or 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. "When did
they get you, Ferralti?"

"Last evening. I walked in the garden of the hotel and they threw a sack
over my head. I resisted and tried to cry out. They beat me until I was
insensible and then brought me here, together with my travelling cases,
which they removed from my room to convey the impression that I had gone
away voluntarily. When I awakened from my swoon I was in this room,
with the doctor bending over me."

"The doctor?"

"Oh, they have a doctor in this accursed den, as well as a priest and a
lawyer. The Duke entreated my pardon. He will punish his men for abusing
me. But he holds me a safe prisoner, just the same."

"Why?"

"He wants a ransom. He will force me to purchase an ancient brass
candlestick for fifty thousand lira."

Uncle John looked at his companion thoughtfully.

"Tell me, Count Ferralti," he said, "who you really are. I had believed
you were Il Duca's accomplice, until now. But if he has trapped you, and
demands a ransom, it is because you are a person of some consequence,
and able to pay. May I not know as much about your position in life as
does this brigand duke?"

The young man hesitated. Then he spread out his hands with an appealing
gesture and said:

"Not yet, Mr. Merrick! Do not press me now, I implore you. Perhaps I
have done wrong to try to deceive you, but in good time I will explain
everything, and then you will understand me better."

"You are no count."

"That is true, Mr. Merrick."

"You are not even an Italian."

"That is but partly true, sir."

"You have seen fit to deceive us by--"

Tommaso threw wide the door.

"_Il dejune e servito_," he said gruffly.

"What does that mean?" asked Uncle John.

"Luncheon is ready. Shall we go down?"

"Yes; I'm hungry."

They followed the man to the lower floor, where he ushered them into a
low, cool room where a long table was set. The walls were whitewashed
and bore some religious prints, gaudily colored. A whi