“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.