CHAPTER XXIX
TATO WINS
"This is funny!" cried Patsy, appearing before Uncle John with a whiteand startled face. "I can't find Tato anywhere."
"And her new trunk is gone from her room, as well as her gowns andeverything she owns," continued Beth's clear voice, over her cousin'sshoulder.
Uncle John stared at them bewildered. Then an expression of anxietycrept over his kindly face.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"There can't be a mistake, Uncle. She's just _gone_."
"None of you has offended, or annoyed the child, I suppose?"
"Oh, no, Uncle. She kissed us all very sweetly when we left her thismorning."
"I can't understand it."
"Nor can we."
"Could her father have come for her, do you think?" suggested Mr.Merrick, after a moment's thought.
"I can't imagine her so ungrateful as to leave us without a word," saidPatsy. "I know Tato well, Uncle, and the dear child would not hurt ourfeelings for the world. She loves us dearly."
"But she's a queer thing," added Louise, "and I don't trust heraltogether. Sometimes I've surprised a look in her eyes that wasn't asinnocent and demure as she would have us imagine her."
"Oh, Louise!"
"And there's another reason."
"What is it?"
"She reformed too suddenly."
Uncle John slapped his forehead a mighty blow as a suspicious anddreadful thought flashed across his mind. But next instant he drew along breath and smiled again.
"It was lucky I lost that key to the trunk," he observed, still a littleashamed of his temporary lack of confidence in Tato. "It's been lockedever since we left Taormina, so the child couldn't be tempted by that."
"She wouldn't touch your money for the world!" said Patsy, indignantly."Tato is no thief!"
"She comes of a race of thieves, though," Beth reminded her.
"I wonder if Arthur's money is still safe," remarked Louise, followingthe line of thought suggested.
As if with one accord they moved down the hall to the door of the youngman's room.
"Are you in, Arthur?" asked Uncle John, knocking briskly.
"Yes, sir."
He opened his door at once, and saw with surprise the little group ofanxious faces outside.
"Is your money safe?" asked Uncle John.
Weldon gave them a startled glance and then ran to his dresser andpulled open a drawer. After a moment's fumbling he turned with a smile.
"All safe, sir."
Uncle John and his nieces were visibly relieved.
"You see," continued Arthur, "I've invented a clever hiding-place,because the satchel could not be left alone and I didn't wish to lug itwith me every step I took. So I placed the packages of bills inside theleg of a pair of trousers, and put them in a drawer with some otherclothing at top and bottom. A dozen people might rummage in that drawerwithout suspecting the fact that money is hidden there. I've come tobelieve the place is as good as a bank; but you startled me for aminute, with your question. What's wrong?"
"Tato's gone."
"Gone!"
"Departed bag and baggage."
"But your fifty thousand, sir. Is it safe?"
"It has to be," answered Uncle John. "It is in a steel-bound,double-locked trunk, to which I've lost the key. No bank can beat that,my boy."
"Then why did the child run away?"
They could not answer that.
"It's a mystery," said Patsy, almost ready to weep. "But I'll bet it'sthat cruel, wicked father of hers. Perhaps he came while we were out andwouldn't wait a minute."
"What does the hall porter say?" asked Kenneth, who had joined the groupin time to overhear the last speech and guess what had happened.
"Stupid!" cried Uncle John. "We never thought of the hall-porter. Comeback to our sitting room, and we'll have him up in a jiffy."
The portiere answered his bell with alacrity. The Americans were liberalguests.
The young lady? Ah, she had driven away soon after they had themselvesgone. A thin-faced, dark-eyed man had called for her and taken her away,placing her baggage on the box of the carriage. Yes, she had paid herbill and tipped the servants liberally.
"Just as I suspected!" cried Patsy. "That horrid duke has forced her toleave us. Perhaps he was jealous, and feared we would want to keep heralways. Was she weeping and miserable, porter?"
"No, signorina. She laughed and was very merry. And--but I hadforgotten! There is a letter which she left for the Signorina D'Oyle."
"Where?"
"In the office. I will bring it at once."
He ran away and quickly returned, placing a rather bulky parcel in thegirl's hands.
"You read it, Uncle John," she said. "There can't be anything private inTato's letter, and perhaps she has explained everything."
He put on his glasses and then took the missive and deliberately openedit. Tato wrote a fine, delicate hand, and although the English wordswere badly spelled she expressed herself quite well in the foreigntongue. With the spelling and lack of punctuation corrected, her letterwas as follows:
"Dear, innocent, foolish Patsy: How astonished you will be to find Ihave vanished from your life forever; and what angry and indignant wordsyou will hurl after poor Tato! But they will not reach me, because youwill not know in which direction to send them, and I will not carewhether you are angry or not.
"You have been good to me, Patsy, and I really love you--fully as muchas I have fear of that shrewd and pretty cousin of yours, whose coldeyes have made me tremble more than once. But tell Beth I forgive her,because she is the only clever one of the lot of you. Louise thinks sheis clever, but her actions remind me of the juggler who explained histricks before he did them, so that the audience would know how skillfulhe was."
"But oh, Patsy, what simpletons you all are! And because you have beentoo stupid to guess the truth I must bother to write it all down. For itwould spoil much of my satisfaction and enjoyment if you did not knowhow completely I have fooled you.
"You tricked us that day in the mountain glen, and for the first time anAlcanta brigand lost his prisoners and his ransom money through beingoutwitted. But did you think that was the end? If so you failed toappreciate us.
"Look you, my dear, we could have done without the money, for our familyhas been robbing and accumulating for ages, with little need to expendmuch from year to year. It is all in the Bank of Italy, too, and drawingthe interest, for my father is a wise man of business. That four hundredthousand lira was to have been our last ransom, and after we had fairlyearned it you tricked us and did not pay.
"So my father and I determined to get even with you, as much throughrevenge as cupidity. We were obliged to desert the valley at once,because we were getting so rich that the government officials becameuneasy and warned us to go or be arrested. So we consulted together anddecided upon our little plot, which was so simple that it has workedperfectly. We came to you with our sad story, and you thought we hadreformed, and kindly adopted me as one of your party. It was so easythat I almost laughed in your foolish faces. But I didn't, for I canact. I played the child very nicely, I think, and you quite forgot I wasa brigand's daughter, with the wild, free blood of many brave outlawscoursing in my veins. Ah, I am more proud of that than of my acting.
"Innocent as I seemed, I watched you all carefully, and knew fromalmost the first hour where the money had been put. I stole the key toUncle John's trunk on the train, while we were going from Taormina toSyracuse; but I did not take the money from it because I had no betterplace to keep it, and the only danger was that he would force the locksome day. But Ferralti's money--I call him Ferralti because it is aprettier name than Weldon--bothered me for a long time. At the first hewould not let that little satchel out of his sight, and when he finallydid he had removed the money to some other place. I searched his roommany times, but could not find his hiding place until last night. Whilehe was at dinner I discovered the bills in one of the drawers
of hisdresser.
"But for this difficulty I should have left your charming societybefore, as my father has been secretly waiting for me for three days.Having located Ferralti's money I waited until this morning and when youhad all left me I signalled to my father from my window and prepared todisappear. It took but a few minutes to get the money from Uncle John'strunk and Arthur's trouser-leg. Much obliged for it, I'm sure. Then Ipacked up all my pretty dresses in my new trunk--for part of our plotwas to use your good taste in fitting me out properly--and now I amwriting this loving epistle before I leave.
"We shall go to Paris or Vienna or Cairo or London--guess which! Weshall have other names--very beautiful ones--and be rich and dignifiedand respected. When I grow older I think I shall marry a prince andbecome a princess; but that will not interest you much, for you will notknow that the great princess is your own little Tato.
"Tell Uncle John I have left the key to his trunk on the mantel, behindthe picture of the madonna. I stuffed papers into Arthur's trouser legto deceive him if he came back before I had a chance to escape. But Ihoped you would discover nothing until you read this letter, for Iwanted to surprise you. Have I? Then I am content. You tricked me once;but I have tricked you at the last, and the final triumph is mine.
"In spite of all, Patsy dear, I love you; for you are sweet and good,and although I would not be like you for the world I can appreciate yourexcellent qualities. Remember this when your anger is gone. I won't beable to visit you in America, but I shall always think of you in a morekindly way than I fear you will think of the Sicilian tomboy, TATO."