Kitabı oku: «Patsy Carroll Under Southern Skies», sayfa 10
CHAPTER XXI
THE GHOST
When Patsy came to herself she was still in the picture gallery. She was leaning against Miss Martha, who was engaged in holding smelling salts to her niece’s nose. To her right clustered Bee, Mabel and Eleanor, anxious, horror-filled faces fixed upon her. Back of them stood Emily, her black eyes rolling, her chocolate-colored features seeming almost pale in the brighter light the lamps now gave.
As Patsy’s gray eyes roved dully from one face to another, she became again alive to sounds which had assailed her ears at the moment when consciousness had briefly fled. She was still hearing those demoniac shrieks, mingled with savage snarls. Now there was something vaguely familiar about them. But what? Patsy could not think.
“What – is it?” she stammered. “Where – is – it?”
She had begun to realize that the horror she glimpsed in her companions’ faces had to do with those same shrieks rather than her own momentary swoon.
“It’s behind this picture.”
It was her father’s voice that grimly answered her. He stood at one side of the tarnished gilt frame, examining a rope. The rope appeared to spring from halfway down the frame, between the canvas and the frame itself. It ended in loose coils, which lay upon the floor of the gallery.
Patsy stared at the picture, from behind which rose the tumult of horrid sound. For an instant she listened intently.
“Why – why – I know who it is! It’s old Rosita. I’m sure that’s her voice.”
“So the girls here think,” replied her father. “Bee tells me you lassoed her.”
Mr. Carroll’s tones conveyed active disapproval of his daughter’s foolhardy exploit.
“I – I – ” began Patsy, then became silent.
“Well, this is not the time to discuss that side of the affair,” her father continued. “There’s a secret room or cubby-hole, I don’t know which, behind the picture. Rosita is in there and can’t get out. You attended to her arms, I judge. That’s the reason for those frenzied howls. Undoubtedly she’s insane. You’ve had a very narrow escape.”
“How could she get behind the picture without the use of her arms?” broke in Bee. “There’s a secret lever to the picture, of course.”
“She may have been able to work it with her foot,” surmised Mr. Carroll. “Again, she may have purposely left the door open. There may be another way out of the place besides this one. She can’t take it as long as the rope holds. When the door closed, the rope caught. It’s tough, but then, the door must have closed with a good deal of force or it could never have shut on the rope. She’s trying to break it and can’t. That’s why she’s in such a rage. We’ve got her, but we must act quickly. I hate to leave you folks alone here. Still, I must go for help. I can bring half a dozen of my black boys here in twenty minutes. If I could be sure she’d stay as she is now until I came back – ”
Mr. Carroll paused, uncertain where his strongest duty lay.
“I will go for the help, señor,” suddenly announced a soft voice.
Absorbed in contemplation of the problem which confronted them, no one of the little company had heard the noiseless approach down the gallery of a black-haired, bare-footed girl. She had come within a few feet of the group when her musical tones fell upon their amazed ears.
“Dolores!” exclaimed Patsy and sprang forward with extended hands. “How came you here?”
Immediately Mab, Bee and Nellie gathered around the girl with little astonished cries.
“Soon I will tell all. Now is the hurry.”
Turning to Mr. Carroll, whose fine face mirrored his astonishment at this sudden new addition to the night’s eventful happenings, she said earnestly:
“I stood in the shadow and heard your speech, señor. There is but one way into the secret place. It is there.” She pointed to the picture. “I bid you watch it well. She is most strong. She has the madness. Thus her strength is greater than that of three men. If you have the firearm, señor, I entreat you, go for it, and also send these you love to the safe room. Should she break the rope of which you have spoken she will come forth from behind the picture and kill. Now I will go and return soon with the men. You may trust me, for I will bring them. Have no fear for me, for I shall be safe.”
Without waiting for a response from Mr. Carroll, Dolores turned and darted up the gallery. An instant and she had disappeared into the adjoining corridor.
“Dolores is right,” declared Mr. Carroll. “Martha, take our girls and Emily into your room. Lock the door and stay there until I come for you. I don’t like the idea of this child, Dolores, going off into the night alone, but she went before I could stop her.”
“Oh, Dad, why can’t we stay here with you?” burst disappointedly from Patsy.
Patsy had quite recovered from her momentary mishap and was now anxious to see the exciting affair through to the end.
“That’s why.”
Mr. Carroll made a stern gesture toward the picture. From behind it now issued a fresh succession of hair-raising screams interspersed with furious repetitions of the name, “Dolores.” It was evident that Rosita had heard Dolores’ voice and, demented though she was, recognized it.
“Come with us this instant, Patsy. You have already run more than enough risks to-night.”
Miss Martha’s intonation was such as to indicate that she, too, was yet to be reckoned with.
“We’re in for it,” breathed Bee to Patsy as the two girls followed Miss Carroll, and the Perry girls out of the gallery and into the corridor which led to Miss Martha’s room. Emily, however, had declared herself as “daid sleepy” and asked permission to return to her own room instead of accepting the refuge of Miss Carroll’s.
“I don’t care,” Patsy returned in a defiant whisper. “Our plan worked. We caught the ghost. And that’s not all. What about Dolores? Did you ever bump up against anything so amazing? Now we know who the mysterious ‘she’ is. No wonder poor Dolores was afraid of her.”
Now arrived at Miss Carroll’s door, the chums had no time for further confidences. Miss Martha hustled them inside the room, hastily closed the door and turned the key.
That worthy but highly displeased woman’s next act was to sink into an easy chair and in the voice of a stern judge order Bee and Patsy to take chairs opposite her own.
“Now, Patsy, will you kindly tell me why I was not taken into your confidence regarding yours and Beatrice’s presumptuous plans? Do you realize that both of you might have been killed? What possessed you to do such a thing? I know that you are far more to blame than Beatrice, even though she insisted to me that she was equally concerned in your scheme. She merely followed your lead.”
“I’m to blame. I planned the whole thing,” Patsy frankly confessed. “I don’t know how much Bee has told you, but this is the story from beginning to end.”
Without endeavoring to spare herself in the least, Patsy began with an account of the fearsome apparition she had seen on the previous night and went bravely on to the moment when she had seen old Rosita disappear behind the picture.
“I shall never trust either of you again,” was Miss Carroll’s succinct condemnation when Patsy had finished.
“But, Auntie – ”
“Don’t Auntie me,” retorted Miss Martha. “The thought of what might have happened to you both makes me fairly sick. I sha’n’t recover from the shock for a week. The best thing we can do is to pack up and go to Palm Beach. I’ve had enough of this house of horrors. Who knows what may happen next. Just listen to that!”
Briefly silent, the imprisoned lunatic had again begun to send forth long, piercing screams. For a little, painful quiet settled down on the occupants of Miss Carroll’s room. At last Eleanor spoke.
“I don’t believe anything else that’s bad will happen here, Miss Martha.”
Eleanor had come nobly forward to Patsy’s aid. Standing behind Miss Carroll’s chair, she laid a gentle hand on the irate matron’s plump shoulder. Eleanor could usually be depended upon to pour oil on troubled waters.
“Nothing further of an unpleasant nature will have time to happen here,” was the significant response.
“But nothing bad has really happened,” persisted Eleanor. “Patsy captured the ghost, who turned out to be old Rosita. Pretty soon she’ll be taken away where she can’t harm anyone. If Patsy and Bee hadn’t been awake and on the watch to-night she might have slipped in and murdered them and us.”
“Not with our doors locked and the keys in them,” calmly refuted Miss Carroll. “True, Patsy and Beatrice might have been murdered. They disobeyed me and left their door unlocked.”
This emphatic thrust had its effect on the culprits. They blushed deeply and looked exceedingly uncomfortable.
“Well, she might have gone slipping about the house in the daytime and pounced upon some of us.” Mabel now rallied to the defense. “Didn’t Mammy Luce see her cross the kitchen and disappear up the back stairs right in the middle of the day? That proves she came here in the daytime too. By those yells we just heard you can imagine how much of a chance we would have had if we’d happened to meet her roaming around the house.”
Patsy took heart at this brilliant effort on her behalf.
“That’s why I saw the cavalier picture move the other day,” she said eagerly. “Rosita had just disappeared behind it. That’s another proof she came here in the daytime.”
“Hmph! Here is something else I seem to have missed hearing,” satirically commented Miss Carroll.
“I would have told you that, truly I would have, Auntie, but I didn’t want to worry you. I thought I must have been mistaken about it at the time and so didn’t say anything. It was the day we found the book in the patio and you asked me what was the matter,” Patsy explained very humbly.
Something in the two pleading gray eyes fixed so penitently upon her, moved Miss Martha to relent a trifle. She considered herself a great deal harder-hearted than she really was.
“My dear, you and Beatrice did very wrong to conceal these things and attempt to take matters into your own hands. You are two extremely rash venturesome young girls. You are altogether too fond of leaping first and looking afterward. I must say that – ”
“They’re coming!” Mabel suddenly held up her hand in a listening gesture.
Even through the closed door the tramp of heavy footsteps and the deep bass of masculine voices came distinctly to the ears of the attentive listeners. Shut in as they were, they could glean by sound alone an idea of what was transpiring in the gallery.
Soon, above the growing hum of voices, came a crashing, splintering sound, accompanied by the most ear-piercing shrieks they had yet heard. A babble of shouts arose, above which that high, piercing wail held its own. Again the tramping of feet began. The frenzied wailing grew even higher. The footsteps began to die out; the cries grew fainter and yet fainter. An almost painful silence suddenly settled down over the house.
CHAPTER XXII
THE RETURN OF DOLORES
It was shattered by a gentle knock at Miss Carroll’s door. Light as was the rapping, it caused the occupants of the room to start nervously.
“It’s Dad.”
Patsy ran to the door, turned the key and opened it.
It was not Mr. Carroll, however, who had rapped. Instead a shy little figure stood in the corridor. Patsy promptly reached out and hauled the newcomer into the room with two affectionate arms.
“Dolores, you brave little thing!” she cried out admiringly. “You went all the way in the dark alone for help. Come over here, dear, and sit down by Auntie. You must be all tired out.”
Patsy led Dolores to a deep chair beside Miss Martha and pushed her gently into it. The girl leaned wearily back in it. For a moment she sat thus, eyes closed, her long black lashes sweeping her tanned cheeks. Then she opened her eyes, looked straight up at Miss Martha and smiled.
“It is the heaven,” she said solemnly.
“You poor, dear child.”
Miss Martha reached over and took one of the girl’s small, brown hands in both her own. The Wayfarers had gathered about Dolores looking down at her with loving, friendly faces. She was, to use her own expression, so “simpatica.” Their girlish affections went out to her.
“There is much to tell,” she said, straightening up in her chair, her soft eyes roving from face to face.
“We’d love to hear it if you aren’t too tired to tell us,” assured Patsy eagerly. “Where is my father, Dolores? Did he go with the men who took Rosita away?”
“Yes. First the señor showed me the way here. He gave me the message. He will take Rosita away in the automobile. So it may be long before he returns. With him went three black men and Carlos.”
“Carlos!” went up the astonished cry.
“Yes. You must know it was for Carlos I went as well as the others. I had said to him many times that Rosita was mad. He would not believe. It was Carlos who brought me to the house of Rosita when my father had the death. Rosita had always for me the hate and abused me much. Carlos cared not. Perhaps he had for me the hate, too. I believe it.
“I have not come to the beach to have the talk with you because of Rosita. She watched me too much of late,” Dolores went on. “She had the hate for you because you came to Las Golondrinas. She was afraid I would see you and tell you she had the hate. She was mad, but yet most cunning.”
“But why did she hate us, Dolores?” questioned Bee.
The Wayfarers had now drawn up chairs and seated themselves in a half circle, facing the little Spanish girl.
“Soon I will tell you. First I must tell you that two days ago Carlos went away. Then Rosita shut me in the cellar. Ah, I knew she had the wickedness planned! All the day I heard her above me, speaking, speaking to herself. Sometimes she laughed and shouted most loud. Then I could hear her words. She cried out often of Las Golondrinas and Eulalie and old Manuel. So I knew what was in her mind.”
“Then perhaps you can tell us who Camillo is or was!” exclaimed Patsy. “You seem to know a good deal about the Feredas.”
“How knew you his name?” Dolores turned startled eyes on Patsy.
Briefly Patsy related the Wayfarers’ one conversation with Rosita.
“I never knew.” Dolores shook her black head. “Comprendo mucho.”
Unconsciously she had dropped into Spanish.
“We don’t understand,” smiled Mabel.
“Ah, but you shall soon know. Now I must speak again of myself. In the cellar I remained until this night. But on the night before this, Rosita went away. She came not back. This night late came Carlos home. I cried out to him and so he released me. He was very tired and would sleep. So he slept and I came here, because I had the fear that Rosita was hiding in the secret place to do you the harm. She had known of it long. Yet she knew not that I knew it, too. It was Eulalie who showed me, once when I came here to see her. We were friends. Rosita was the nurse of Eulalie in her childhood. Eulalie was simpatica, but she was most unhappy. Her grandfather was the cross, terrible old one. He, too, had the madness. He was loco.”
Dolores nodded emphatic conviction of her belief that Manuel de Fereda had been insane.
“It was the midnight when I came here,” she resumed. “I lay in the long grass to listen, but heard nothing. So my thought was that Rosita might be far away and not in the house. I wished it to be thus, for I had the shame to knock on the doors late and say, ‘Beware of Rosita who is mad.’ I knew that in the daylight I should do that and tell you all before harm came. So I lay still and watched the house where all was dark and quiet. Then I heard the voice of Rosita as I have heard it never before. I knew not what had come to her, but I wished to see and give you the help such as I could give.”
“But how did you get into the house, Dolores?” questioned Patsy. “All the doors were locked.”
“I climbed the vines, which grow upward to the small balcony on the western side,” Dolores said simply. “The window stood open and thus I came in the time to help.”
“You certainly did, little wood nymph,” declared Patsy affectionately. “What happened when you came back with the men? We’re crazy to know.”
“The señor asked Carlos of the secret door. Was it the true door, or but the canvas? Carlos knew not. Of the door he knew from Rosita, but not the secret. Never had he passed through it. But I knew that it was the true door with strong wood behind the canvas. So the picture door must be shattered by blows. Thus was loosed the rope which had shut in the door and held Rosita fast so that she could move but a little. It was the surprise when I saw her wrapped in the white sheets. On the floor I saw her long black cloak. I understood all.”
Dolores’ sweeping gesture indicated her complete comprehension of a situation which still baffled her audience not a little.
“How did they get her out of this cubby-hole?” inquired Miss Carroll interestedly.
Fortunately for Patsy, the arrival of Dolores had turned her aunt’s attention temporarily from her reckless niece’s transgressions. Practical Miss Martha was of the private opinion that she had been living through a night of adventure far stranger than fiction. The thought gave her an undeniable thrill.
“She herself leaped out like the wild beast,” Dolores answered. “She sprang at Carlos, but he was ready. The wise señor had said she would do this, because the mad turn fiercest against those they love. The señor and the black men caught her and the señor wound the rope round and round her body. Then they carried her down the stairs and held her fast, while the señor went for the automobile. The señor said she must go to the police station at Miami. Carlos was sad for Rosita had loved him much. He had not believed she was mad.”
“I don’t see how he could help knowing it!” cried Patsy. “Why, we thought her crazy the first time we ever saw her! Mabel asked Carlos about her. It made him angry. I guess he knew it then, but wouldn’t admit it. I’m sure he must have told Rosita about us. That must have been one reason why she forbade you to come near us. Please tell us, Dolores, why she hated us. You promised you would.”
“It was because of the treasure of Las Golondrinas.” Dolores lifted solemn eyes to Patsy.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE MEMENTO
“The treasure!” rose in an incredulous chorus.
“Do you mean that there’s a treasure hidden somewhere about Las Golondrinas?” almost shouted Patsy.
“It is truth,” the girl affirmed. “All his life old Manuel sought but never found. He had the despair, so he was most cruel to Eulalie, pobrecita. How she hated that treasure!”
“Now we know what Rosita meant that day,” put in Bee. “When she said old Camillo had hidden it well. Was Camillo a Fereda?”
“Si; el caballero Camillo de Fereda,” nodded Dolores, then laughed. “Always I think of Camillo in Spanish,” she apologized. “I would say in English: ‘Yes, the gentleman, Camillo de Fereda.’ He lived long long ago. He was el caballero of the painting this night destroyed. I am glad he is gone. He had the wicked face. He was wicked; the pirate and the murderer. Eulalie has told me of him.”
“Then he must have been one of those Spanish buccaneers who sailed the seas and attacked English ships about the time when Ponce de Leon landed here in Florida,” declared Beatrice.
“But that was away back in fifteen something or other,” objected Eleanor. “Las Golondrinas hasn’t been the home of the Feredas nearly so long as that. In those days there was nothing here but swamps and wilderness. Do you happen to know just how old this house is, Dolores?”
“Eulalie has said that many, many Feredas have lived here,” Dolores replied. “All knew of the treasure but could not find. It was the secret which passed from the father to the son. Manuel knew it, but he would never tell Eulalie because she was not the son. She knew only from him that there was the treasure for which old Manuel always searched. She had not the belief in it.”
“Then how did Rosita come to learn of it?” interrupted Bee quickly.
“I heard her tell Carlos that long ago she spied upon Manuel. Once, while he wandered in the woods looking for the treasure, she followed him all the day. He lay down under the trees to sleep. While he slept she crept to him and took from his pocket the letter and the small paper. What was written on the small paper she could not understand, for it was not the Spanish. The letter was the Spanish. For the many long words she could not read it well. So she put them again in Manuel’s pocket. But she swore to Carlos that old Camillo wrote the letter and that he wrote of the treasure which he had hidden.”
“Did you tell Eulalie what Rosita said?” pursued Bee with lawyer-like persistence.
“I dared not. I had the fear she might question Manuel. Then he would have had the great anger against Rosita. Then Rosita would have killed me. When Eulalie was the small child, Rosita was the nurse and lived in Las Golondrinas. It was then that she followed Manuel and read the letter. When Eulalie had the age of fourteen years, Manuel sent Rosita away to the cottage to live. Soon after I came here.”
“Rosita couldn’t have liked Eulalie very well. When we asked her about Eulalie that day she raved and shrieked ‘ingrata’ and goodness knows what else,” related Mabel. “I can understand enough Spanish to know that she was down on Eulalie.”
“She had the anger because Eulalie wished Las Golondrinas to be sold. While Manuel lived Rosita dared not look here for the treasure. When he died she was glad. She wished Eulalie to let her come here again to live. Eulalie was weary of this place of sorrow. She cared not that she was the Fereda. So she sold Las Golondrinas to the señor, your father.”
Dolores inclined her head toward Patsy.
“Now I begin to see why Rosita had no use for us,” smiled Patsy. “She must have had a fine time hunting the treasure before we came down here and spoiled sport.”
“It is truth,” concurred Dolores. “All the day and often in the night she searched everywhere. She had the keys to this house. She came here much while it was empty. It was then, I believe, that the greatest madness fell upon her. She knew nothing that Eulalie had sold Las Golondrinas to the señor until he came here to live. I remember how angry she was. Still she watched and went to the house when the señor was not there.”
“I have no doubt she was tucked away somewhere in the grounds watching when we arrived,” frowned Miss Martha. “We have had a narrow escape.”
“She saw you,” instantly affirmed Dolores. “It was the surprise. She thought the señor would live here alone. Then fell the rain and for two days she went not out of the cottage. I, also, went not out until the sunshine returned. Then I ran away into the woods. So you came to the cottage and I never knew.”
“It’s strange she never said a word to you about it,” mused Beatrice.
“Ah, no! She spoke to me but little; only the harsh words. It was to Carlos she would talk, but not before me. Now I understand why she was in the great rage when I returned to the cottage on that morning when you had been there. You had spoken of these Feredas and Eulalie. She was afraid you had come here to hunt for the treasure. She wished to frighten you away.”
“Our theory was not as wild as it might have been, Patsy,” smiled Bee.
“I suppose Carlos was hunting for the treasure, too, and so helped along this lunatic’s plans to play ghost. She could never have thought out the idea herself. I shall have Carlos arrested and locked up as a dangerous character,” announced Miss Carroll with stern determination.
“Carlos has no belief in the treasure.” Dolores paused uncertainly. “I will tell you the truth. Carlos will not return. He will slip away from the señor at Miami. So he called out to me in Spanish when he went away with Rosita. He had no plans with Rosita to play the ghost. She only had that thought.”
“Then why did he allow her to do so?” asked Miss Carroll severely. “He knew it. He warned our cook to beware of a ghost that walked here.”
“Carlos hates the Americanos. Once he was to marry the Mexican señorita. She left him and married the Americano. Now he hates them all. Thus he was glad to have Rosita make the trouble. He believed it was for the sake of him more than the treasure. She told him this. She was mad, but cunning. She deceived him. He is most stupid and easy to deceive. He did not believe she would harm anyone. He thought she had the malice; not the madness. Now he knows, because she sprang at him.”
“Well, I must say it’s the most preposterous affair all around that I’ve ever heard of,” sharply opined Miss Carroll. “To come to Florida for a vacation and be picked out as victims by a vengeful Mexican and a lunatic! It’s simply appalling.”
“Oh, look!”
Patsy had risen and was pointing toward a window.
“What is it?” burst simultaneously from Bee, Mabel and Eleanor. Miss Martha was sitting bolt upright in her chair as though preparing to face the worst.
Dolores, alone, did not stir. She lay back in her chair, eyes closed. Her strenuous watch on the house, her brave run for help through the darkness and the fact that she had never before in her life talked so much at one time, had combined to reduce her to a state of utter exhaustion. All in a minute she had dropped fast asleep. She had not even heard Patsy cry out.
“Why – did you ever! See! It’s daylight!”
Patsy’s voice had risen to a little wondering squeal on the last word.
Daylight it surely was. Through the windows the soft rays of dawn were stealing, heralding the fact that day was breaking upon a company of persons who had been too much occupied to notice the flight of time.
“Look at that child!” Miss Martha dramatically indicated the slumbering wood nymph. “I should have put her to bed the instant she stepped into this room, instead of allowing her to tell that long story. I am ashamed of my lack of judgment.”
“She wanted to tell it, and we wanted to hear it,” Patsy said. “It’s been a weird night, hasn’t it?”
“Weird, yes; altogether too weird. Go to bed every one of you, and lock your doors!”
“Where will Dolores sleep, Auntie? She can’t go home. She hasn’t any home now. She’ll have to stay with us. Won’t that be fine?” exulted Patsy.
“Dolores will remain here with me. We’ll discuss her future later. This is certainly not the time to discuss it. Good night, or, rather, good morning. Off to bed, all of you.”
Miss Martha fairly shooed her flock out of the room. They departed with laughter, their cheerful voices echoing through a corridor lately filled with sounds of an entirely different nature.
“Enter without fear, my dear Miss Forbes,” salaamed Patsy, bowing Bee into the room in which had been staged the first act of the night’s drama. “The ghost is forever laid.”
Laughing, Bee stepped over the threshold. The laugh suddenly trailed into a gasp. At the precise spot where Patsy had lassoed Rosita lay a sinister memento of the mad “ghost.” It was a long, sharp, two-edged knife.
