Uncle John turned to the right, striding along with
his usual deliberation, smoking his pipe and swinging his cane as he
approached the stone dwelling that formed the center of the little
settlement. As yet no sign of human life had he observed since Tato had
disappeared, although a few cows were standing in a green meadow and
some goats scrambled among the loose rocks at the further end of the
enclosure.
Around the house the grounds had been laid out in gardens, with flowers
and shrubbery, hedges and shade trees scattered about. Chickens clucked
and strutted along the paths and an air of restfulness and peace brooded
over all.
Uncle John was plainly mystified until he drew quite close to the
dwelling, which had many verandas and balconies and bore every evidence
of habitation. Then, to his astonishment, he beheld the form of a man
stretched lazily in a wicker chair beside the entrance, and while he
paused, hesitating, the man sat up and bowed politely to him.
"Good morning, Signor Merreek."
It was Victor Valdi, or, ignoring the fictitious name, the mysterious
personage known as "Il Duca."
"Behold my delight, Signor Merreek, to receive you in my poor home,"
continued the man. "Will you not be seated, _caro amico_?"
The words were soft and fair, but the dark eyes gleamed with triumph and
a sneer curled the thin lips.
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