While we were talking another man came out-a sort of under-porter, and when he heard our porter telling that Miss Randolph had gone up to Mola, he said in that case he had made a great mistake, for he had sent an American gentleman who had been inquiring for her to the wrong place. He had supposed that she would be at Sir Evelyn Haines' house, for a bazaar was being held there for the benefit of a charity, and almost all the English and Americans at the hotel San Domenico and the other Taormina hotels had gone to it. The gentleman seemed in a great hurry, the porter had noticed; and he had said that he had come from Palermo in a special train, so as not to waste any time.
"Ah, didn't I tell you what Chauncey Randolph would do?" exclaimed Mr. Payne, turning to me as if we were old friends. I believe Chauncey Randolph has the reputation of being a millionaire; but I don't suppose he's got any more money or is a bit more important than Pa.
We had kept our cab, which was waiting outside, and after a few minutes' discussion between Lady B. and Mr. Payne, it was decided that we should drive straight down to Sir Evelyn Haines', where probably the horrible chauffeur was audaciously passing himself off as the Honourable Jack Winston, whom Sir Evelyn had never met.
Just as Pa was helping Lady B. into a cab, Mr. Payne exclaimed "Molly!" and I looked over my shoulder to see the stuck-up thing I had met in Blois. She was dressed differently, but I recognized her at once. I suppose some people would call her pretty, but I don't in the least, though she may be the sort of girl men like. She was walking, and her fat aunt was hanging on to her arm, and an Italian man leading two donkeys was close behind them.
"Why, Jimmy!" she answered, appearing to be very surprised, and glancing from Mr. Payne to Lady B., from her to Pa and me. She shook hands, then walked up to the cab to speak to Lady B., and had begun explaining that her aunt had had a fall off the donkey she was riding, and they had given up their excursion, when Mr. Payne interrupted her to do a little explaining on his side.
She stood looking perfectly dazed, as he told her how it was now proved beyond a doubt that her chauffeur, of whom she thought so highly, was a fraudulent villain, a thief, and, it was to be feared, even worse. He said that he had suspected for some time, but now his suspicions were confirmed by Lady Brighthelmston, who believed that some terrible evil had fallen upon her son through this Brown. Miss Kedison chimed in, and so did Lady B., and I don't much wonder that it took the girl some time to understand what they were all driving at, sharp as these Yankee women are. When it was clear what they accused the chauffeur of doing, she said it was absolutely impossible, that there was certainly some extraordinary mistake, and she would not believe any harm of Brown. Then Mr. Payne told her that anyhow her father believed, and owing to a warning letter, had come all the way from New York to take her from the clutches of an unscrupulous scoundrel capable of anything. She was surprised at that. Evidently her father hadn't let her know he was coming. Perhaps he thought that if he did, she'd elope with the chauffeur. She had gone from red to white, from white to red, while the three poured accusations on her favourite; but when she heard her father was actually on the spot, she really did look rather handsome for a moment. It was as if a light from inside illuminated her face. "Dad here!" she exclaimed, with her eyes shining. "Oh, then everything will be all right! Where-where is he?"
"Gone down to look for you at the house of Lady Brighthelmston's friend, Sir Evelyn Haines, where your chauffeur is swaggering about like a wolf in sheep's clothing to be presently delivered into our hands," replied Mr. Payne solemnly. "Come with us, meet your father, and be convinced with your own eyes of that scoundrel's guilt."
"If my father is there looking for me, I will go," said the girl. "Aunt Mary, you had better stay here and lie down."
That is the way these American girls order their middle-aged relatives about. If I told Pa to stop somewhere and lie down, he'd tell me to go hang, but Aunt Mary didn't seem to mind. She just bowed to everybody and trotted away, as meek as a fat white lamb, and Mr. Payne engaged another cab for Miss Randolph and himself, and we drove down the hill. Those two were in front of us, and I could see him talking to her all the way like a father-confessor, his face close to her ear; but she never looked round at him once.
I was almost as much excited as Lady B. by the time we stopped at the gate of Sir Evelyn Haines' house, which used to be a monastery. Most things in Sicily seem to have been monasteries or palaces. Our luggage had been sent straight up there from the railway station in another cab, for owing to Lady B.'s state of mind at Syracuse, no word had been sent as to what train we would arrive by. You don't drive in, for it isn't a modern gentleman's place at all, but has been left as much as possible as it was in old, old days. We walked, Lady B. leaning on Pa's arm, I by her other side, and Mr. Payne behind us with Miss Randolph, because she wouldn't go ahead, though I know he wanted to.