He had been to every hotel in the little town, but none of them had received a guest since the afternoon train of yesterday.

Count Ferralti had disappeared as if by magic, and no one could account for it.
Noon arrived, but no Uncle John.

The girls became dispirited and anxious, for the little man was usually very prompt in keeping his engagements, and always had returned at the set time.
They waited until the last moment and then entered the _salle a manger_ and ate their luncheon in gloomy silence, hoping every moment to hear the sound of their uncle's familiar tread.
After luncheon they held a hurried consultation and decided to go into town and search for him.

So away they trooped, asking eager questions in their uncertain Italian but receiving no satisfactory reply until they reached the little office of the tax gatherer at the Catania Gate.
"_Ah, si, signorini mia_," he answered, cheerfully, "_il poco signore passato da stamattini._" But he had not returned?
Not yet.
They looked at one another blankly.
"See here," said Patsy; "Uncle John must have lost his way or met with an accident.

You go back to the hotel, Louise, and wait there in case he returns home another way.