“It is quite certain, signore.  He has murdered several obstinate people since I have been here, and the outside world will never know their fate.  It is folly to oppose the king.  Were you not rich you would not be here.  Il Duca knows the exact wealth of every American who travels abroad and is likely to visit Sicily.  Many escape him, but a few wander into his toils, for he is wonderfully sagacious.  Mark you:  he does not demand your all; he merely takes tribute, leaving his victims sufficient to render life desirable to them.  If he required their all, many would as soon forfeit life as make the payment; but a tithe they will spare for the privilege of living.  That is why he is so successful.  And that is why he remains undisturbed.  For an American, being robbed so simply, never tells of his humiliating experience.  He goes home, and avoids Sicily ever after.”

“H-m-m.  I understand.”

“But if you do not pay, you are not permitted to leave this place.  You are killed at once, and the incident is over.  Il Duca does not love to murder, but he takes no chances.”

“I see.  But suppose I pay, and then make complaint to the Italian government?”

“It has been done, signore.  But the government is very blind.  It does not know Il Duca d’ Alcanta.  Its officials are convinced he does not exist.  They investigate carefully, and declare the tale is all a myth.”

“Then there is no way of escape?”

“Absolutely none.  Such a condition is almost inconceivable, is it not? and in this enlightened age?  But it exists, and is only harmful when its victims are stubborn and rebellious.  To be cheerful and pay promptly is the only sensible way out of your difficulty.”

“Thank you,” said Uncle John.  “I shall probably pay promptly.  But tell me, to satisfy my curiosity, how does your duke murder his victims?”

“He does not call it murder, as I do; he says they are suicides, or the victims of accident.  They walk along a path and fall into a pit.  It is deep, and they are killed.  The pit is also their tomb.  They are forgotten, and the trap is already set for their successors.”

“Rather a gloomy picture, doctor.”

“Yes.  I tell you this because my nature is kind.  I abhor all crime, and much prefer that you should live.  But, if you die, my salario continues.  I am employed to guard the health of the Duke’s family—­especially the old Duchessa—­and have no part in this detestable business.”

“Isn’t that a bite?”

“No, signore.  It is the current.  It is not time for the fish to bite.”

Uncle John arose.

“Good afternoon, doctor.”

“Good afternoon, signore.”

He left the old fellow sitting there and walked on.  The valley was about a half mile long and from a quarter to a third of a mile in width.  It resembled a huge amphitheatre in shape.

The American tramped the length of the brook, which disappeared into the rocky wall at the far end.  Then he returned through the orchards to the house.