Then the Duke led his prisoners to the veranda and offered them cigars. These were brought by Tato, who then sat in the duke's lap and curled up affectionately in his embrace, while the brigand's expression softened and he stroked the boy's head with a tender motion.
Uncle John watched the little scene approvingly. It was the first time he had seen Tato since the child had lured him through the tunnel.
"Your son, Duke?" he asked.
"Yes, signore; my only child. The heir to my modest estate."
"And a very good brigand, already, for his years," added Mr. Merrick. "Ah, Tato, Tato," shaking his head at the child, "how could you be so cruel as to fool an innocent old chap like me?"
Tato laughed.
"I did not deceive you, signore. You but misunderstood me. I said Signor Ferralti was hurt, and so he was."
"But you said he needed my assistance."
"Does he not, signore?"
"How do you speak such good English?"
"Father Antoine taught me."
"The monk?"
"Yes, signore."
"My child is a linguist," remarked the Duke, complacently. "Sh—he has been taught English, German and French, even from the days of infancy. It is very good for me, for now Tato can entertain my guests."
"Have you no Italian guests, then?" asked Uncle John.
"No, since Italy owns Sicily, and I am a loyal subject. Neither have I many Germans or Frenchmen, although a few wander my way, now and then. But the Americans I love, and often they visit me. There were three last year, and now here are two more to honor me with their presence."
"The Americans make easier victims, I suppose."
"Oh, the Americans are very rich, and they purchase my wares liberally. By the way, Signor Ferralti," turning to the young man, "have you decided yet the little matter of your own purchase?"
"I will not buy your candlestick, if that is what you refer to," was the response.
"No?"
"By no means. Fifty thousand lira, for a miserable bit of brass!"
"But I forgot to tell you, signore; the candlestick is no longer for sale," observed the Duke, with an evil smile. "Instead, I offer you a magnificent bracelet which is a hundred years old."
"Thank you. What's the price?"
"A hundred thousand lira, signore."
Ferralti started. Then in turn he smiled at his captor.
"That is absurd," said he. "I have no wealth at all, sir, but live on a small allowance that barely supplies my needs. I cannot pay."
"I will take that risk, signore," said the brigand, coolly. "You have but to draw me an order on Mr. Edward Leighton, of New York, for one hundred thousand lira—or say twenty thousand dollars—and the bracelet is yours."
"Edward Leighton! My father's attorney! How did you know of him, sir?"
"I have an agent in New York," answered the Duke, "and lately I have been in your city myself."
"Then, if you know so much, you scoundrelly thief, you know that my father will not honor a draft for such a sum as you demand. I doubt if my father would pay a single dollar to save me from assassination."
"We will not discuss that, signore, for I regret to say that your father is no longer able to honor drafts. However, your attorney can do so, and will, without question."
Ferralti stared at him blankly.
"What do you mean by that?" he demanded.
The Duke shook the ashes from his cigar and examined the glowing end with interest.
"Your father," was the deliberate reply, "was killed in a railway accident, four days ago. I have just been notified of the fact by a cable from America."
Ferralti sat trembling and regarding the man with silent horror.
"Is this true, sir?" asked Uncle John, quickly; "or is it only a part of your cursed game?"
"It is quite true, signore, I regret being obliged to break the ill news so abruptly; but this gentleman thought himself too poor to purchase my little bracelet, and it was necessary to inform him that he is suddenly made wealthy—not yet so great a Croesus as yourself, Signor Merreek, but still a very rich man."
Ferralti ceased trembling, but the horror still clung to his eyes.
"A railway wreck!" he muttered, hoarsely. "Where was it, sir? Tell me, I beseech you! And are you sure my father is dead?"
"Very sure, signore. My informant is absolutely reliable. But the details of the wreck I do not know. I am only informed of the fact of your father's death, and that his will leaves you his entire fortune."
Ferralti arose and staggered away to his room, and Uncle John watched him go pityingly, but knew no way to comfort him. When he had gone he asked gently:
"His father was an American, Duke?"
"Yes, signore."
"And wealthy, you say?"
"Exceedingly wealthy, signore."
"What was his name?"
"Ah; about that ring, my dear guest. Do you think a hundred and fifty thousand lira too much for it?"
"You said a hundred thousand."
"That was this morning, signore. The ring has increased in value since. To-morrow, without doubt, it will be worth two hundred thousand."
Tato laughed at the rueful expression on the victim's face, and, a moment after, Uncle John joined in his laughter.
"Very good, duke," he said. "I don't wish to rob you. Let us wait until to-morrow."
The brigand seemed puzzled.
"May I ask why, Signor Merreek—since you are warned?" he enquired.
"Why, it's this way, Duke. I'm just a simple, common-place American, and have lived a rather stupid existence for some time. We have no brigands at home, nor any hidden valleys or protected criminals like yourself. The romance of my surroundings interests me; your methods are unique and worth studying; if I am so rich as you think me a few extra hundred thousand lira will be a cheap price to pay for this experience. Is it not so?"
The Duke frowned.
"Do you play with me?" he asked, menacingly.
"By no means. I'm just the spectator. I expect you to make the entertainment. I'm sure it will be a good show, although the price is rather high."
Il Duca glared, but made no reply at the moment. Instead, he sat stroking Tato's hair and glowering evilly at the American.
The child whispered something in Italian, and the man nodded.
"Very well, signore," he said, more quietly. "To-morrow, then, if it so pleases you."
Then, taking Tato's hand, he slowly arose and left the veranda.
For a moment the American looked after them with a puzzled expression. Then he said to himself, with a smile: "Ah, I have solved one mystery, at any rate. Tato is a girl!"
CHAPTER XIX
A DIFFICULT POSITION
And now Uncle John, finding himself left alone, took his walkingstick and started out to explore the valley.
He felt very sorry for young Ferralti, but believed his sympathy could in no way lighten the blow caused by the abrupt news of his parent's death. He would