CHAPTER XVIII
GUESTS OF THE BRIGAND
"Good morning, Count," said Uncle John, cheerfully.
The other stared at him astonished.
"Good heavens! Have they got you, too?" he exclaimed.
"Why, I'm visiting his excellency, Il Duca, if that's what you mean,"
replied Mr. Merrick. "But whether he's got me, or I've got him, I
haven't yet decided."
The young man's jaw was tied in a bandage and one of his eyes was black
and discolored. He looked agitated and miserable.
"Sir, you are in grave danger; we are both in grave danger," he
announced, "unless we choose to submit to being robbed by this rascally
brigand."
"Then," observed Uncle John, "let's submit."
"Never! Not in a thousand years!" cried Ferralti, wildly. And then this
singular young man sank into a chair and burst into tears.
Uncle John was puzzled. The slender youth--for he was but a youth in
spite of his thin moustaches--exhibited a queer combination of courage
and weakness; but somehow Uncle John liked him better at that moment
than he ever had before. Perhaps because he now realized he had unjustly
suspected him.
"You seem to have been hurt, Count," he remarked.
"Why, I was foolish enough to struggle, and that brute Tommaso pounded
me," was the reply. "You were wise to offer no resistance, sir."
"As for that, I hadn't a choice," said Uncle John, smiling.
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