 This is Chapter 11 of Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad by L. Frank Baum. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording is by Robert Parker of Story City, Iowa. Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad by L. Frank Baum, Chapter 11. The Eagle Screens! Despite the glories of the Amalfi Road, our tourists decided it was more pleasant to loiter around Sorrento for a time than to undertake further excursions. The mornings and evenings were chill, but during the middle of the day the air was warm and delicious, and so the girls carried their books and fancy work into the beautiful gardens or wandered lazily through the high-walled lanes that shut in the villas and orange groves. Sometimes they found a gate open and were welcomed to the orchards and permitted to pluck freely the fragrant and rich-flavored fruit, which is excelled in no other section of the South country. Also, Uncle John, with Beth and Patsy, frequented the shops of the woodworkers and watched their delicate and busy fingers inlaying the various colored woods. But Louise, mostly kept to the garden, where Count Feralti, being a semi-invalid, was content to sit by her side and amuse her. In spite of the discovery by her uncle of the false position assumed by this young man, Louise seemed to like his attentions and to approve his evident admiration for her. His ways might be affected and effeminate, and his conversational powers indifferent, but his bandaged wrist was a constant reminder to all the nieces that he possessed courage and ready wit, and it was but natural that he became more interesting to them because just now he was, to an extent, helpless, and his crippled hand had been acquired in their service. Uncle John watched the young fellow shrewdly, but could discover little harm in him except his attempt to deceive them in regard to his name and position. Yet in his mature eyes there was not much about Feralti to arouse admiration, and the little man considered his girls too sensible to be greatly impressed by this youthful Italian's personality. So he allowed them to sit with his nieces in the gardens as much as he pleased, believing it would be ungrateful to deprive the Count of that harmless recreation. A regular chaperone might think differently, he reflected, but thank goodness there are no dragons swimming in our cup of happiness. One day they devoted to Capri and the blue grotto, and afterward they lunched at the Cuisizanna and passed the afternoon in the town. But the charms of Sorrento were too great for Capri to win their allegiance, and they were glad to get back to their quaint town and delightful gardens again. The week passed all too swiftly, and then came a letter from Colonel Angelo, telling them to return to Naples and witness the results of the eruption. This they decided to do, and bidding goodbye to Sr. Floriano and his excellent hotel, they steamed across the bay, and found the Vesuvius, a vastly different hostelry, from the dismal place they had left in their flight from Naples. It was now teeming with life, for, all danger being passed, the tourists had flopped to the city in droves. The town was still covered with ashes, but under the brilliant sunshine it did not look as gloomy as one might imagine, and already thousands of carts were busily gathering the dust from the streets and dumping it in the waters of the bay. It would require months of hard work, though, before Naples could regain a semblance of its former beauty. Their friend, the Colonel, personally accompanied them to the towns that had suffered the most from the eruption. At Bascitricasa they walked over the great beds of lava that had demolished the town, banks of cinders looking like lumps of pumice stone and massed from twenty to thirty feet in thickness throughout the valley. The lava was still so hot that it was liable to blister the soles of their feet unless they constantly kept moving. It would be many more days before the interior of the mass became cold. Through the forlorn dust-covered vineyards they drove to San Giuseppe, where a church roof had fallen in and killed one hundred and forty people, maiming many more. The Red Cross tents were pitched in the streets, and the whole town was one vast hospital. Otagano, a little nearer to the volcano, had been buried in Scoria, and nine-tenths of the roofs had fallen in, rendering the dwellings untenable. From here a clear view of Mount Vesuvius could be obtained. The shape of the mountain was greatly altered, and the cone had lost sixty-five feet of its altitude. But when one gazed upon the enormous bulk of volcanic deposit that littered the country for miles around, it seemed to equal a dozen mountains the size of Vesuvius. The marvel was that so much ashes and cinders could come from a single crater in so short a period. Naples was cleaning house, but slowly and listlessly. The people seemed as cheerful and light-hearted as ever. The volcano was one of their crosses, and they bore it patiently. The theaters would remain closed for some weeks to come, but the great Museo Natinale was open, and Uncle John and his nieces were much interested in the bronze and marble statuary that here formed the greatest single collection in all the world. It was at the museum that Mr. Merrick was arrested for the first time in his life, an experience he never afterward forgot. Bad money is so common in Naples that Uncle John never accepted any change from anyone, but obtained all his silver coins and notes directly from the Banca commerciale Italiana, a government institution. One morning he drove with the girls to the museum and paid the cabman a lira, but before he could ascend the steps the man was after him, and holding out a leaden coin, claiming that his fare had given him bad money and must exchange it for good. This is so common a method of swindling that Uncle John paid no heed to the demands of the cabman until one of the guard manips his pally in his uniform of dark blue with yellow buttons and cap placed a restraining hand on the American's shoulder. Uncle John angrily shook him off, but the man persisted and an interpreter employed by the museum stepped forward and explained that unless the cabman was given a good coin in exchange for the bad one, the guard would be obliged to take him before a commisionary or magistrate, but I gave him a good coin and lira direct from the bank, declared Uncle John. He exhibits a bad one, returned the interpreter calmly. He's a swindler. He is a citizen of Naples and entitled to adjust payment, said the other, shrugging his shoulders. You are all leagues together, said Uncle John, indignantly, but you will get no more money out of me. I promise you. The result was that the stubborn American was placed under arrest, leaving the girls at the museum in charge of Feralty, who had made no attempt to interfere in the dispute, but implored Uncle John to pay and avoid trouble. The angry prisoner was placed in the same cab he had arrived in and, with the officer seated beside him, was publicly driven to the office of the magistrate. This official understood no English, but he glowered and frowned fiercely when the American was brought before him. The guard in the cabman stood with bared, bowed heads, and in low tones preferred the charge against the prisoner. But Uncle John swaggered up to the desk and pounded his clenched fist upon it while he roared a defiance of Italian injustice and threatened to bring over a few warships and blown Naples into Kingdom Come. The magistrate was startled and ordered the prisoner searched for concealed weapons. Uncle John doubled his fists and dared the guard to touch him. And then the cabman was dispatched for someone who could speak English. And when an interpreter arrived, the American told him to send for the United States Council and also to inform the magistrate that nothing but war between America and Italy could wipe out the affront that had been thrust upon him. The magistrate was disturbed and preferred not to send for the council. He offered to release Uncle John if he would give the cabman a good lira in exchange for the bad one. The official fee would be five lira, or say three lira, or even two. Uncle John flatly refused to pay anything to anybody. Only war could settle this international complication, bloody and bitter war. The council must cable it once for warships and troops. He would insist upon it. All compromise was now impossible. The magistrate was frightened. The guard is eyes bulged with horror, and he trembled visibly. It was evident that they had made a grave mistake in arresting this mad American who was evidently a personage of great importance and able to declare war at a moment's notice. The cabman, the magistrate, the guard, and the interpreter put their heads together and shattered voluble Italian, all speaking at once in excited tones while Uncle John continued to warn them at the top of his lungs that their country was doomed to sudden annihilation and they were the culprits responsible for the coming calamity. As a result, they bundled the irate American into the carriage again and drove him post-haste back to the museum where they deposited him upon the steps. And then, in a flash, the guard and the cabman disappeared from sight and were seen no more. The victor smiled proudly as his nieces rushed toward him. Did you have to pay another lira, Uncle? asked Patsy anxiously. Not on your life, my dear, mopping his brows vigorously. There are a lot of cutthroats and assassins, policemen, magistrates and all. But when the eagle screams there wise enough to duck, the girls laughed. And did the eagle scream then? Patsy inquired. Just a little, my dear, but if it whispered it would sound mighty loud in this mummified old world. But we've lost enough time for the day. Come, let's go see Narcissus and the Dancing Fawn. And that's the end of Chapter 11. This is Chapter 12 of Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This chapter is recorded by Robert Parker of Story City, Iowa. Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad by L. Frank Baum, Chapter 12. Moving on, here's a letter from my dear old friend Silas Watson, said Uncle John delightedly. It's from Palermo, where he's been staying with his ward and your friend, girls, Kenneth Forbes, and he wants me to love you all over to Sicily at once. Well, that's jolly, said Patsy, with a bright smile. I'd like to see Kenneth again. I suppose he's a great artist by this time, said Beth musingly. Well, how singular, exclaimed Louise. Count Feralte told me only this morning that he had decided to go to Palermo. Really, said Uncle John. Yes, Uncle, isn't that 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 for some time. For Mr. Watson and Kenneth are just leaving Palermo, and he asked us to meet him in another place, all together. A town 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 Termina. Is that in Sicily? Yes. 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 800 feet above the Mediterranean and nestles peacefully in the shadow of Mount Etna. Ah, no, 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 Europe, 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 going to Europe really means. But Sicily isn't on the program 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. Everyone 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 to 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 theater at Tormina? asked Louise. Well, I've never heard of it, but I suppose the Greeks have. If it's there, he replied. But why not wait till we get home, and then go to Keith's, or Hammerstein's? You don't understand, dear. This theater is very ancient, playing menstrual 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 Tormina 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'd 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 grimy here yet. The other nieces agreed with her, so Uncle John went out to inquire the best way to get to Sicily, and to make their arrangements. The steamer, Victor Immanuel, of the Navigazione 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 travelers 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 Europe and emigrating to an island, the first thing we do. Sicily is Europe, all right, Uncle, answered Patsy. At least it isn't Africa or Asia. That ascertain seemed to console him a little, and he grew cheerful again. The evening was beautiful as the day 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 birds. 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 inquired of an officer who passed. That is Stromboli, señor, the great volcano of Lipari. It is always in eruption. Uncle John groaned. Volcanoes to the right of us, volcanoes to the 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, señor, called the officer, passing again, before us is mighty Aetna. 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 in advance, with the outline of the stately mountain rising above and dominating it. And 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, and Beth soon followed her. Before long they entered the Straits of Messina and passed between the classic rock of Scilla on the Calabrian coast and the Whirlpool of Caribdis at the point of the Paramontary of Pharaoh, which forms the end of the famous golden sickle enclosing the bay of Messina. If this is really Europe, 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 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, tobacco, or 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 Taromina. Messina seemed a delightful place, but if they were going to settle in Taromina for a time, it would not pay them to unpack or linger on the way, and 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's 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 Taromina, not this foreign 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 grave question as to whether Signior Ganni's cow had a black patch over its left shoulder or not. Some of the carriages bore signs. Hotel Timio, Grand Hotel San Domenico, Hotel Castello Amare, Grand Hotel Metropole, and so forth. In that of the Castello Amare, the man was awakening and rubbing his eyes, and Uncle John said to him, Good morning, had a nice rest? I thank you, Signior, I am well refreshed, was the reply. By the way, can you tell us where the town of Taromina 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 Amare, inquired the driver politely? Is it in Taromina? Most certainly, Signior, and will you take us? With pleasure, Signior. Oh, I didn't know, I had supposed you were going to sleep again. The man looked at him reproachfully. It is my business, Signior, I am very attentive to my duties. If you permit me to drive you to a splendid, our magnificent hotel, you will confer a favor. Well, how about the baggage? The trunks, Signior, will be 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 Frascati Vietri. Perhaps you've heard of me in America. If I have, it has escaped my memory, said Uncle John gravely. Have you been to America? That's Beth. Surely, Signiorina, I lived in Chicago, which, as you are aware, is America. My uncle had a fruit shop in Southwater, Avia, which is Chicago. Is it not so? You will find few in Tarmina who can the English speak, and none at all who can so perfectly speak it as Frascati Vietri. You are wonderful, said Patsy, delighted with 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 suitcases and traveling bags to the top of the vehicle, and held the door open while his fares entered. And 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. Then, 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. And 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 Feralte since leaving Naples. Well, I don't know, my dear, it wasn't a question of choice, but of necessity. No other hotel seemed willing to receive us. Well, they are 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. And 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 assent across the face of the cape and 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 Frascati, pointing up, the Grand Hotel Castello Amare is not the excellence allocation. Is it a roof? asked Uncle John, critically. Of a certainty, signeura, but it does not show from below, was the grave ripple. At times Frascati 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. The road is new, said he, because we are very progressive and the old road was most difficult. Then it was three hours from the bottom to the top, and 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 excellency 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, the senor has married. Never since the days of Noxos have brigands infested our fair country. When were the days of Noxos? Some centuries before Christ, senor, 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. Well, 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 unwraptured 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 or so later they dashed into the court of the hotel, and the driver, with a loud cry of, uh, and a crack of his whip, drew up before the entrance. The portiere and padroni, or landlord, the latter being also the proprietary, 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 senior American 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 Esolabella and the Capo Sanandria 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 ecstasy of delight. At their feet was a terraced garden, running downward 200 feet to where the crag fell sheer to the sun. 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 far and 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 viturine singing their native songs as the horses 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 Faccino 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 towering 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 into their room. Don't be silly, Patsy, dear, she said, calmly, although as most as greatly affected as her cousin. There are no cows here, so you can't be a milkmaid. Well, can I milk the goats, then? Why, the men seem to do that, my dear, but cheer up. We've only seen the romance of Torromini, yet doubtless it will become in place enough tomorrow. Well, this is the end of Chapter 12. Chapter 13 of Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Philip Griffiths Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad by L. Frank Baum Chapter 13, Il Ducca Beth's prediction, however, did not come true. The morning discovered nothing common place about Torminna. 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 jewellery, antique furniture, antique laces, and antique pottery, all of the most fascinating description. The jewellery was tarnished and broken, the lace had 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 sales room, 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 Frascati's assertion that few in Torminna 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 as their fellow passenger aboard the Princess Irene. Oh, Signor Valdi! cried Patsy, running towards 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 a flannel shirt and Prince Albert Coat he had affected on ship-board, he now wore a native costume, a 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 the 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 Tormena? I am of this district, but not of Tormena, he replied. It is chance that you see me here. Eh, Signor Brugi? 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 centres, 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 meet you again, Signor Ena, he added. Which is your hotel? The Castello am Air. 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. Ilduka is unusual, Signori, he replied. Duke cried the girls in one voice. The man seemed startled. 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. Ilduka 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'm 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 in Manuele. 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 are travellers sat in contemplative awe, until Uncle John declared it was time to return to their hotel for luncheon. As they passed the portiers desk, Mr. Merrick paused to ask that important official. Tell me, if you please, who is Signor Victor Valdi? Valdi, Signor? Yes, the Duke de Valdi, I suppose you call him? I have never heard of him, replied the man. But everyone seems to know him in Tormina. 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 portier dropped his eyes and turned toward his desk. Luncheon is served, Signori, 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 Senior 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, inquired 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 Gurgenty, wherever that is, to study the temples. Wonder if they're Solomon's. They won't get to Tormena 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're 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 whore 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 terrible mafia is still all-powerful on this island, and brigandage is by no means confined to the neighborhood of Castro Giovanni, as the guidebooks would have you believe. The people seem simple and harmless enough, but Kenneth and I always keep our revolvers handy and believe it 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 Tormina, declared Patsy indignantly. Mr. Watson has been in the wilds of the interior, which by decor 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 sure he'd protect us, for he lives here and knows the country. You're sure of a lot of things, dear, said her cousin, smiling, but it would 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 the next morning, and warned his nieces not to touch the dangerous things when they entered his room, but Patsy laughed at him, saying, you're 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 part of my education. Once I won a medal, think of that. So I brought my 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 pop gun 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 Feralty, who was standing in the court, calmly smoking a cigarette. His right hand was still in the 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 smothered each other significantly, as the young man was discovered, but Louise, with a slight blush, advanced to greet Feralty 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 Feralty was expressing his astonishment at so unexpectedly meeting again his American friends, Uncle John discovered their English-speaking cuchier, frascati 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, senore. 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 failed the Victoria. The count was disconsolate of being so cleverly dropped from the party, but could only flourish his hat and wish them a pleasant drive. They descended the winding road to the coast, where frascati took the highway to Sant'Alessio, a charming drive leading to the Tormina Pass. By the way, Uncle John asked the driver, do you know of a duke that lives in this neighbourhood? The laughing face of the Sicilian suddenly turned grave. No, senore, there is the prince discoletta, but no duke on this side of the town. But on the other side? Oh, in the mountains, to be sure there are no women there, older states almost forgotten in our great civilisation of today. We are very progressive in Tormina, senore. There will be a fountain of the ice cream soda established next summer, quite metropolitan, ne se? Quite, but tell me, frascati, have you a duke in the mountains back of Tormina? Senore, 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 perfectly safe. Especial if you stay within the town or take me on your drives. They know me, senore, and even ill duke dares not trifle with my friends. Why should he, frascati, if there is no brigandage? Is it the mafia? 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 illustrious and most innuri. 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 your duke, 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 a slope. The girls and Uncle John eyed one another inquiringly. Our duke seems to bear no good reputation, said Beth, in a tone so low that for us Gatti 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 be a leader of the mafia. Injurious, 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 favour. But my opinion is that he is 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 nobleman to conceal their identity? I do not know, Uncle, answered Louise, casting down her eyes. Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad by L. Frank Baum Chapter 14 Uncle John Disappears Uncle John grew to love Tormena, its wildness and ruggedness somehow reminded him of the rockers 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 cobbles all nodded a greeting to the cheery little American as he passed by. He climbed Marlowe too, a high peak crowned by a ruined castle, and also Mount 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 and climb 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 bonjourno signore, as the stranger passed out on his daily stroll. One afternoon Mr. Merrick went down the hill-path leading from the Castello Amari to Capod 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 for Alti, 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 of the company of a ragged goat herd, 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 for Alti 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 Caggy. 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 girl 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 Signore Feralty 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. Now what, sir, asked the girl, that Signore Feralty 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 padroni is worried, Signore Feralty is American, and Americans seldom treat us wrongfully. Signore Feralty 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 for out his bill. Oh, Louise, gasp Patsy. I do not 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 honour 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 Feralty has left the hotel. Where could he be? The portiere he brightened. Yes, in ten days, he exclaimed, he must still be in Tormina, 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, Signoreina, for the kind assurance regarding the account. It will relieve the Padroni 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 your 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 are just a lot of gossips to be figuring on counter-ferality at all. And although this sudden disappearance looks queer, on the 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's 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. Counter-ferality 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 the Salamanja, and 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 for him. 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 di 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 less a sight of them 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 Tormena. 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 someone 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 Frascati in the courtyard? Patsy ran to sea, and soon bought the veterino into their sitting room. He could speak English and knew the neighborhood thoroughly. He ought to be able to advise them. Frascati listened intently to their story. He was very evidently impressed. Tell me, then, Signorini, he said thoughtfully. Is Signor Merrick 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 Frascati. I have myself been in Chicago, which is America, but is Signor Merrick 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 Ilduca knows this? he asked. Beth thought for a moment. We met the man you call Ilduca, 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. Frascati 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 it is or where he may be. He always returns, but then he is not so rich. I understand my uncle is captured by brigands, do 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 up on 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 for our scatty? 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. For our scatty smiled, sadly. Oh, yes, perhaps they will come. But the military is Italian, not Sicilian, and has no experience in these parts. Thus 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. I am quite convinced, said Beth coldly, that your false count is a fellow conspirator of the brigand called Ilduca. 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 lose his mind. I am quite convinced, said Beth coldly, that your false count is a fellow conspirator of the brigand called Ilduca. He has been following us around to get a chance to ensnare Uncle John. I lied 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 Frascati 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 the hills 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 we must grow old in your service. Non fagnanti, 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 to decide until he had secured several servants with lanterns for the search. The promise of Haikapara, or earnest money, made all eager to join the band, but the Padroni could only allow a half-dozen to leave their stations at the hotel. In the town, however, wither Beth accompanied them, a score of sleepy-looking fellows were speedily secured, and under the command of Frascati, who had resolved to earn his money by energy and goodwill, 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. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Margo Zinberg. 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, 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 a 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. Friscotti 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 Torminans, had made the rich American a prisoner. Ilduca, oh no, Signorini, a thousand times no. Ilduca 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 Ilduca's integrity. With this assertion Friscotti went to bed. He'd not shirk 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, strong 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 thought once that something was wrong. Where's John Merrick? he asked. Oh, I'm so glad you've come, cried Patsy, clinging to his hand. We're in sore straits indeed, Mr. Watson, said Louise. Uncle John has lost, explained Beth, and were afraid he's 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 Faldi on the ship, of Count Feralty'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 to mention Feralty'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've been watched ever since we left America by these two spies who'd 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. Tup, tup, 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 honourable man. She would vouch for his character herself. But Mr. Watson did not heed this defence. The matter was very serious. How serious he alone realised, and his face was grave indeed as he listened to the descriptions of that terrible ill-duka whom the natives all shrank from and refused to discuss. When he had learned all his nieces had to tell, he hastened into the town and telegraphed the American consulate 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's been abducted by brigands? Ask the lawyer. Brigands, senore? Was the astonish supply? There are no brigands in this district at all. We drove them out many years ago. How about ill-duka? And who is that, senore? 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 ill-duka means nothing. Perhaps you can tell me to whom you refer. See here, said the lawyer, Breskly. I know your methods, questormia, but they won't prove effective in this case. If you think an American is helpless in this country you're very much mistaken, but to save time I'm willing to 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 Tormena 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 soldierry, 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 may have 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 on 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're holding him for a ransom, Uncle is in 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 unless they're well paid. That is why they're 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 to act, but a week dragged painfully by, and no word of John Merrick's whereabouts reached the ears of the weary watchers. TATO When Uncle John passed through the West Gate for a tramp along the mountain paths, he was feeling in an especially happy and contented mood. The day was bright and balmy, the air bracing, the scenery unfolded step by step, magnificent and appealing. To be in this little corner of the old world, amid runes antedating the Christian era, and to be able to wholly forget those awful stock and market reports of Wall Street, was a privilege the old gentleman greatly appreciated. So away he trudged, exploring this path or that, leading amongst the rugged cliffs, until finally he began to take note of his erratic wanderings and wonder where he was. Climbing an elevated rock near the path was a privilege the old gentleman greatly appreciated. He poised himself upon its peak, and studied the landscape spread out beneath him. There was a patch of sea, with the dim Calabrian coast standing sentry behind it. The nearer coast was hidden from view, but away at the left was a dull white streak, marking the old wall of Tormena, and above this the rune Citadel and the ancient Castle of Mola, each on its separate peak. I must be getting back, he thought, and sliding along the surface of the rock he presently returned to the path from whence he had climbed. To his surprise he found a boy standing there and looking at him with soft brown eyes that were both beautiful and intelligent. Uncle John was as short as he was stout, but the boy scarcely reached to his shoulder. He was slender and agile, and clothed in a gray corduroy suit that was better in texture than the American had seen other Sicilian youths wear. As a rule the apparel of the children in this country seemed sadly neglected. Yet the most attractive thing about this child was his face, which was delicate of contour, richly tinted to harmonize with his magnificent brown eyes, and so sensitive and expressive that it seemed able to convey the most subtle shades of emotion. He seemed ten or twelve years of age, but might have been much older. As soon as the American had returned to the path the boy came toward him in an eager, excited way, and exclaimed, Is it not sinuremeric? The English was fluent and only rendered softer by the foreign intonation. It is, said Uncle John cheerfully. Where did you drop from, my lad? I thought these hills were deserted until now. I'm sent by a friend, answered the boy speaking rapidly, and regarding the man with appealing glances. He's in much trouble, senore, and asks your aid. A friend? Who is it? The name he gave me is Feralte, senore. He's near to this place, in the hills yonder, and unable to return to the town without assistance. Feralte? Hmm, is he hurt? Badly, senore, from a fall on the rocks. And he's sent for me? Yes, senore, I know you by sight, who does not, and as I hurried along I saw you standing on the rock. It is most fortunate. Will you hasten to your friend, then? I will lead you to him. Uncle John hesitated. He ought to be getting home instead of penetrating still farther into these rocky fastnesses, and Feralte was no special friend to claim his assistance. But then the thought occurred that this young Italian had befriended both him and his nieces in an extremity and was therefore entitled to consideration when trouble and turnover took himself. The natural impulse of this thought was to go to his assistance. All right, my lad, said he, lead on and I'll see what can be done for Feralte. Is it far? Not far, senore. With nervous impatient steps the child started up the narrow path, and Uncle John followed, not slowly, but scarcely fast enough to satisfy his zealous guide. What is your name, little one? Tato, senore. Where do you live? Nearby, senore. And how did you happen to find Feralte? By chance, senore. Uncle John saved his remaining breath for the climb. He could ask questions afterward. The path was in a crevice where the rock seemed once to have split. It was narrow and steep, and before long ended in a cul-de-sac. The little man thought they had reached their destination then, but without hesitation the boy climbed over a boulder and dropped into another path on the opposite side, holding out a hand to assist the American. Uncle John laughed at the necessity, but promptly slid his stout body over the boulder and then paused to mop his brow. Much farther, Tato? Just a step, senore. It is lucky you found Feralte, or he might have died in these wilds without a soul knowing he was here. That is true, senore. Well, is this the path? Yes, senore. Follow me, please. The cliffs were precipitous on both sides of them. It was another crevice, but not a long one. Presently the child came to a halt because the way ended and they could proceed no farther. He leaned against the rock and in a high-pitched sweet voice sang part of a Sicilian diddy, neither starting a verse nor ending it but merely trilling out a fragment. Uncle John regarded him wonderingly, and then with a sudden suspicion he demanded, You are not playing me false, Tato. Eye, senore? Smiling frankly into the man's eyes. You never need fear, Tato, senore. To be your friend and senor Feralte's friend makes me very proud. The rock he leaned against fell inward noiselessly and disclosed a passage. It was short, for there was light at the other end. The strange child darted in at once. This way, senore, he is here. Uncle John drew back. He'd forgotten until now that these mountains are dangerous, and something strange in the present proceedings, the loneliness of the place and the elfish character of his guide, suddenly warned him to be cautious. See here, my lad, he called. I'll go no farther. Instantly Tato was at his side again, grasping the man's hand in his tiny brown one and searching his face with pleading eyes. Ah, senore, you will not fail your friend when he is so near you and in such great trouble. See, I, who am a stranger and not even his countryman, even I weep for the poor young man and long to comfort him. Do you his friend refuse him aid because you have fear of the wild mountains and a poor peasant boy? Tears really stood in the beautiful brown eyes. They rolled down his cheeks as with both hands he pressed that of Uncle John and urged him gently forward. Oh, well, lead on, Tato. I'll see the other side of your tunnel anyhow. But if you play me tricks, my lad! He paused, for a wonderful vision had opened before him. Coming through the short passage, hewn in the rocks, the Americans stood upon a ledge facing a most beautiful valley that was hemmed in by precipitous cliffs on every side. From these stern barriers of the outside world, the ground sloped gradually toward the center, where a pretty brook flowed its waters sparkling like diamonds in the sunlight as it tumbled over its rocky bed. Groves of oranges and of all of lemon and almond trees occupied much of the veil. And on a higher point at the right, it's back to the wall of rock that towered behind it, stood a substantial yet picturesque mansion of stone with several outbuildings scattered on either side. The valley seemed indeed a toy kingdom sequestered from the great outside world, yet so rich and productive within itself that it was independent of all else. Uncle John gazed with amazement. Who could have guessed this delightful spot was hidden safe within the heart of the bleak bare mountain surrounding it? But suddenly he bethought himself. What place is this, Tato? he asked. And where is our friend Feralte, who needs me? There was no reply. He turned around to find the boy had disappeared. Moreover, the passage had disappeared. Only a wall of rock was behind him, and although his eyes anxiously searched the rifts and cracks of its rough surface, no indication of the opening through which he had passed could be discovered. End of chapter 16 The Hidden Valley Uncle John's first inspiration was to sit down upon a stone to think. He drew out his pipe and lighted it, to assist his meditations. These were none too pleasant. That he had been cleverly entrapped, and that by a child scarcely in its teens, was too evident to need reflection. And what a secure trap it was! The mountains ranged all around the valley were impossible to scale, even by an alpine climber. And to one who was not informed of its location, the existence of the valley itself was unimaginable. I had not believed Feralte was so shrewd, he muttered wonderingly, that something was wrong about the fellow I knew, of course, but I had not suspected such a thing as this. Now then, first of all, let me mark this spot so that I will remember it. Just back of where I now stand is the entrance or outlet to the tunnel through the wall. It is closed, I suppose, by a swinging stone, like the one on the opposite side. I saw that one opened, opened by some person concealed from view, as soon as the boy sang his bit of song, which was the signal agreed upon. And I was fool enough, after that warning, to walk straight through the tunnel. You're getting old, John Merrick. That's the only way I can account for your folly. But Feralte hasn't won the odd trick yet, and if I keep my wits about me, he isn't likely to win. Thus ruminating, Uncle John searched the rocky wall carefully, and believed he would know the place again, although which of the rough stones of its surface formed the doorway to the tunnel he could not guess. A ledge of rock served as a path leading to right and left, around this end of the valley, or pocket, in the mountain, as it could more properly be called. Uncle John turned to the right, striding along with his usual deliberation, smoking his pipe and swinging his cane, as he approached the stone dwelling that formed the centre of the little settlement. As yet no sign of human life had he observed since Tato had disappeared, although a few cows were standing in a green meadow, and some goats scrambled along the loose rocks at the further end of the enclosure. Around the house the grounds had been laid out in gardens, with flowers and shrubbery, hedges, and shade trees scattered about. Chickens clucked and strutted along the paths, and an air of restfulness and peace brooded over all. Uncle John was plainly mystified until he drew quite close to the dwelling, which had many verandas and balconies and bore every evidence of habitation. Then, to his astonishment, he beheld the form of a man stretched lazily in a wicker chair beside the entrance, and while he paused, hesitating, the man sat up and bowed politely to him. Good morning, Senior Merrick. It was Victor Valdi, or, ignoring the fictitious name, the mysterious personage known as Ilduca. Behold my delight, Senior Merrick, to receive you in my poor home. Continue the man. Will you not be seated? Caroamico. The words were soft and fair, but the dark eyes gleamed with triumph, and a sneer curled the thin lips. Thank you, said Uncle John. I believe I will. He stepped upon the veranda and sat down opposite his host. I came to see Count Valdi, who is hurt I understand, he continued. It is true, Signore, but not badly. The poor Count is injured mostly in his mind. Presently you shall see him. No hurry, observed Uncle John. Pleasant place you have here, Duke. It is very good of you to praise it, Signore. It is my most ancient patrimony, and quite retired and exclusive. So I see. The house you have honoured by your present, Signore, was erected some 330 years ago by an ancestor who loved retirement. It has been in my family ever since. We all love retirement. Very desirable spot for a brigand, I'm sure, remarks the American puffing his pipe compositely. Brigand, ah, it pleases you to have humor, Signore. Mia, brigand. But I will be frank, it is no dishonour to admit that my great ancestors of past centuries were truly brigands. And from this quiet haven, salad forth to do mighty deeds. They were quite famous, I am told, these olden dukes d'Alcantor. I do not question it. Our legends tell of how my great ancestors demanded tribute of the rich who passed through their domain, for all this end of Sicily was given to us by Peter of Aragon, and remained in our possession until the second Ferdinand robbed us of it. Those times were somewhat wild and barbarous, Signore, and a gentleman who protected his estates and asked tribute of strangers, was termed a brigand, and became highly respected. But now it is different. We are civilised and meek and ruled most lovingly by Italy. They will tell you there is no brigandage in all Sicily. So I understand. Today I am nobody. My name is forgotten. Those around this mountain know nothing of my little estate, and I am content. I desire not glory. I desire not prominence. To live my life in seclusion, with the occasional visit of a friend like yourself, is enough to satisfy me. You seem well known in Torminna. Quite a mistake, Signore. And the natives must have climbed these peaks at times, and looked down into your secluded kingdom. If so, they have forgotten it. I see. I give to the churches and the poor, but in secret. If I have an enemy, he disappears. I do not know how. No one knows. Of course not. You are an improvement on your ancestor's duke. Instead of being a brigand, you belong to the mafia, and perform your robberies and murders in security. Very clever indeed. But again, you are wrong, Signore, replied the duke with a frown. I have never known of this mafia, of which you speak. Nor do I believe it exists. For myself, I am no robber, but a peaceful merchant. A merchant, returned Uncle John, surprised by the statement. To be sure, I have some ancient and very valuable relics in my possession, treasured most carefully from the Medieval days. These I sell to my friends, who are fortunately all foreigners like yourself and can appreciate such treasures, and so obtain for myself and my family a modest livelihood. And you expect to sell something to me, asked Uncle John, understanding very well the Sicilian's meaning. It is my earnest hope, Signore. The American fell silent, thinking upon the situation. The fierce-looking brigand beside him was absurd enough in his way, but doubtless a dangerous man to deal with. Uncle John was greatly interested in the adventure. It was such a sharp contrast to the humdrum unromantic American life he had laterally known, that he derived a certain enjoyment from the novel experience. If the girls did not worry over his absence, he would not much regret his visit to Elduca's secluded valley. It was already midday, and his nieces would be expecting him to luncheon. When he did not appear, they would make inquiries and try to find him. It occurred to him how futile all such attempts must prove. Even to one acquainted with the mountain paths, the entrance to the Duke's domain was doubtless a secret, and the brigand had plainly hinted that the native Sicilians were too cautious to spy upon him or molest him in any way. So far, the only person he had seen was Elduca himself. The child, who had decoyed him, was, of course, somewhere about, and so also was for Alty. How many servants or followers the brigand might have was as yet a mystery to the new arrival. In the side pocket of Uncle John's loose coat lay a loaded revolver, which he had carried ever since he had received Mr. Watson's warning letter. He had never imagined a condition of danger where he could not use this weapon to defend himself, and as long as it remained by him, he had feared nothing. But he had been made a prisoner in so deft a manner that he had no opportunity to expostulate or offer any sort of resistance. Later there might be a chance to fight for his liberty, and the only sensible action was to wait and bide his time. For example, the Duke was saying in his laboured broken English, I have here a priceless treasure, very antique, very beautiful. It was in one time owned by Robert the Norman, who presented it to my greatest ancestor. He drew an odd-shaped ring from his pocket and handed it to the American. It was of dull gold and set with a very small ring. It was of dull gold and set with a half-dozen flat-cut garnets, perhaps antique, perhaps not, but of little intrinsic value. This ring I have decided to sell, and it shall be yours, Signor Merrick. At a price far less than is represented by its historic worth, I am sure you'll be glad to buy it. For how much? asked Uncle John curiously. A trifle, a mere hundred thousand lira. Twenty thousand dollars? The ring of King Roger, how cheap. But nevertheless, you shall have it for that sum. Uncle John smiled. My dear Duke, he replied, you have made a sad mistake. I am a comparatively poor man. My fortune is very modest. The brigand lay back in his chair and lighted a fresh cigarette. I fear you undervalue yourself, my dear guest, he said. Recently have I returned from America, where I was told much of the wealth of Signor John Merrick, who is many times a millionaire. See? Drawing a paper from his pocket. Here is a list of the stocks and securities you own. Also of government and railway bonds of real estate and of manufacturers controlled by your money. I will read and you will correct me if an error occurs. Uncle John listened and was amazed. The schedule was complete, and its total was many millions. It was a better list of holdings than Uncle John possessed himself. You foreigners make queer mistakes, Duke, said he taking another tack. This property belongs to another John Merrick. It is a common name, and that is doubtless why you mistook me for the rich John Merrick. I have noticed, returned the Duke coldly, that this strange delusion of mind is apt to overtake my guests. But do not be alarmed, it will pass away presently, and then you will realise that you are yourself. Remember that I crossed the Atlantic on your steamships in your A. Many people there on board spoke of you, and pointed you out to me as the great man of finance. Your own niece that is called Patsy, she also told me much about you, and of your kindness to her, and the other young Srini. Before I left New York, a banker of much dignity informed me you would sail on the ship, Princess Irene. If a mistake has been made, Srini, it is yours, and not mine. Is your memory clearer now? Uncle John laughed frankly, the rascal was too clever for him to dispute with. Whoever I am, said he, I will not buy your ring. I am pained, replied the brigand lightly, but there is ample time for you to reflect upon the matter. Do not decide hastily, I implore you. I may have been too liberal in making my offer, and time may assist me in fixing a just price for the relic. But we have had enough of business just now. It is time for our midday collation. Oblige me by joining us, Signore. He blew a shrill whistle, and a man stepped out of a doorway. He was an enormous Sicilian, tall, sinewy, and with a countenance as dark and fierce as his masters. In his belt was a long knife, such as is known as a stiletto. Tom Marceau, said the duke, kindly show Sr. Merrick to his room, and ask Guido if luncheon is ready to be served. And turned obediently to escort the American. Uncle John entered the house, traversed a broad and cool passage, mounted to the second floor, and found himself in a pleasant room, with a balcony overlooking the valley. It was comfortably furnished, and with a bow that was not without a certain grim respect, the man left him alone, and tramped down the stairs again. There had been no attempt to restrain his liberty or molest him in any way. Yet he was not slow to recognise the fact that he was a prisoner. Not in the house perhaps, but in the valley. There was no need to confine him more closely, he could not escape. He bathed his hands and face, dried them on a fresh towel, and found his toilet table well supplied with conveniences. In the next room someone was pacing the floor like a caged beast, growling and muttering angrily at every step. Uncle John listened. The brigand seemed to have more than one guest, he thought, and smiled at the other's foolish outbursts. Then he called a word or two of English that made him start. He went to the door between the two rooms, and threw it open, finding himself face to face with count ferrality.