“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, 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.  “Il Duca 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 awe until 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.”