying," retorted Louise, turning her back to Beth and walking to a window. From where they stood they could hear her sobbing miserably.
"Whether Frascatti is right or not," said Patsy, drying her eyes and trying to be brave, "we ought to search for Uncle John at once."
"I think so, too," agreed Beth. Then, turning to the Sicilian, she said: "Will you get together as many men as possible and search thehills, with lanterns, for my uncle? You shall be well paid for all you do."
"Most certainly, signorina, if it will please you," he replied. "How long do you wish us to search?"
"Until you find him."
"Then must we grow old in your service.Non fa niente!It is regrettable, but—"
"Will you go at once?" stamping her foot angrily.
"Most certainly, signorina."
"Then lose no time. I will go with you and see you start."
She followed the man out, and kept at his side until he had secured several servants with lanterns for the search. The promise of highcaparraor earnest money made all eager to join the band, but the padrone could only allow a half dozen to leave their stations at the hotel. In the town, however, whither Beth accompanied them, a score of sleepy looking fellows were speedily secured, and under the command of Frascatti, who had resolved to earn his money by energy and good will because there was no chance of success, they marched out of the Catania Gate and scattered along the mountain paths.
"If you find Uncle John before morning I will give you a thousand lira additional," promised Beth.
"We will search faithfully," replied her captain, "but the signorina must not be disappointed if the lawless ones evade us. They have a way of hiding close in the caves, where none may find them. It is regrettable, very; but it is so."
Then he followed his men to the mountains, and as the last glimmer from his lantern died away the girl sighed heavily and returned alone through the deserted streets to the hotel.
Clouds hid the moon and the night was black and forbidding; but it did not occur to her to be afraid.
Uncle John's nieces passed a miserable night. Patsy stole into his room and prayed fervently beside his bed that her dear uncle might be preserved and restored to them in health and safety. Beth, meantime, paced the room she shared with Patsy with knitted brows and flashing eyes, the flush in her cheeks growing deeper as her anger increased. An ungovernable temper was the girl's worst failing; the abductors of her uncle were arousing in her the most violent passions of which she was capable, and might lead her to adopt desperate measures. She was only a country girl, and little experienced in life, yet Beth might be expected to undertake extraordinary things if, as she expressed it, if she "got good and mad!"
No sound was heard during the night from the room occupied by Louise, but the morning disclosed a white, drawn face and reddened eyelids as proof that she had rested as little as her cousins.
Yet, singularly enough, Louise was the most composed of the three when they gathered in the little sitting room at daybreak, and tried earnestly to cheer the spirits of her cousins. Louise never conveyed the impression of being especially sincere, but the pleasant words and manners she habitually assumed rendered her an agreeable companion, and this faculty of masking her real feelings now stood her in good stead and served to relieve the weight of anxiety that oppressed them all.
Frascatti came limping back with his tired followers in the early dawn, and reported that no trace of the missing man had been observed. There were no brigands and no Mafia; on that point all his fellow townsmen agreed with him fully. But it was barely possible some lawless ones who were all unknown to the honest Taorminians had made the rich American a prisoner.
Il Duca? Oh, no, signorini! A thousandtimes, no. Il Duca was queer and unsociable, but not lawless. He was of noble family and a native of the district. It would be very wrong and foolish to question Il Duca's integrity.
With this assertion Frascatti went to bed. He had not shirked the search, because he was paid for it, and he and his men had tramped the mountains faithfully all night, well knowing it would result in nothing but earning their money.
On the morning train from Catania arrived Silas Watson and his young ward Kenneth Forbes, the boy who had so unexpectedly inherited Aunt Jane's fine estate of Elmhurst on her death. The discovery of a will which gave to Kenneth all the property their aunt had intended for her nieces had not caused the slightest estrangement between the young folks, then or afterward. On the contrary, the girls were all glad that the gloomy, neglected boy, with his artistic, high-strung temperament, would be so well provided for. Without the inheritance he would have been an outcast; now he was able to travel with his guardian, the kindly old Elmhurst lawyer, and fit himself for his future important position in the world. More than all this, however, Kenneth had resolved to be a great landscape painter, and Italy and Sicily had done much, in the past year, to prepare him for this career.
The boy greeted his old friends with eager delight, not noticing for the moment their anxious faces and perturbed demeanor. But the lawyer's sharp eyes saw at once that something was wrong.
"Where is John Merrick?" he asked.
"Oh, I'm so glad you've come!" cried Patsy, clinging to his hand.
"We are in sore straits, indeed, Mr. Watson," said Louise.
"Uncle John is lost," explained Beth, "and we're afraid he is in the hands of brigands."
Then she related as calmly as she could all that had happened. The relation was clear and concise. She told of their meeting with Valdi on the ship, of Count Ferralti's persistence in attaching himself to their party, and of Uncle John's discovery that the young man was posing under an assumed name. She did not fail tomention Ferralti's timely assistance on the Amalfi drive, or his subsequent devoted attentions to Louise; but the latter Beth considered merely as an excuse for following them around.
"In my opinion," said she, "we have been watched ever since we left America, by these two spies, who had resolved to get Uncle John into some unfrequented place and then rob him. If they succeed in their vile plot, Mr. Watson, we shall be humiliated and disgraced forever."
"Tut-tut," said he; "don't think of that. Let us consider John Merrick, and nothing else."
Louise protested that Beth had not been fair in her conclusions. The Count was an honorable man; she would vouch for his character herself.
But Mr. Watson did not heed this defense. The matter was very serious—how serious he alone realized—and his face was grave indeed as he listened to the descriptions of that terrible Il Duca whom the natives all shrank from and refused to discuss.
When he had learned all the nieces had to tell he hastened into the town and telegraphed theAmerican consul at Messina. Then he found the questura, or police office, and was assured by the officer in attendance that the disappearance of Mr. Merrick was already known to the authorities and every effort was being made to find him.
"Do you think he has been abducted by brigands?" asked the lawyer.
"Brigands, signore?" was the astonished reply. "There are no brigands in this district at all. We drove them out many years ago."
"How about Il Duca?"
"And who is that, signore?"
"Don't you know?"
"I assure you we have no official knowledge of such a person. There are dukes in Sicily, to be sure; but 'Il Duca' means nothing. Perhaps you can tell me to whom you refer?"
"See here," said the lawyer, brusquely; "I know your methods,questore mia, but they won't prove effective in this case. If you think an American is helpless in this country you are very much mistaken. But, to save time, I am willingto submit to your official requirements. I will pay you well for the rescue of my friend."
"All shall be done that is possible."
"But if you do not find him at once, and return him to us unharmed, I will have a regiment of soldiers in Taormina to search your mountains and break up the bands of brigands that infest them. When I prove that brigands are here and that you were not aware of them, you will be disgraced and deposed from your office."
The official shrugged his shoulders, a gesture in which the Sicilian is as expert as the Frenchman.
"I will welcome the soldiery," said he; "but you will be able to prove nothing. The offer of a reward may accomplish more—if it is great enough to be interesting."
"How great is that?"
"Can I value your friend? You must name the reward yourself. But even then I can promise nothing. In the course of our duty every effort is now being made to find the missing American. But we work in the dark, as you know. Your friend may be a suicide; he mayhave lost his mind and wandered into the wilderness; he may have committed some crime and absconded. How do I know? You say he is missing, but that is no reason the brigands have him, even did brigands exist, which I doubt. Rest assured, signore, that rigid search will be made. It is my boast that I leave no duty unfulfilled."
Mr. Watson walked back to the telegraph office and found an answer to his message. The American consul was ill and had gone to Naples for treatment. When he returned, his clerk stated, the matter of the disappearance of John Merrick would immediately be investigated.
Feeling extremely helpless and more fearful for his friend than before, the lawyer returned to the hotel for a conference with the nieces.
"How much of a reward shall I offer?" he asked. "That seems to be the only thing that can be depended upon to secure results."
"Give them a million—Uncle John won't mind," cried Patsy, earnestly.
"Don't give them a penny, sir," said Beth. "If they are holding him for a ransom Uncle isin no personal danger, and we have no right to assist in robbing him."
"But you don't understand, my dear," asserted the lawyer. "These brigands never let a victim go free unless they are well paid. That is why they are so often successful. If John Merrick is not ransomed he will never again be heard of."
"But this is not a ransom, sir. You propose to offer a reward to the police."
"Let me explain. The ways of the Italian police are very intricate. They know of no brigandage here, and cannot find a brigand. But if the reward is great enough to divide, they know where to offer a share of it, in lieu of a ransom, and will force the brigands to accept it. In that way the police gets the glory of a rescue and a share of the spoils. If we offer no reward, or an insignificant one, the brigands will be allowed to act as they please."
"That is outrageous!" exclaimed Beth.
"Yes. The Italian government deplores it. It is trying hard to break up a system that has existed for centuries, but has not yet succeeded."
"Then I'd prefer to deal directly with the brigands."
"So would I, if—"
"If what, sir?"
"If we were sure your uncle is in their hands. Do you think the party you sent out last night searched thoroughly?"
"I hope so."
"I will send out more men at once. They shall search the hills in every direction. Should they find nothing our worst fears will be confirmed, and then—"
"Well, Mr. Watson?"
"Then we must wait for the brigands to dictate the terms of a ransom, and make the best bargain we can."
"That seems sensible," said Kenneth, and both Patsy and Louise agreed with him, although it would be tedious waiting.
But Beth only bit her lip and frowned.
Mr. Watson's searching party was maintained all day—for two days, and three; but without result. Then they waited for the brigands toact. But a week dragged painfully by and no word of John Merrick's whereabouts reached the ears of the weary watchers.