That evening, at Turin, while the Fabian party were preparing to go out
and see the city by night, the two young men excused themselves and were
not seen again until the next day when the party were to start for
Milan. Then they appeared as happy and ready to drive on as they were to
join the tourists the day before at the foot of the Alps.
“I thought you had planned to remain in Turin?” said Mr. Fabian.
“We had, but upon getting in touch with Chalmys, we find he is now at
his place near Venice, and we must meet him there. The rest of our crowd
are there, too. So we will drive with you as far as you travel our
road,” explained Traviston.
“Do you know Count Chalmys?” asked everyone in chorus.
“Of course—do you?” returned the handsome boys.
“He toured with me all through Belgium and Holland,” quickly bragged
Mrs. Alexander, certain now that these two young men were “somebodies.”
“Why—I really believe you are the people he wrote us about!” exclaimed
Everard, honestly surprised at his discovery.
“Yes—he said there were four of the prettiest girls in the party, but
he never mentioned their names,” added Traviston.
Now the four girls smiled with gratification, and before they started
for Milan, it was half decided to visit the Count at his Italian Estate,
before going on to Rome, or other places south of Venice.
At Milan the young men said they would get in communication with the
Count and arrange for their going there the next day, Mr. Fabian
escorted his girls to the famous cathedral of Milan, and showed them the
places of interest in the city, then they resumed the journey to Padua,
where they purposed remaining over-night. From there they would drive to
Chalmys Palace in the morning, just a few miles from Venice.
During the absence of Mr. Fabian and his companions on the tour of the
city, Mrs. Alexander had determined to get all the information she could
from the two young men, when they came back to the hotel. And they,
seeing how eager she was for them to develop into superior beings of
quality, thought to please her that way.
When her friends joined her at the hotel again, the two young men were
not there, but she was bubbling over with wonderful news.
“I knew it! _I_ can tell the moment I see a young man with a title. That
one who calls himself Basil Traviston, is really a Marquis of France. He
came into the title a few weeks ago, but he doesn’t seem to fuss about
it any. And his cousin Alan Everard is the son of Count Chalmys. That is
why they know him so well.”
“The Count’s son?” gasped Nancy Fabian, unbelievingly.
“Yes, and they were all in Paris together and had planned to join each
other again at Venice. But they will meet at Chalmys Palace sooner than
they had intended,” explained Mrs. Alexander.
“Why, Maggie, that boy Everard is only some years younger than the
Count, unless the Italian looks much younger than he is; besides that,
if the Count is from Italy how can the French Marquis be the boy’s
cousin? And why do they come from the States?” asked Mr. Alexander
deeply puzzled.
Mr. Fabian mistrusted the whole story, yet he had to admit that
Traviston seemed most honest the day he spoke of his title and name. So
he said nothing, but hoped to be spared further agonies from Mrs.
Alexander’s worship of nobility as per her ideals.
Mrs. Fabian was back with Mrs. Alexander, and the two boys were in their
car; all were travelling along the road at a good speed, and the girls
were picturing what the wonderful old Chalmys’ palace would be like,
when a long low car with splendid lines approached, coming from the
opposite direction.
“If there isn’t Chalmys! Coming to meet us!” exclaimed Traviston, to the
people in the other cars.
“How lovely of him!” sighed Mrs. Alexander, almost running her car into
the ditch in her eagerness to see the Count.
The long-nosed car drew up beside the touring car and the Count leaned
over the side.
“Well, this is a great pleasure, Mr. Fabian! And the ladies—how are
they? As beautiful as ever, I warrant,” called he, gallantly.
The passengers in Mr. Alexander’s car exchanged pleasant greetings with
the Count who then asked pardon while he welcomed his two friends. He
urged his car along a few feet further until it was opposite the boys’
car, and there they conversed eagerly for a few minutes.
Mr. Alexander nudged Mr. Fabian and whispered: “Did you-all hear him say
‘I want to speak to my two friends?’ He diden’ say ‘I want to speak to
my son.’”
Mr. Fabian nodded understandingly, but watched the Count closely. No
look of paternal affection was given Everard, and if he was his son who
had been absent from home so long, why wouldn’t the impulsive Italian
father greet him eagerly? It was a puzzle that became more intricate, to
Mr. Fabian and Mr. Alexander.
The Count seemed to forget there were others nearby, and when he said:
“The wire read for us to be ready for the scene at the Palace Dario,
tomorrow night at nine. That is why I drove out to meet you. I’ll be at
the hotel tomorrow, myself, in time to go with you. Then we will all
come back to the Palace the next day.”
The two young men seemed regretful about something, but they nodded in
acceptance of the Count’s orders. Then the other members of the party
were addressed.
“I find we all have to be present at Venice tomorrow night for an
important engagement, and if you, my good friends, will pardon this
change of plans, I will be under obligation to you if you go on to
Venice now, and visit me at Chalmys Palace a few days hence.”
Of course, everyone signified perfect satisfaction at changing the
plans, so they all drove along the road together, towards Venice. The
Count left them before reaching the city gates, and his last words were:
“I will meet you at the hotel tomorrow evening, boys.”
“Do you know, Fabian, it all sounds shady to me?” said little Mr.
Alexander, puckering his forehead over the queer case.
“It may be that we think it is strange because we haven’t the key to the
situation,” said Mrs. Fabian, always ready to make allowances for
people.
It was a novel experience to exchange motor-cars for the picturesque
gondolas of Venice. But it was a luxurious exchange. As they floated
along, Mrs. Alexander was deeply annoyed because she was separated from
the young folks, and placed beside her husband, who was concerned about
so many pigeons living in a city; the boys entertained the girls with
descriptions of romances which had a splendid setting in Venice; then
they told of the prominent Motion Picture companies who came all the way
from America to take their pictures on the spot.
The first evening was spent in passing through the Grand Canal and
seeing the wonderful palaces on either side. Mr. Fabian knew the more
famous buildings and called them out to his party in the other gondolas.
The gondolier pointed out the Custom House, the Mint, the Garden of the
Royal Palace, and other buildings, before they came to a beautiful
fairy-like palace.
“Isn’t that a lovely place,” remarked Polly, gazing at the very
ancient-looking palace.
“That’s the Palazzo Dario, of the 15th century, famous for its beauty
and preservation,” replied Alan Everard.
“Oh, is that where you are to——” began Dodo, but Polly nudged her
suddenly and checked what she was about to say.
The two young men seemed not to have heard her unfinished sentence, and
Mr. Fabian was all the more puzzled over the fact.
All the next day was spent in visiting the points of interest in Venice:
the Palace of the Doges, the Museum and the famous old churches and
palaces being on the list. The two young men had said they would have to
be excused as they would be very busy all day, in order to be ready for
the evening’s engagement with the Count.
The very lack of guile and duplicity in the words and the manners of the
young men, caused all the more concern over what was now looming up in
the fancies of the adults in the Fabian party, as a plot that had been
accidentally revealed by the Count.
Mr. Alexander said he would remain about the hotel while the others were
sight-seeing, as he had no use for old buildings. So he waited until
everyone had gone—the two boys to their appointment and the Fabian
party to the palaces and museums, then he went upstairs and boldly
entered the rooms occupied by the two suspected young men.
After half an hour of careful searching he came forth with a huge bundle
under his arm and an exultant expression on his face. Late that
afternoon when the tourists returned to the hotel to dress for dinner
and then take a sail on the Canal, Mr. Alexander beckoned in a strange
manner to Mr. Fabian.
Mr. Fabian followed the little man to his room, and when the door had
been carefully closed and locked, the latter said: “Well, I unearthed
the foxes! I stayed to home on purpose, today, to go through their
belongings, and this is what I found!”
As he spoke, he lifted his coat from the pile on the table. Mr. Fabian
wonderingly examined the articles displayed there. A number of brushes
with silver backs were engraved with the name “Albert Brown.” Several
handkerchiefs were initialed “B.F.S.” A fine Panama hat had a marker
inside that read: “B.F. Smith.” Other small objects which evidently
belonged to the two young men bore their names or initials—the same as
those already read by Mr. Fabian.
“It’s all very queer, and I don’t know what to make of it,” remarked Mr.
Fabian, thoughtfully.
“Well, I tell you what I’d do! I’d tell them what we know of this and
then clear them out. It’s my opinion that that dark Count Chalmys fixed
up something with these two good-lookers just to get us to visit his old
palace and maybe play some tricks on us to get our cash,” said Mr.
Alexander, rising to the very peak of tragic imagination.
Mr. Fabian laughed. “Oh no, I don’t think that; but it is all a strange
experience, when you try to find a reason for it all.”
“Wall, just keep your eyes open, tonight, and see if I ain’t right in
what I said. I bet those three men will get in trouble yet, and I’m
going to do my part to protect the gals.”
At Mr. Alexander’s words, Mr. Fabian smiled but did not advise the
little man to wait and watch before he took any further steps. He left
the room to go and dress for the evening, and Mr. Alexander managed to
return the articles he had taken from the boys’ rooms, without being
discovered in the act.
At dinner that night, Mrs. Alexander had a very interesting story to
relate.
“I was reading in the Grand Parlor of the hotel, when the Count came in.
He was surprised to see me, but he said he was waiting for the two boys,
who were going out with him.
“Well, we talked for a time, and then young Everard came in. He looked
angry about something. He said he had had some things stolen from his
room and Traviston was reporting the theft at the desk. They needed the
brushes and toilet things and now they had to go without them.
“I thought it was funny, if they were only going out for an engagement,
to take any toilet articles along, but I didn’t say anything. While we
three were talking, Traviston came in and, oh my! wasn’t he dressed up
to kill. I suppose it was the Court costume they wear when they visit
royalty. He had the gold star on his breast and a wide ribbon crossed
over his chest. He had a long ulster coat that his friends made him put
on before they left. He never said a word about why he was dressed up,
or where they were going, but I know he is going to visit some big
noble—maybe a Prince.”
“Maybe they’re a lot of tricksters in disguise,” sneered Mr. Alexander.
“Why, Ebeneezer! How can you say such mean things before the girls. They
_know_ what nice young men they are,” declared Mrs. Alexander.
“I must say,” added Nancy Fabian, “that I met Count Chalmys in Paris
just before the Art Classes disbanded, and I never saw anything out of
the way. He was always very gallant and kind.”
“You never told me how it was you met him, Nancy,” said her father.
Nancy flushed but decided to speak out. “Well, he was studying art
posing at the school, and having the dark beauty and magnificent form of
a Greek, he was requested to pose as a gladiator. He explained to me
later, that it was the first time in his life that he posed, but he did
it for fun more than anything else. I believe him, too, because he
certainly doesn’t need the money which was paid for the posing.”
Nancy’s explanation added still other tangles to the maze, and the two
men wondered what would be the final ravelling of it all.
While the girls went for their long cloaks to wear, that evening, in the
gondolas, Mr. Alexander slipped away to converse with an
official-looking man he had met in the corridor. The Fabians and Mrs.
Alexander came downstairs first, but were soon joined by the four girls.
As they passed the hotel office, Mr. Alexander followed after them.
It was a beautiful night, with a clear sky overhead and twinkling lights
bobbing along the Grand Canal, as gondolas passed up and down filled
with happy passengers. When the Fabian party in their gondolas drew near
the Palazzo Dario, they wondered at the crowd gathered in gondolas along
both sides of the Canal.
A row of gondolas was stationed across the Canal on either side of the
Palazzo Dario, and Mr. Fabian learned that they could not pass without a
permit.
“What’s the matter? I haven’t heard of any important event about to take
place here tonight?” said Mr. Fabian.
“No! But ’tis so. Meester Griffet pay much money for use of Palazzo this
night. You wait here on line and see the play go on,” said the officer,
as he made an opening for the gondolas of the generous Americans to
wedge in on the front line.
Thus it happened that not long after the Fabian party reached the spot,
a camera-man climbed upon a platform built opposite the Palazzo Dario,
and took his seat behind the apparatus. The blinding Cooper-Hewitt
lights used in Studios, were so placed over the balcony and entrance of
the Palazzo that they would reflect and bring out every detail in the
picture about to be taken.
Not a word was heard from anyone in Mr. Fabian’s party, but when a
Marquis of France challenged a handsome young nobleman of Italy to a
duel over a lovely English girl, and the father of the handsome Italian
youth intercepted, the girls in Mr. Fabian’s gondola laughed
hysterically. Even Mr. Fabian had to smile.
It was most exciting to watch the two handsome young men they had known
in everyday life, now play the leads in this Motion Picture Play. The
Count was exceptionally good in playing his part, while the good looks
of the two young men made up for any shortcomings in their acting.
“Well, that explains everything!” sighed Mr. Alexander, as the audience
in the gondolas were allowed to travel onwards along the Canal.
“Oh, but I can’t believe those nice young men really have no titles!”
cried Mrs. Alexander, tears of vexation filling her eyes.
“They have! Didn’t you see for yourself, Maggie?” laughed her husband.
“Alan is the heir to the Count’s title, and Basil is a Marquis.”
“I wonder if their fancy names are only for stage use?” said Polly,
smiling at the way everyone had been hoaxed.
“Sure! I know their real names,” returned Mr. Alexander, triumphantly.
“I knew them before tonight, and I told Mr. Fabian, diden’ I, Fabian?”
“Yes, we know both their _reel_ names,” laughed Mr. Fabian.
“Do tell us who they are? Maybe we’ve seen them at home,” said Eleanor.
“Well, one is Albert Brown and t’other is B. Smith. Both are from the
States, and that one from Californy is likely from Hollywood, where this
Comp’ny hails from,” chuckled Mr. Alexander.
Early the following morning, before the tourists left the breakfast
room, Count Chalmys and his two friends hurried in.
“Well, when will you be ready to visit my palace?” said he.
“What palace?” asked Mr. Alexander, frowning at what he considered a
Movie joke from the actor.
“Why, _my_ palace. I expected you to come with me to visit at Chalmys
Palace, today. You said you would!” wondered the Count.
“Have you really _got_ a palace?” asked Dodo, innocently.
Her expression caused the others to laugh, and Count Chalmys returned:
“Of course I have. Would I invite you to visit me if I had no place to
entertain?”
Everyone looked at everyone else, and then at the three actors. Finally
the Count began to understand that the Fabian party had not had the
slightest inkling of the scene that took place the night before, and so
the facts began to come forth.
Mrs. Alexander was the only member in the party who had no interest in
visiting the Count, now. When he said that another scene in the play was
to take place that afternoon at his palace, the girls were eager to go
and watch the interesting picture-making.
So they all started out, Mrs. Alexander going, too; but she insisted
upon having it understood that she was not interested in the visit other
than to accompany her friends.
Count Chalmys had made elaborate preparations for the guests, and when
they sat down to luncheon in the grand old palace, Mrs. Alexander stared
in amazement at the crest embroidered on the napkins. The liveried
servants came and went noiselessly, carrying services of old plate with
the coat of arms in filigree on the engraved edges.
After luncheon the Count showed his visitors the gardens, and then they
visited the picture collection he had spoken of at the Paris Art Sale.
Mr. Fabian recognized several Old Masters and felt still more puzzled
over all he had learned.
Then the Griffet Company arrived and the scenes in the gardens of the
Palace began, then several interiors were taken. After the Motion
Picture Company had gone, Mr. Fabian said something about returning to
Venice.
“Oh, not yet, surely!” exclaimed the Count. “I have ordered dinner for
tonight, thinking surely you would remain and spend the evening.”
Thus persuaded, they remained and passed a very enjoyable time. On the
way back to the hotel, that night, Mr. Alexander decided to ask the two
young men outright, how it was their fellow actor called himself “Count”
and lived in such a gorgeous manner.
B. Smith _alias_ Basil Traviston laughed. “Why, Chalmys is a born
Italian but he went to America as a boy. He was so handsome that he was
engaged over there to take a lead in a picture where his type was
needed. He never knew he could act until that trial, but he made so good
that they offered him a wonderful salary to stay on with them.
“During the recent war the male line of descent in his family were
killed off, so that he came into the title and property of the Chalmys.
He never dreamed of such a possibility, as he was but distantly
connected with the Count’s family.
“The estate is heavily taxed and debts are greater to pay, than the
incomes to be collected, so the Count uses the palace for picture
purposes and derives a nice little income that way, also. It is enough
to pay the upkeep of the place, anyway, so that he does not have to draw
on his own salary to maintain the estate.”
“Then he is a real live Count after all?” gasped Mrs. Alexander,
sorrowing because she discovered it too late to avail herself of the
information.
“A reel man in America, and a real Count in Italy,” laughed Alan
Everard, _alias_ Brown.
One more day was given to Venice, while the tourists visited the
collections at the Accademia, took pictures of the beautiful churches
and admired the wonderful paintings and sculpturings of San Marco, and
other famous buildings.
The two handsome young men bid them good-by that afternoon, as they were
going back to Paris to meet the rest of the Company and then go on to
Havre where they were to sail soon, for America. And the touring party
prepared to leave Venice and start for Florence, the Tuscan City where
Mr. Fabian expected to find many wonders to show his students.