“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.

CHAPTER XIV

UNCLE JOHN DISAPPEARS

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 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:  “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 of the 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.