“If there isn’t Chalmys! Coming to meet us!” exclaimed Traviston, to the people in the other cars. “How lovely of him!” sighed Mrs. Alexander, almost running her car into the ditch in her eagerness to see the Count. The long-nosed car drew up beside the touring car and the Count leaned over the side. “Well, this is a great pleasure, Mr. Fabian! And the ladies—how are they? As beautiful as ever, I warrant,” called he, gallantly. The passengers in Mr. Alexander’s car exchanged pleasant greetings with the Count who then asked pardon while he welcomed his two friends. He urged his car along a few feet further until it was opposite the boys’ car, and there they conversed eagerly for a few minutes. Mr. Alexander nudged Mr. Fabian and whispered: “Did you-all hear him say ‘I want to speak to my two friends?’ He diden’ say ‘I want to speak to my son.’” Mr. Fabian nodded understandingly, but watched the Count closely. No look of paternal affection was given Everard, and if he was his son who had been absent from home so long, why wouldn’t the impulsive Italian father greet him eagerly? It was a puzzle that became more intricate, to Mr. Fabian and Mr. Alexander. The Count seemed to forget there were others nearby, and when he said: “The wire read for us to be ready for the scene at the Palace Dario, tomorrow night at nine. That is why I drove out to meet you. I’ll be at the hotel tomorrow, myself, in time to go with you. Then we will all come back to the Palace the next day.” The two young men seemed regretful about something, but they nodded in acceptance of the Count’s orders. Then the other members of the party were addressed. “I find we all have to be present at Venice tomorrow night for an important engagement, and if you, my good friends, will pardon this change of plans, I will be under obligation to you if you go on to Venice now, and visit me at Chalmys Palace a few days hence.” Of course, everyone signified perfect satisfaction at changing the plans, so they all drove along the road together, towards Venice. The Count left them before reaching the city gates, and his last words were: “I will meet you at the hotel tomorrow evening, boys.” “Do you know, Fabian, it all sounds shady to me?” said little Mr. Alexander, puckering his forehead over the queer case. “It may be that we think it is strange because we haven’t the key to the situation,” said Mrs. Fabian, always ready to make allowances for people.