“It isn’t that,” said Louise, striving to control her emotion.  “He says he hates to be robbed.  He wouldn’t pay a penny if he could help it.”

“Good for the Count!  I don’t blame him a bit,” exclaimed Beth.  “It is a beastly shame that free born Americans should be enslaved by a crew of thieving Sicilians, and obliged to purchase their freedom!”

“True for you,” said Kenneth, nodding.  “But what are we going to do about it?”

“Pay, of course,” decided Patsy, promptly.  “Our Uncle John is too precious to be sacrificed for all the money in the world.  Come; let’s go and find Mr. Watson.  We ought not to lose a moment’s time.”

The lawyer read Uncle John’s letter carefully, as well as the one from Count Ferralti, which Louise confided to him with the request that he keep the young man’s identity a secret for a time, until he could reveal it to her cousins in person.

“The only thing to be done,” announced Mr. Watson, “is to carry out these instructions faithfully.  We can send the cable messages from here, and in the morning Louise and I will take the train for Messina and remain there until we get the money.”

“It’s an outrage!” cried Beth.

“Of course, my dear.  But it can’t be helped.  And your uncle is wise to take the matter so cheerfully.  After all, it is little enough to pay for one’s life and liberty, and our friend is so wealthy that he will never feel the loss at all.”

“It isn’t that; it’s the principle of the thing that I object to,” said the girl.  “It’s downright disgraceful to be robbed so easily.”

“To be sure; but the disgrace is Italy’s, not ours.  Object all you want to, Beth, dear,” continued the old lawyer, smiling at her; “but nevertheless we’ll pay as soon as possible, and have done with it.  What we want now is your Uncle John, and we want him mighty badly.”

“Really, the pirates didn’t charge enough for him,” added Patsy.

So Mr. Watson sent the cables to John Merrick’s bankers and Count Ferralti’s attorney, and the next morning went with Louise to Messina.

Frascatti drove all the party down the road to the station at Giardini, and as the train pulled out, Beth, who had remained seated in the victoria with Patricia and Kenneth, suddenly stood up to pull the vetturino’s sleeve.

“Tell me, Frascatti,” she whispered, “isn’t that Il Duca’s child?  Look—­that little one standing in the corner?”

“Why, yes; it is really Tato,” answered the man, before he thought to deny it.

“Very well; you may now drive us home,” returned Beth, a shade of triumph in her voice.

CHAPTER XXIII

BETH BEGINS TO PLOT

Once back in their sitting-room behind closed doors, Beth, Patsy and Kenneth got their three heads together and began eagerly to discuss a plot which Beth had hinted of on the way home and now unfolded in detail.  And while they still whispered together a knock at the door startled them and made them look rather guilty until the boy answered the call and admitted little Tato.