"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."