“It really seems as if we have been unusually blessed – or cursed, I don’t know which – with young men who claim titles. Mrs. Alexander wished so intensely for titled young men to travel with, it looks as if she attracted them to our party,” said Mr. Fabian, smiling cynically.
“Is that so?” returned Traviston, but his tone and expression failed to show any resentment or interest in the information. Mr. Fabian wondered, and decided not to tread on thin ice any more, just then.
But Mrs. Alexander was faring much better with the young man in her car. Almost immediately after they had resumed the tour she asked pointedly: “Your cousin’s name, and yours as well, is very English. Perhaps you belong to an old family?”
“Oh yes,” returned Everard. “Both of us came over, this year, on purpose to trace our family-trees. I have learned that my people go back to Adam without a break.”
“Not really!” gasped Mrs. Alexander, astonished at such a long line of ancestry.
“Yes, and Basil now believes he can antedate Adam, and trace some facts about his ancestry that started with a missing link.” Young Everard laughed softly as he spoke, but his companion never having heard of Darwin, believed every word he said; whereas he thought she knew he was joking.
“You and your cousin must be young men of leisure, or you couldn’t spend a whole summer touring Europe in such an expensive car. I noticed how sporty the car was, before I saw either of you,” said Mrs. Alexander.
“That’s just it. When Basil and I work, we have to work like Trojans. But when we finish a contract we take life easy until the next job comes up.”
“Oh, you work? I wouldn’t have said so. What sort of contract work do you do?” asked Mrs. Alexander. The pedestal she had used for her two new heroes, seemed shaking dangerously.
Everard laughed. “Some people laugh at what we call work, but they don’t realize that playing is the hardest kind of work. I sometimes think I will chuck the whole game and knuckle down to the real thing – work that is called work. But money is sweet, and if one likes to spend, then the weak little decision to work as others do, dies hard and I go on with the play.”
Mrs. Alexander suddenly realized that she had misunderstood the young man’s first words. Then he called “playing” his work, and with his money he found playing as hard a work as a poor man finds his labor. So she sympathized with his ideals and thought him a remarkable young man.
Before they reached Turin, she had her suspicions that he was a very important young man; for he had given her certain bits of information that told how well-known he and his cousin were, and how they dodged at certain places to travel incognito to avoid publicity.
CHAPTER XI – THE PLOT IN VENICE
That evening, at Turin, while the Fabian party were preparing to go out and see the city by night, the two young men excused themselves and were not seen again until the next day when the party were to start for Milan. Then they appeared as happy and ready to drive on as they were to join the tourists the day before at the foot of the Alps.
“I thought you had planned to remain in Turin?” said Mr. Fabian.
“We had, but upon getting in touch with Chalmys, we find he is now at his place near Venice, and we must meet him there. The rest of our crowd are there, too. So we will drive with you as far as you travel our road,” explained Traviston.
“Do you know Count Chalmys?” asked everyone in chorus.
“Of course – do you?” returned the handsome boys.
“He toured with me all through Belgium and Holland,” quickly bragged Mrs. Alexander, certain now that these two young men were “somebodies.”
“Why – I really believe you are the people he wrote us about!” exclaimed Everard, honestly surprised at his discovery.
“Yes – he said there were four of the prettiest girls in the party, but he never mentioned their names,” added Traviston.
Now the four girls smiled with gratification, and before they started for Milan, it was half decided to visit the Count at his Italian Estate, before going on to Rome, or other places south of Venice.
At Milan the young men said they would get in communication with the Count and arrange for their going there the next day, Mr. Fabian escorted his girls to the famous cathedral of Milan, and showed them the places of interest in the city, then they resumed the journey to Padua, where they purposed remaining over-night. From there they would drive to Chalmys Palace in the morning, just a few miles from Venice.
During the absence of Mr. Fabian and his companions on the tour of the city, Mrs. Alexander had determined to get all the information she could from the two young men, when they came back to the hotel. And they, seeing how eager she was for them to develop into superior beings of quality, thought to please her that way.
When her friends joined her at the hotel again, the two young men were not there, but she was bubbling over with wonderful news.
“I knew it! I can tell the moment I see a young man with a title. That one who calls himself Basil Traviston, is really a Marquis of France. He came into the title a few weeks ago, but he doesn’t seem to fuss about it any. And his cousin Alan Everard is the son of Count Chalmys. That is why they know him so well.”
“The Count’s son?” gasped Nancy Fabian, unbelievingly.
“Yes, and they were all in Paris together and had planned to join each other again at Venice. But they will meet at Chalmys Palace sooner than they had intended,” explained Mrs. Alexander.
“Why, Maggie, that boy Everard is only some years younger than the Count, unless the Italian looks much younger than he is; besides that, if the Count is from Italy how can the French Marquis be the boy’s cousin? And why do they come from the States?” asked Mr. Alexander deeply puzzled.
Mr. Fabian mistrusted the whole story, yet he had to admit that Traviston seemed most honest the day he spoke of his title and name. So he said nothing, but hoped to be spared further agonies from Mrs. Alexander’s worship of nobility as per her ideals.
Mrs. Fabian was back with Mrs. Alexander, and the two boys were in their car; all were travelling along the road at a good speed, and the girls were picturing what the wonderful old Chalmys’ palace would be like, when a long low car with splendid lines approached, coming from the opposite direction.
“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.
It was a novel experience to exchange motor-cars for the picturesque gondolas of Venice. But it was a luxurious exchange. As they floated along, Mrs. Alexander was deeply annoyed because she was separated from the young folks, and placed beside her husband, who was concerned about so many pigeons living in a city; the boys entertained the girls with descriptions of romances which had a splendid setting in Venice; then they told of the prominent Motion Picture companies who came all the way from America to take their pictures on the spot.
The first evening was spent in passing through the Grand Canal and seeing the wonderful palaces on either side. Mr. Fabian knew the more famous buildings and called them out to his party in the other gondolas.
The gondolier pointed out the Custom House, the Mint, the Garden of the Royal Palace, and other buildings, before they came to a beautiful fairy-like palace.
“Isn’t that a lovely place,” remarked Polly, gazing at the very ancient-looking palace.
“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.
“Well, I tell you what I’d do! I’d tell them what we know of this and then clear them out. It’s my opinion that that dark Count Chalmys fixed up something with these two good-lookers just to get us to visit his old palace and maybe play some tricks on us to get our cash,” said Mr. Alexander, rising to the very peak of tragic imagination.
Mr. Fabian laughed. “Oh no, I don’t think that; but it is all a strange experience, when you try to find a reason for it all.”
“Wall, just keep your eyes open, tonight, and see if I ain’t right in what I said. I bet those three men will get in trouble yet, and I’m going to do my part to protect the gals.”
At Mr. Alexander’s words, Mr. Fabian smiled but did not advise the little man to wait and watch before he took any further steps. He left the room to go and dress for the evening, and Mr. Alexander managed to return the articles he had taken from the boys’ rooms, without being discovered in the act.
At dinner that night, Mrs. Alexander had a very interesting story to relate.
“I was reading in the Grand Parlor of the hotel, when the Count came in. He was surprised to see me, but he said he was waiting for the two boys, who were going out with him.
“Well, we talked for a time, and then young Everard came in. He looked angry about something. He said he had had some things stolen from his room and Traviston was reporting the theft at the desk. They needed the brushes and toilet things and now they had to go without them.
“I thought it was funny, if they were only going out for an engagement, to take any toilet articles along, but I didn’t say anything. While we three were talking, Traviston came in and, oh my! wasn’t he dressed up to kill. I suppose it was the Court costume they wear when they visit royalty. He had the gold star on his breast and a wide ribbon crossed over his chest. He had a long ulster coat that his friends made him put on before they left. He never said a word about why he was dressed up, or where they were going, but I know he is going to visit some big noble – maybe a Prince.”
“Maybe they’re a lot of tricksters in disguise,” sneered Mr. Alexander.
“Why, Ebeneezer! How can you say such mean things before the girls. They know what nice young men they are,” declared Mrs. Alexander.
“I must say,” added Nancy Fabian, “that I met Count Chalmys in Paris just before the Art Classes disbanded, and I never saw anything out of the way. He was always very gallant and kind.”
“You never told me how it was you met him, Nancy,” said her father.
Nancy flushed but decided to speak out. “Well, he was studying art posing at the school, and having the dark beauty and magnificent form of a Greek, he was requested to pose as a gladiator. He explained to me later, that it was the first time in his life that he posed, but he did it for fun more than anything else. I believe him, too, because he certainly doesn’t need the money which was paid for the posing.”
Nancy’s explanation added still other tangles to the maze, and the two men wondered what would be the final ravelling of it all.
While the girls went for their long cloaks to wear, that evening, in the gondolas, Mr. Alexander slipped away to converse with an official-looking man he had met in the corridor. The Fabians and Mrs. Alexander came downstairs first, but were soon joined by the four girls. As they passed the hotel office, Mr. Alexander followed after them.
It was a beautiful night, with a clear sky overhead and twinkling lights bobbing along the Grand Canal, as gondolas passed up and down filled with happy passengers. When the Fabian party in their gondolas drew near the Palazzo Dario, they wondered at the crowd gathered in gondolas along both sides of the Canal.
A row of gondolas was stationed across the Canal on either side of the Palazzo Dario, and Mr. Fabian learned that they could not pass without a permit.
“What’s the matter? I haven’t heard of any important event about to take place here tonight?” said Mr. Fabian.
“No! But ’tis so. Meester Griffet pay much money for use of Palazzo this night. You wait here on line and see the play go on,” said the officer, as he made an opening for the gondolas of the generous Americans to wedge in on the front line.
Thus it happened that not long after the Fabian party reached the spot, a camera-man climbed upon a platform built opposite the Palazzo Dario, and took his seat behind the apparatus. The blinding Cooper-Hewitt lights used in Studios, were so placed over the balcony and entrance of the Palazzo that they would reflect and bring out every detail in the picture about to be taken.
Not a word was heard from anyone in Mr. Fabian’s party, but when a Marquis of France challenged a handsome young nobleman of Italy to a duel over a lovely English girl, and the father of the handsome Italian youth intercepted, the girls in Mr. Fabian’s gondola laughed hysterically. Even Mr. Fabian had to smile.
It was most exciting to watch the two handsome young men they had known in everyday life, now play the leads in this Motion Picture Play. The Count was exceptionally good in playing his part, while the good looks of the two young men made up for any shortcomings in their acting.
“Well, that explains everything!” sighed Mr. Alexander, as the audience in the gondolas were allowed to travel onwards along the Canal.
“Oh, but I can’t believe those nice young men really have no titles!” cried Mrs. Alexander, tears of vexation filling her eyes.
“They have! Didn’t you see for yourself, Maggie?” laughed her husband. “Alan is the heir to the Count’s title, and Basil is a Marquis.”
“I wonder if their fancy names are only for stage use?” said Polly, smiling at the way everyone had been hoaxed.
“Sure! I know their real names,” returned Mr. Alexander, triumphantly. “I knew them before tonight, and I told Mr. Fabian, diden’ I, Fabian?”
“Yes, we know both their reel names,” laughed Mr. Fabian.
“Do tell us who they are? Maybe we’ve seen them at home,” said Eleanor.
“Well, one is Albert Brown and t’other is B. Smith. Both are from the States, and that one from Californy is likely from Hollywood, where this Comp’ny hails from,” chuckled Mr. Alexander.
Early the following morning, before the tourists left the breakfast room, Count Chalmys and his two friends hurried in.
“Well, when will you be ready to visit my palace?” said he.
“What palace?” asked Mr. Alexander, frowning at what he considered a Movie joke from the actor.
“Why, my palace. I expected you to come with me to visit at Chalmys Palace, today. You said you would!” wondered the Count.
“Have you really got a palace?” asked Dodo, innocently.
Her expression caused the others to laugh, and Count Chalmys returned: “Of course I have. Would I invite you to visit me if I had no place to entertain?”
Everyone looked at everyone else, and then at the three actors. Finally the Count began to understand that the Fabian party had not had the slightest inkling of the scene that took place the night before, and so the facts began to come forth.
Mrs. Alexander was the only member in the party who had no interest in visiting the Count, now. When he said that another scene in the play was to take place that afternoon at his palace, the girls were eager to go and watch the interesting picture-making.
So they all started out, Mrs. Alexander going, too; but she insisted upon having it understood that she was not interested in the visit other than to accompany her friends.
Count Chalmys had made elaborate preparations for the guests, and when they sat down to luncheon in the grand old palace, Mrs. Alexander stared in amazement at the crest embroidered on the napkins. The liveried servants came and went noiselessly, carrying services of old plate with the coat of arms in filigree on the engraved edges.
After luncheon the Count showed his visitors the gardens, and then they visited the picture collection he had spoken of at the Paris Art Sale. Mr. Fabian recognized several Old Masters and felt still more puzzled over all he had learned.
Then the Griffet Company arrived and the scenes in the gardens of the Palace began, then several interiors were taken. After the Motion Picture Company had gone, Mr. Fabian said something about returning to Venice.
“Oh, not yet, surely!” exclaimed the Count. “I have ordered dinner for tonight, thinking surely you would remain and spend the evening.”
Thus persuaded, they remained and passed a very enjoyable time. On the way back to the hotel, that night, Mr. Alexander decided to ask the two young men outright, how it was their fellow actor called himself “Count” and lived in such a gorgeous manner.
B. Smith alias Basil Traviston laughed. “Why, Chalmys is a born Italian but he went to America as a boy. He was so handsome that he was engaged over there to take a lead in a picture where his type was needed. He never knew he could act until that trial, but he made so good that they offered him a wonderful salary to stay on with them.
“During the recent war the male line of descent in his family were killed off, so that he came into the title and property of the Chalmys. He never dreamed of such a possibility, as he was but distantly connected with the Count’s family.
“The estate is heavily taxed and debts are greater to pay, than the incomes to be collected, so the Count uses the palace for picture purposes and derives a nice little income that way, also. It is enough to pay the upkeep of the place, anyway, so that he does not have to draw on his own salary to maintain the estate.”
“Then he is a real live Count after all?” gasped Mrs. Alexander, sorrowing because she discovered it too late to avail herself of the information.
“A reel man in America, and a real Count in Italy,” laughed Alan Everard, alias Brown.
One more day was given to Venice, while the tourists visited the collections at the Accademia, took pictures of the beautiful churches and admired the wonderful paintings and sculpturings of San Marco, and other famous buildings.
The two handsome young men bid them good-by that afternoon, as they were going back to Paris to meet the rest of the Company and then go on to Havre where they were to sail soon, for America. And the touring party prepared to leave Venice and start for Florence, the Tuscan City where Mr. Fabian expected to find many wonders to show his students.