“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 to act.  But a week dragged painfully by and no word of John Merrick’s whereabouts reached the ears of the weary watchers.

CHAPTER XVI

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 ruins antedating the Christian era, and 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 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 Taormina, and above this the ruined citadel and the ancient castle of Mola—­each on its separate peak.