THE HIDDEN VALLEY
Uncle John's first inspiration was to sit down upon a stone to think. He
drew out his pipe and lighted it, to assist his meditations.
These were none too pleasant. That he had been cleverly entrapped, and
that by a child scarcely in its teens, was too evident to need
reflection. And what a secure trap it was! The mountains ranged all
around the valley were impossible to scale, even by an Alpine climber,
and to one who was not informed of its location the existence of the
valley itself was unimaginable.
"I had not believed Ferralti was so shrewd," he muttered, wonderingly.
"That something was wrong about the fellow I knew, of course; but I had
not suspected such a thing as this. Now, then, first of all let me mark
this spot, so that I will remember it. Just back of where I now stand is
the entrance or outlet to the tunnel through the wall. It is closed, I
suppose, by a swinging stone, like the one on the opposite side. I saw
that one opened--opened by some person concealed from view, as soon as
the boy sang his bit of song which was the signal agreed upon. And I was
fool enough, after that warning, to walk straight through the tunnel!
You're getting old, John Merrick; that's the only way I can account for
your folly. But Ferralti hasn't won the odd trick yet, and if I keep my
wits about me he isn't likely to win."
Thus ruminating, Uncle John searched the rocky wall carefully and
believed he would know the place again, although which of the rough
stones of its surface formed the doorway to the tunnel he could not
guess.
A ledge of rock served as a path leading to right and left around this
end of the valley, or "pocket" in the mountain, as it could more
properly be called. 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.
"Thank you," said Uncle John; "I believe I will."
He stepped upon the veranda and sat down opposite his host.
"I came to see Count Ferralti, who is hurt, I understand," he continued.
"It is true, signore, but not badly. The poor count is injured mostly in
his mind. Presently you shall see him."
"No hurry," observed Uncle John. "Pleasant place you have here, Duke."
"It is very good of you to praise it, signore. It is my most ancient
patrimony, and quite retired and exclusive."
"So I see."
"The house you have honored by your presence, signore, was erected some
three hundred and thirty years ago, by an ancestor who loved
retirement. It has been in my family ever since. We all love
retirement."
"Very desirable spot for a brigand, I'm sure," remarked the American,
puffing his pipe composedly.
"Brigand? Ah, it pleases you to have humor, signore, mia. Brigand! But I
will be frank. It is no dishonor to admit that my great ancestors of
past centuries were truly brigands, and from this quiet haven sallied
forth to do mighty deeds. They were quite famous, I am told, those olden
Dukes d'Alcanta."
"I do not question it."
"Our legends tell of how my great ancestors demanded tribute of the rich
who passed through their domain--for all this end of Sicily was given to
us by Peter of Aragon, and remained in our possession until the second
Ferdinand robbed us of it. Those times were somewhat wild and barbarous,
signore, and a gentleman who protected his estates and asked tribute of
strangers was termed a brigand, and became highly respected. But now it
is different. We are civilized and meek, and ruled most lovingly by
Italy. They will tell you there is no brigandage in all Sicily."
"So I understand."
"To-day I am nobody. My very name is forgotten. Those around this
mountain know nothing of my little estate, and I am content. I desire
not glory: I desire not prominence; to live my life in seclusion, with
the occasional visit of a friend like yourself, is enough to satisfy
me."
"You seem well known in Taormina."
"Quite a mistake, signore."
"And the natives must have climbed these peaks at times and looked down
into your secluded kingdom."
"If so, they have forgotten it."
"I see."
"I give to the churches and the poor, but in secret. If I have an enemy,
he disappears--I do not know how; no one knows."
"Of course not. You are an improvement on your ancestors, Duke. Instead
of being a brigand you belong to the Mafia, and perform your robberies
and murders in security. Very clever, indeed."
"But again you are wrong, signore," replied the Duke, with a frown. "I
have never known of this Mafia, of which you speak, nor do I believe it
exists. For myself, I am no robber, but a peaceful merchant."
"A merchant?" returned Uncle John, surprised by the statement.
"To be sure. I have some ancient and very valuable relics in my
possession, treasured most carefully from the mediaeval days. These I
sell to my friends--who are fortunately all foreigners like yourself and
can appreciate such treasures--and so obtain for myself and my family a
modest livelihood."
"And you expect to sell something to me?" asked Uncle John,
understanding very well the Sicilian's meaning.
"It is my earnest hope, signore."
The American fell silent, thinking upon the situation. The fierce
looking brigand beside him was absurd enough, in his way, but doubtless
a dangerous man to deal with. Uncle John was greatly interested in the
adventure. It was such a sharp contrast to the hum-drum, unromantic
American life he had latterly known that he derived a certain enjoyment
from the novel experience. If the girls did not worry over his absence
he would not much regret his visit to Il Duca's secluded valley.
It was already midday, and his nieces would be expecting him to
luncheon. When he did not appear they would make enquiries, and try to
find him. It occurred to him how futile all such attempts must prove.
Even to one acquainted with the mountain paths the entrance to the
duke's domain was doubtless a secret, and the brigand had plainly hinted
that the native Sicilians were too cautious to spy upon him or molest
him in any way.
So far, the only person he had seen was Il Duca himself. The child who
had decoyed him was, of course, somewhere about, and so also was
Ferralti. How many servants or followers the brigand might have was as
yet a mystery to the new arrival.
In the side pocket of Uncle John's loose coat lay a loaded revolver,
which he had carried ever since he had received Mr. Watson's warning
letter. He had never imagined a condition of danger where he could not
use this weapon to defend himself, and as long as it remained by him he
had feared nothing. But he had been made a prisoner in so deft a manner
that he had no opportunity to expostulate or offer any sort of
resistance. Later there might be a chance to fight for his liberty, and
the only sensible action was to wait and bide his time.
"For example," the Duke was saying, in his labored, broken English, "I
have here a priceless treasure--very antique, very beautiful. It was in
one time owned by Robert the Norman, who presented it to my greatest
ancestor."
He drew an odd-shaped ring from his pocket and handed it to the
American. It was of dull gold and set with a half dozen flat-cut
garnets. Perhaps antique; perhaps not; but of little intrinsic value.
"This ring I have decided to sell, and it shall be yours, Signor
Merreek, at a price far less than is represented by its historic worth.
I am sure you will be glad to buy it."
"For how much?" asked Uncle John, curiously.
"A trifle; a mere hundred thousand lira."
"Twenty thousand dollars!"
"The ring of King Roger. How cheap! But, nevertheless, you shall have it
for that sum."
Uncle John smiled.
"My dear Duke," he replied, "you have made a sad mistake. I am a
comparatively poor man. My fortune is very modest."
The brigand lay back in his chair and lighted a fresh cigarette.
"I fear you undervalue yourself, my dear guest," he said. "Recently have
I returned from America, where I was told much of the wealth of Signor
John Merreek, who is many times a millionaire. See," drawing a paper
from his pocket, "here is a list of the stocks and securities you own.
Also of government and railway bonds, of real estate and of manufactures
controlled by your money. I will read, and you will correct me if an
error occurs."
Uncle John listened and was amazed. The schedule was complete, and its
total was many millions. It was a better list of holdings than Uncle
John possessed himself.
"You foreigners make queer mistakes, Duke," said he, taking another
tack. "This property belongs to another John Merrick. It is a common
name, and that is doubtless why you mistook me for the rich John
Merrick."
"I have noticed," returned the Duke, coldly, "that this strange delusion
of mind is apt to overtake my guests. But do not be alarmed; it will
pass away presently, and then you will realize that you are yourself.
Remember that I crossed the Atlantic on your steamship, signore. Many
people there on board spoke of you and pointed you out to me as the
great man of finance. Your own niece that is called Patsy, she also told
me much about you, and of your kindness to her and the other young
signorini. Before I left New York a banker of much dignity informed me
you would sail on the ship 'Princess Irene.' If a mistake has been made,
signore, it is yours, and not mine. Is your memory clearer now?"
Uncle John laughed frankly. The rascal was too clever for him to dispute
with.
"Whoever I am," said he, "I will not buy your ring."
"I am pained," replied the brigand, lightly. "But there is ample time
for you to reflect upon the matter. Do not decide hastily, I implore
you. I may have been too liberal in making my offer, and time may assist
me in fixing a just price for the relic. But we have had enough of
business just now. It is time for our midday collation. Oblige me by
joining us, signore."
He blew a shrill whistle, and a man stepped out of a doorway. He was an
enormous Sicilian, tall, sinewy and with a countenance as dark and
fierce as his master's. In his belt was a long knife, such as is known
as a stilleto.
"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.