"Tommaso," said the Duke, "kindly show Signor Merreek to his room, and
ask Guido if luncheon is ready to be served."
"_Va bene, padrone_," growled the man, and turned obediently to escort
the American.
Uncle John entered the house, traversed a broad and cool passage,
mounted to the second floor and found himself in a pleasant room with a
balcony overlooking the valley. It was comfortably furnished, and with
a bow that was not without a certain grim respect the man left him alone
and tramped down the stairs again. There had been no attempt to restrain
his liberty or molest him in any way, yet he was not slow to recognize
the fact that he was a prisoner. Not in the house, perhaps, but in the
valley. There was no need to confine him more closely. He could not
escape.
He bathed his hands and face, dried them on a fresh towel, and found his
toilet table well supplied with conveniences. In the next room some one
was pacing the floor like a caged beast, growling and muttering angrily
at every step.
Uncle John listened. "The brigand seems to have more than one guest," he
thought, and smiled at the other's foolish outbursts.
Then he caught a word or two of English that made him start. He went to
the door between the two rooms and threw it open, finding himself face
to face with Count Ferralti.
Pages:
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153