“There’s to be a Venetian fête on Lake Worth on Thursday evening. Would you like to attend it?”
Mr. Carroll made this announcement at the breakfast table one Monday morning to an interested group of listeners. A week had elapsed since the eventful morning on which Patsy had made the acquaintance of Dolores and the Wayfarers had returned from the beach in time to witness the departure of ghost-ridden Mammy Luce.
On the following morning they had gone, accompanied by Miss Carroll, to keep tryst with their wood nymph at the spot she had designated. As Patsy had predicted, her chums immediately succumbed to the charm of the little Spanish girl.
Even Miss Martha had no fault to find with her so far as behavior went. She found the younggirl neither ill-bred nor uncouth. Instead, Dolores exhibited toward stately Miss Carroll a shy deference that would have impressed in her favor a far more critical judge.
What Miss Martha did not quite like, however, was Dolores’ wistful but absolutely firm refusal to reveal where she lived or with whom she lived.
“I would to answer and thus please you,” she had sadly said, lifting bright, brave eyes to meet squarely those of her dignified questioner. “I would to make you the visit to Las Golondrinas and thus be made so happy. I cannot. It is forbidden.”
At the conclusion of the interview they had left her standing under the fronded green of the palmettos, hands crossed over her breast, dark eyes eloquent with longing. Before they parted from her, however, Patsy obtained her reluctant promise to come to them on the beach for a few minutes, at least, whenever she chanced to see the Wayfarers bathing there.
Two mornings afterward she had kept her word. With her she had brought the blue book, voicing eager praise of the “very sweet story” and her thanks for the “simpatica” letter. Though the Wayfarers had pressed her to stay, she remained with them but a few moments. Duringthat time she had cast frequent timid glances toward the jungle as though in lively fear of something or someone known to herself alone.
Unable to withstand Patsy’s coaxing plea of: “Come again to-morrow morning and I’ll have another nice story book here for you,” she had paid them a brief call on the next day. Since that time she had not again appeared on the beach at their bathing hour, and the Wayfarers did considerable wondering as to what had become of her.
The past three days having, therefore, been particularly uneventful beyond the healthy pleasures of outdoors, the four girls now hailed Mr. Carroll’s proposal with acclamation.
“What is a Venetian fête?” inquired Bee. “It’s held on the water. I know that much. What do we have to do? Do we dress in fancy costumes?”
“Only the boats dress up in fancy costumes at Venetian fêtes, Bee,” informed Patsy, laughing. “We wear our best bib and tucker, of course, and sail around in a motor launch or some kind of boat that’s all decorated with Chinese lanterns, colored lights, etc. Am I right, Dad?”
“Right-o,” smiled Mr. Carroll. “As it happens, your fairy bark awaits you. I’ve engageda power boat for the evening. Had a hard time getting hold of it, too. We’ll run the car down to the beach during the afternoon of Thursday. I’ll have the lanterns and festoonings aboard the launch and you girls can spend the time before dinner decorating it. How will that suit you?”
The loud babble of appreciation that arose caused Mr. Carroll playfully to put his hands over his ears.
“My, what a noisy crowd!” he exclaimed.
“We’re only trying to express our all-around joyfulness,” Patsy defended. “You wouldn’t have liked it a bit if we had just said primly, ‘How nice!’ We believe in noise and lots of it.”
“So I’ve noticed,” was the pertinent retort. “Well, I’m glad you’re pleased. You’ll have to excuse me now. I’ve an engagement with a man at ten at the Ponciana. I must be hiking.”
“Really, Robert, I haven’t had a chance to utter a sound since you told us about the fête,” came plaintively from Miss Martha, though her eyes twinkled. As a matter of fact she had purposely kept silent, allowing the Wayfarers to bubble forth their jubilation uninterrupted. “Do you consider this boat you’ve engaged perfectly safe? I hope you know how to run it.”
“Oh, I sha’n’t run it. The man from whom Irented it will be on hand to do that. It’s absolutely safe, so don’t worry, Martha, but make up your mind to enjoy yourself.”
With this assurance, Mr. Carroll hastily departed. After he had gone the others lingered at table, further to discuss the prospective pleasure in store for them.
“I wish we could take Dolores with us,” Patsy said generously. “She’d love the fête. If only we could coax her to go she could wear one of my gowns. Maybe she’ll be at the beach this morning. If she is, I’m going to tease her good and hard to go with us. You wouldn’t mind, would you, Auntie?”
“No. Invite her if you choose. I don’t doubt she would behave as well as the rest of you,” Miss Carroll placidly opined. “If she should accept (I doubt it), you must make her understand, Patsy, that she will have to appear in one of your gowns, not to mention pumps and hose. We shall probably meet a number of persons we know at Palm Beach.”
“Oh, that part of it will be all right,” Patsy answered with the supreme confidence of one who can remove mountains. “It’s whether she’ll promise to go that’s bothering me.”
Greatly to the disappointment of the Wayfarers,Dolores did not appear on the beach that morning. Nor did they see any signs of her on the next day or the next. Thursday morning did not bring her to the sands.
On the way back to the house from the beach the party even went so far as to visit the spot in the jungle which Dolores had claimed as her own special nook. But she was not there. Though the girls called out her name repeatedly in their fresh young voices, only the twitter of the birds and the sighing of the light breeze among the leaves answered them. Dolores had evidently forsaken her forest haunt for a time at least.
“Very likely that horrible ‘she’ is keeping Dolores in and making her work,” grumbled Patsy to Bee when the party finally returned to the road and started for the house. “You know, Dolores told me that she had had to do very hard work ever since she came here to live after her father died. It’s too bad Dad has been so busy lately. We can’t go to see those fisher folks until he can find time to go with us. I do wish Auntie would allow us to go there by ourselves. We could walk straight up the beach and never come to a bit of harm.”
“Well, she won’t, so we might as well be resigned,” replied Bee ruefully. “She’s right, ofcourse. My mother would feel the same about it; so would Mrs. Perry.”
“I know it. I’m not complaining of Aunt Martha. She’s as good as gold. She’s been perfectly angelic about Dolores. Auntie isn’t the least tiny bit snobbish. She and Dad are alike in that.”
Returned to the house before noon the Wayfarers lunched early. Luncheon over, they dutifully obeyed Miss Carroll’s mandate to retire to their rooms for a brief siesta before dressing for the fête. Mr. Carroll’s parting injunction to them that morning had been:
“I’ll have the car at the door at three-thirty sharp. Be ready to hop into it, girls. The earlier we arrive at Palm Beach, the more time you’ll have before dinner to decorate the launch.”
Three-thirty not only found the car on the drive at the entrance to the patio, it also saw Miss Martha being helped into it by her brother. She was followed by the Wayfarers, all looking their best in their smart summer finery. The four girls were in exuberant spirits as one after another they skipped nimbly into the automobile. The Venetian fête promised to be an item of pleasant variation on their program of enjoyment.
The drive to Palm Beach was, as always, a delightful one. Coming at last to the famous shell road the car followed it for a short distance. Presently the yachting party arrived at the point on the lagoon where their boat was docked.
Boarding it in a flutter of happy anticipation, the Wayfarers temporarily hid the glory of their dainty frocks under substantial gingham pinafores which they had purposely brought along.
Then the engrossing occupation of dressing-up their boat began. What seemed to the girls an unlimited supply of gay Chinese lanterns and bright-hued bunting had been brought aboard for them to dispose as they fancied. Fore and aft the enthusiastic toilers strung the lanterns, and hung the bunting in graceful festoons, until the trim craft blossomed into a rainbow of color.
“I can hardly wait for it to get dark!” exclaimed Mabel. “With all these lanterns glowing and those strings of little electric lights winking all colors, our boat’s going to be simply gorgeous.”
“I hope we’ll have some simply gorgeous eats for dinner,” was Patsy’s unaesthetic but heartfelt yearning. “I’m terribly hungry. I hope, too, that we sha’n’t bump against a lot of peopleAuntie and I know the minute we walk into the hotel. I want to gobble my dinner in a hurry and get back here before dark so as to see everything that goes on.”
Patsy’s fervent hopes met with a realization that pleased her not a little. The “eats,” which consisted in an elaborate course dinner, were quite “gorgeous” enough to evoke her pronounced approval. More, the diners encountered none they knew among the endless succession of people strolling in and out of the vast dining-room. Neither in the imposing foyer of the great hotel, on the veranda or under the colonnade did they spy a single familiar face. It was as though they had stepped into a world of easy-going strangers, all bent on extracting the same amount of pleasure out of life as themselves.
Dinner eaten they lingered for a while on one of the hotel’s many verandas which overlooked magnificent gardens, aglow with fragrant tropical blooms.
Just before dark they drove again to the lagoon and were presently aboard their launch, watching with eager eyes the beauty of the scene. Everywhere the scented dusk was pierced by winking, multi-colored lights. They dotted the wall of the lagoon and sprang up from hundredsof craft, large and small, which plied the lake’s placid waters.
From off shore came the singing overtones of violins, proceeding from an orchestra stationed under the colonnade of a not far distant hotel. Now and then their ears caught the tinkle of mandolins mingled with care-free voices raised in song. Across the still waters occasional shouts rose above the harmony of sound, as gay occupants of boats hailed passing craft and were hailed in return.
As it grew darker, rockets began to hiss skyward, lighting up the lagoon into greater beauty and revealing white-clad groups of spectators sauntering along the shell road or resting on the sea wall.
With the ascent of the first rocket, boat after boat rushed off across the water to join the rapidly forming carnival procession which would, when completely formed, circle the lake. Presently came a fan-fare of trumpets, a burst of music from many bands playing in unison, and the procession started on its way around the lake, gliding along like a huge, glowing serpent.
The Wayfarers thought it great fun to be an actual part of that fairy-like pageant. As the majority of the occupants of other boats werelifting up their voices in song, the four girls sang, too. Patsy’s clear, high soprano voice led off in a boat song with which her companions were familiar. After that they sang everything they could remember from “Sailing” to “Auld Lang Syne.”
Later, when the boats began dropping out of line, their launch also left the procession and scudded farther out on the lake to a point from where its lively passengers could obtain a more satisfying view of the gorgeous spectacle.
There they lingered for some time, well content to breathe in the flower-perfumed night air, listen to the frequent bursts of harmonious sound that drifted to their ears, and watch the firefly boats as they darted here and there on the bosom of fair Lake Worth.
It was well toward eleven o’clock when the launch docked at her pier and the voyagers went ashore to where their automobile awaited them. Followed a short drive to one of the great hotels, where the party stopped for a late supper, then took the homeward road through the balmy darkness of the tropical night.
Midnight came and went and one o’clock drew on before a happy but sleepy company made port at Las Golondrinas.
“Go straight to bed, girls,” commanded Miss Martha as she marshalled the small procession of drowsy revelers down the echoing corridors to their rooms. “Don’t sit up to talk. You can do that to-morrow morning.”
“I don’t want to talk. I want to sleep,” assured Eleanor with a yawn. “If Mab tries to talk to me after I’m in bed, I’ll rise in my might and put her out of the room.”
“See thatyoudon’t talk tome,” warned Mabel. “If you do,youmay find yourself wandering around in the corridor until morning.”
“Glad we’re of the same mind,” giggled Eleanor. “Our chances for sleep seem to be good.”
“Don’t worry aboutme, Aunt Martha,” Patsy declared, as, her arm in Bee’s, the two girls halted at the door of their room. “You won’t hear a sound from Bee or me after we’ve put out our light. Here’s my very nicest good-night kiss, dear. We’ve all had a wonderful evening and we’re ready to subside until morning without a murmur.”
Shut in their room, Patsy and Bee beamed sleepily at each other and went about their preparations for bed in commendable silence, broken now and then by a soft exchange of remarks pertaining to the evening’s entertainment.
Lights out shortly became the order of things with them. Almost as soon as their heads touched the pillow they were off and away to dreamland.
There comes sometimes to a peaceful dreamer a curious sense of impending danger which breaks through the curtain of slumber and arouses the sleep-drugged faculties to alert wakefulness.
Just how long she had slept, Patsy had no definite idea. She knew only that she was sitting up in bed, broad awake, her horrified eyes staring at something tall and white which stood in the center of the moonlight-flooded room.
She tried to cry out, but her voice was gone. She could only gaze, half paralyzed with terror, at the fearsome white shape. For a moment it remained there, a shapeless, immovable thing of dread.
Suddenly, it raised a long, white-swathed arm in a menacing gesture toward the trembling girl in the big four-poster bed. It took one sliding step forward.
Patsy succeeded in uttering a desperate, choking sound, intended for a shout. One groping hand reached over and found Bee.
The dread apparition came no nearer the bedthan the length of that one sliding step. It halted briefly, turned, then glided to the half-opened door and vanished into the corridor.
“Bee, wake up! Oh, please wake up!”
Patsy had not only regained her voice, but the use of her arms as well. Hands on Bee’s shoulders, she now shook her companion gently in an effort to waken her.
“What—y-e-s,” Bee mumbled, then opened her eyes.
In the moonlight she could see Patsy quite clearly as her chum sat crouched at her side. Blinking wonderingly up at Patsy, Bee began dimly to realize that something unusual must have happened.
“What is it, Patsy? Are you sick?” she anxiously questioned, sitting up in bed with apprehensive energy.
“No; I’m not sick. I’m scared. I saw it, Bee. I woke up all of a sudden and saw it standing in the middle of the room.”
“Saw what?”
“The ghost; Mammy Luce’s ‘sperrit,’” Patsy returned solemnly.
“You’ve been dreaming, Patsy, dear.” Beatrice dropped a reassuring arm about Patsy’s shoulders.
“No, Bee. I wasn’t dreaming. I was as wide awake as I am now when I saw it. I tell you it woke me from a sound sleep. It didn’t make a sound. Just the same it woke me. I wish now that I’d been brave enough to climb out of bed and follow it. But I wasn’t. It frightened me so I couldn’t move or speak.”
“What was it? What did you see?”
Bee had now become convinced that Patsy had not been dreaming.
“I saw a figure standing right there,” Patsy pointed. “I can’t tell you what it looked like except that it was just an enormous white shape. I tried to call you, but I couldn’t. I did manage to sit up in bed. It raised a long, white arm and started toward me. Then I tried again and made a sort of sound and reached out to you. It didn’t come any nearer. It turned and went out the door. It must have come in that way, for the door stood half open. It was closed when we went to bed. You remember that. Now I believethat Mammy Luce saw what I saw. No wonder it frightened her. It frightened me, too, and I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Well,” Bee drew a long, sighing breath, “whatever you and Mammy Luce saw was not aghost. Make up your mind to that. It was a real, live personplayingghost. You and I, Patsy, must find out who it is and why the person is doing it. This ghost business has begun, all of a sudden. Nothing of the kind appeared when we first came here. There’s a motive behind it that we’ve got to discover.”
“What can it be?” wondered Patsy. Her brief terror had now given place to curiosity. “Someone might be trying to play a practical joke on us. But who? Not the maids or Dad’s black boys or——” Patsy stopped. “Bee, do you suppose it could be—Carlos?” she asked with a little gasp. “The figure looked too tall and broad to behim.”
“Still it might be.” Bee had avidly seized upon Patsy’s sudden inspiration. “Draped in a sheet, he’d look ever so much taller and bigger. It was he who told Mammy Luce about the ghost, you know.”
“But why should Carlos want to do such a despicable thing? We’ve never done him an injury.Why, we never evenspoketo him except on that one morning when we tried to get him to tell us about Las Golondrinas.”
“We can’t possibly knowyetwhat his object may be. We may be doing him a wrong by suspecting him. Just the same, he’s the only person we have any reason to suspect.”
“He might have done it to get even with us because Mab asked him if Rosita was crazy. I’ve always heard that Latins are very vengeful.”
Racking her agile brain for a motive, Patsy now advanced this theory.
“Let’s go back a little farther,” replied Bee. “Carlos is old Rosita’s grandson. Rosita must hate us or she wouldn’t have called us names and treated us as she did. Granted,shehates us. Maybe Carlos hates us, too. We know he doesn’t like us. He showed us that much and very plainly.”
Bee paused, mentally trying to fit Patsy’s theory to her own.
“There’s more to it than spite because Mab asked Carlos whether Rosita was crazy,” she continued reflectively. “Now I believe I begin to see. Neither Carlos nor Rosita wants us to live here. Why wouldn’t that account for this ghost affair? Carlos might have done it to scare us,believing we wouldn’t stay in a haunted house. He frightened Mammy Luce out of here. I’m sure if Emily or Celia had seen——”
Bee’s low-toned discourse was suddenly interrupted by a wild shriek of mortal terror from somewhere below stairs. It floated up to the two girls through the half-open door, echoing and re-echoing through the corridors. It was followed by a succession of shrieks, each rising a trifle higher than the preceding one.
“Come on.”
Leaping out of bed, Bee snatched her kimono from a nearby chair, slipped her arms into it and darted, bare-footed, from the room.
Patsy was only an instant behind her. As the two dashed madly along the corridor and downstairs, the sound of opening doors and alarmed voices was heard. That eerie, piercing scream could hardly have failed to rouse the entire household. By the time three frightened women and one considerably startled man had reached their doors and opened them, Patsy and Bee were out of sight.
Straight for the servants’ quarters at the rear of the house the valiant runners headed. Their mad dash received a most unexpected check. A door suddenly opened. A figure bounced intothe narrow hallway just in time to collide violently with the advancing duo. A new succession of frenzied yells rent the air, accompanied by a resounding thump as rescuers and rescued went down in a heap.
“Oh, lawsy, lawsy!” moaned a voice. “Oh, please, Massa ghos’, I ain’t done nothin’.”
A prostrate form swathed in a brilliant pink calico night gown writhed on the floor. Above it, Bee and Patsy, now on their feet, stood clinging to each other, speechless with laughter.
“Get—up—Celia!” gasped Patsy. “We—we—aren’t—ghosts. Oh, Bee!”
Patsy went off into another fit of laughter.
Somewhat calmed by the sound of a familiar voice, Celia raised her head. In the pale light shed by a bracket lamp she now recognized “Missie Patsy.” Very slowly, and a trifle sheepishly, she scrambled to her feet.
By this time Mr. Carroll, Miss Martha, Mab and Eleanor had reached the scene of action.
“What on earth is the matter, Celia?” demanded Mr. Carroll. “Was that you we heard screaming? What’s happened to you?”
“I done gwine t’ tell yoh in a minute.”
Overcome by the awful realization that she was not suitably clothed for the occasion, Celia madea wild dive into her room and banged the door.
Meanwhile the door of the next room had opened just enough to allow a chocolate-colored head to peer forth.
“Celie she done see the ghos’,” explained Emily. “I jes’ lock myself in so I done be safe. It am gone now.”
“Naturally. No self-respecting ghost could stand such a racket as I heard,” dryly declared Mr. Carroll. “Now tell me about this so-called ghost. What does Celia think she saw?”
“I doneseenit!”
Celia now reappeared, wrapped from chin to toes in the ample folds of a striped summer blanket. Not being the proud possessor of a kimono, she had chosen the blanket as most highly suitable to her present needs.
“I was dreaming nice as anything’, ’bout a gran’ ball I was gittin’ ready foah,” she blurted forth. “Suddin’ like I wakes up ’case I done feel suthin’ cold on my face. It war an ole cold dead hand and a whoppin’ big white ghos’ was bendin’ over me. I lets out a yell, ’case I was skairt to die an’ it jes’ laffs terrible like an’ floats right out the doah. I’m gwine away from heah the minute it gits daylight. I ain’t gwine to live no moah in this place. I reckon I know now what was ailin’Mammy Luce. She done seen it, too, same’s me.”
Celia having thus put two and two together and announced her departure, it became Miss Martha’s task to endeavor to soothe and cajole the badly-scared maid to reconsider her decision. Her efforts were not a success. Neither did the added coaxing of the Wayfarers have any effect. Celia remained firm in her resolve. Emily, however, was made of firmer stuff. She stoutly reiterated her disbelief in “ghos’es” and, much to Miss Martha’s relief, declared her intent to “stick it out, ’case no ghos’ ain’t gwine to git me.”
In the end, a much disturbed party, consisting of five women and one man, repaired to the sitting-room for a consultation.
During the excitement both Beatrice and Patsy had deemed it wise to say nothing, while in the presence of the maids, of what Patsy herself had seen.
As they were about to go upstairs, Patsy whispered to Bee: “Don’t say a word about—well, you know. I’ll tell you why, later.”
“Robert,” began Miss Martha severely, when the little company had settled themselves in the sitting-room, “I insist now on your speaking to that Carlos man of yours about this ghost storyhe told Mammy Luce. Someone is evidently trying to play practical jokes upon the servants. I believe he knows something about it. It may be he who is doing it.”
“That can’t be. Only yesterday morning Carlos asked me for two days off. His brother, in Miami, died and he felt it his duty to go there to console the family and attend the funeral. So you see he had nothing to do with to-night’s affair. It’s more likely one of my black boys has done a little ghost walking just to be funny. You notice that no one except the servants has been visited by apparitions.”
“There is no telling how soon the rest of us may be startled half out of our senses,” acidly reminded Miss Martha. “You had better hire a guard to patrol the grounds around the house at night. He ought to be able to catch this scamp who has frightened the servants.”
“I’ll do it,” promised Mr. Carroll. “I’ll have a plain clothes man from Palm Beach up here to-morrow evening. He’ll stay here, too, until we catch the rascal who is causing all this commotion.”
“And will you speak to Carlos?” persisted Miss Carroll. “I am more suspicious of him than of your blacks.”
“As soon as he comes back,” reassured her brother.
The serious part of the discussion having come to an end, Mabel and Eleanor hurled a volley of eager questions at Bee and Patsy concerning what had happened before they reached the hallway. Patsy therewith proceeded to convulse her hearers with a description of Bee’s and her own untimely collision with Celia. Mabel giggled herself almost hysterical and had to be playfully shaken into sobriety by Eleanor, who declared that the ghost walk had gone to Mab’s head.
The will to sleep overcoming their dread of living midnight visitants in ghostly garments, the ways and means committee adjourned in favor of rest. As a last word, Miss Martha cautioned the Wayfarers to lock their doors, which had hitherto been allowed to remain unlocked.
“I don’t know whether it was exactly fair not to tell Auntie about my seeing the ghost,” was Patsy’s first remark to Bee after they had regained their room. “It’s like this, Bee. I’ve thought of a plan I’d like to try. I have an idea the ghost will come back and I’m going to be ready for it. If Auntie knew that I’d actually seen it, she’d probably have our bed moved into her room. Mab and Nellie’s room is almostacross the corridor from hers, you know. We’re farther away, so she’d worry if she knew what we know. I’m going to tell her sometime, of course, but not now. Will you stand by me, Bee, and help me catch the ghost?”
“I will,” vowed Beatrice, too much carried away by the scheme to reflect that she and Patsy were perhaps pitting themselves against a dangerous opponent. “Do you believe, Patsy, that Carlos really has gone away?”
“No; I don’t. I think Carlos is the ghost,” calmly asserted Patsy. “Furthermore, he knows a way to get into this house that we don’t. All the men in Florida sent to guard Las Golondrinas won’t catch him. When Dad spoke of getting a guard, I had half a mind to speak up about seeing the ghost. Then I decided not to. I wanted to see what we could do by ourselves.”
“Whatarewe going to do? You said you had a plan.”
“I have. I’m going to lasso the ghost,” Patsy announced with a boyish grin. “I learned to handle a lariat when I was out West three years ago visiting Pauline Barry. One of the cowboys on her father’s ranch taught me the way to do it. There’s a coil of light, thin, tough rope in the stable. I saw it the other day. That’s goingto be my lariat. I’ll smuggle it up here and practice with it. This is such a big room I can swing it easily in here.”
“I don’t see how you can carry out that plan,” was Bee’s doubting answer. “How can you possibly know when the ghost is going to appear? Besides, you mayn’t have time, perhaps, or a chance to do any lassoing.”
“That’s the only hard part of it. You and I will have to take turns sitting up and watching, Bee. Suppose we go to bed at eleven o’clock, as we usually do. Well, from eleven until two I’ll sit up and watch. From two until five it will be your turn. After five no ghost will be silly enough to walk. I’ll take the part of the night when it’s more likely to appear, because I know how to swing the lariat. If it appears during your watch——Let me see. I guess I’d better teach you how to lasso. No; that won’t do. It takes a long time to learn the trick. You’d be apt to miss the ghost. Then we’d never catch it.”
“I think we’d both better sit up until a little after two for a few nights,” proposed Bee. “If we’re sleepy the next day we can take a nap. It was just about two this morning when the ghost came. If Carlosisthe ghost, he may appear toyour aunt or Mab and Nellie another time and not come near us. If he’s trying to scare us away from here, that’s what he’d be apt to do.”
“He may have wandered into their rooms, too, for all we know, only they didn’t happen to wake up and see him,” surmised Patsy. “There’s only a bare chance that anything will come of it, but it will be exciting to try out our plan for a few nights while it’s bright moonlight. Our scheme wouldn’t work during the dark of the moon. Now while the moon’s full you can see for yourself how light it makes this room. Then, too, a big white ghost is an easy mark,” finished Patsy with a giggle.
“All right, Patsy. I pledge myself to become a valiant ghost catcher,” laughed Bee. “Now let’s go bye-bye or we’ll never be able to sit up to-morrow night. The only thing that bothers me is not telling your aunt.”
Bee had begun to feel a belated twinge of conscience.
“It bothers me, too,” admitted Patsy, “but I’m going to stifle my conscience for a few days. If nothing remarkable happens, then we’ll go to Auntie and confess and let her scold us as much as she pleases.”
The next morning witnessed the departure of Celia, bag and baggage. Aside from that one item of interest, nothing occurred that day to disturb the peace of the household of Las Golondrinas. With Emily now installed as cook and a very good cook, at that, the loss of Celia’s services was not so vital, particularly as Emily’s sister, Jennie, had promised her services the following week.
What signally worried and annoyed Miss Martha, however, was Mr. Carroll’s regretful announcement at dinner that evening to the effect that he would not be able to obtain the services of a guard for at least three days. An unusually large number of private details had rendered headquarters short of men used for such duty, he explained.
“I’m sorry, Martha, but it can’t be helped,”he consoled. “I’d turn the job over to one of my black boys, but it wouldn’t be advisable. If one of them has really been playing ghost, depend upon it, the others know it. Result, the ghost wouldn’t appear. He’d be warned to lie low. I’ll stay up myself to-night and watch, if you feel in the least afraid. Say the word and I’ll stand guard.”
“Certainly not,” promptly vetoed his sister. “I’m notafraid. I merely wish this disagreeable foolishness stopped. We will lock our doors and barricade them, if necessary. As for the windows opening onto the patio, I hardly know what to do. It’s not healthful to sleep with closed windows. They are so high from the floor of the patio, a ghost, or rather this idiotic person who is playing ghost, would find it hard work to climb up to them. We may as well leave them open.”
“We can set rows of tinware on the inner edge of the window sills in such a way that a touch would upset the whole business. If anyone tries to climb in a window, all the pots and pans will fall into the room with a grand crash and wake us up,” proposed Mabel. “Besides, the ghost won’t linger after such a rattle and bang.”
“A good idea,” approved Miss Carroll solemnly.
Eleanor, Bee and Patsy received it with laughter in which Mr. Carroll joined.
“We’d better make a raid on the kitchen and select our tinware,” said Eleanor gaily. “I’m proud to have such a resourceful sister. There’s nothing like getting ready for his ghostship.”
“I don’t imagine you’ll be troubled to-night by spectral intruders,” Mr. Carroll said seriously. “Such a thing is hardly likely to occur two nights in succession.”
“Emily’s not afraid, that’s certain,” declared Beatrice. “She’s going to sleep all alone downstairs to-night. She says she’s ‘not gwine to git skairt of no ghos’.’”
“I told her she might sleep in that little room at the end of the portrait gallery, but she said she preferred her own room,” commented Miss Martha. “I am agreeably surprised to find her not in the least cowardly or superstitious. It’s fortunate for us.”
“She told me she was going to lock her door and her windows and sleep with a club and a big bottle of ammonia beside her bed,” informed Patsy. “If the ghost comes she’s going to give him a warm reception.”
“We all seem to be planning for the ghost’s welfare,” chuckled Mabel. “Poor ghost. If heknows when he’s well off he’ll stay away from here to-night.”
Much open discussion of the spectral visitor had served to rob the idea of its original horror. Instead of a serious menace to tranquillity the ghost was rapidly becoming a joke.
“We’ve done a little secret preparing of our own,” boasted Patsy in a whisper to Bee as they strolled out of the dining room, arms twined about each other’s waists.
True to her determination, Patsy had slipped down to the stable that morning, commandeered the desired coil of rope and successfully smuggled it into her room. That afternoon, while Mabel and Eleanor were taking a walk about the grounds with Miss Carroll, the two conspirators locked their door and proceeded to test out the most important feature of their plan.
Patsy found the thin, tough rope admirable for her purpose. The sleeping room, spacious and square, also lent itself to her plan. The bed being in one corner left ample room for a free casting of the lariat. With the quaint mahogany center table moved back against the wall, she had a clear field.
For an hour Bee patiently allowed herself to be lassoed, moving from point to point, therebyto test Patsy’s skill. She soon discovered that her chum was an adept at the art. Wonderfully quick of movement and sure of aim, Patsy never failed to land the noose over her head, letting it drop below her shoulders and drawing it taut about her arms with almost incredible swiftness. At the conclusion of the practice both agreed that the ghost’s chances were small against “Lariat Patsy,” as Bee laughingly nicknamed her.
Despite their numerous jests concerning the ghost, the Wayfarers’ hearts beat a trifle faster that night as they went to their rooms. Earlier in the evening the kitchen had been raided and amid much mirthful comment a goodly supply of tin and agate ware had been selected and carried upstairs for window decorations.
Patsy and Bee took part in these preparations merely, as Patsy confided to her chum, “for the looks of things.” Both considered their own private scheme as much more likely to bear fruit.
On retiring to their room for the night the door was dutifully locked. For half an hour the two sat talking with the lamps burning, waiting for the house to grow absolutely quiet. At ten minutes to twelve, Patsy brought forth the lariat from its hiding place in her trunk. Next, bothgirls slipped out of their white frocks only to don dark gowns which would not betray their presence in the room to the nocturnal intruder they were planning to receive.
“Shall I put out the lights?” whispered Bee.
“Yes. Then stand in that space opposite the door and see if I can rope you,” breathed Patsy.
Quickly Bee extinguished the two oil bracket lamps and a large oil lamp that stood on a pedestal in a corner. Into the room the moonlight poured whitely, lighting it fairly well except in the corners.
“All ready?” softly questioned Patsy, moving back toward the end of the room farthest from the door.
“Yes,” came the sibilant whisper.
An instant and Patsy had made a successful cast.
“It works splendidly,” she softly exulted. “Lets try it again.”
A few more trials of her prowess and she was satisfied to recoil the rope and sit down on the bed beside Bee.
“It’s time to unlock the door, Bee,” she murmured as the chime of midnight rang faintly on their ears from a tall clock at the end of the corridor.
“All right.”
Bee rose, tiptoed softly to the door and turned the key. Stealing back across the room she took up her position of vigilance a few feet from Patsy, seating herself upon a little low stool.
Patsy had posted herself on the edge of her trunk, lariat coiled, ready to spring into action at a moments notice. Over the house now hung the uncanny silence of midnight, so tense in its stillness that the two watchers could hear each other breathe.
For the first half hour neither experienced any Special discomfort. By the time that one o’clock had come and gone, both were beginning to feel the strain of sitting absolutely still in one position.
The distant note of the half hour found them weary, but holding their ground. Patsy was worse off than Bee. Bee could relax, at least a little, while she had to sit on the extreme edge of her trunk, constantly on the alert. Should their expected visitor enter the room, she must act with the swiftness of lightning or all their patient watching would have been in vain.
As she sat there it suddenly occurred to her how horrified her aunt would be, could she know what was going on only a few yards from whereshe slumbered so peacefully. Patsy could not resist giving a soft little chuckle.
“What is it?” whispered Bee.
“Nothing. Tell you to-morrow. I guess we can go to bed soon.”
“I guess so. It’s almost two o’clock.”
Silence again descended. The clock chimed three-quarters of the hour. Its plaintive voice ceased and the hush deepened until it seemed to Patsy almost too profound for endurance. And then it was broken by a sound, as of a door being softly opened.
Bee’s heart nearly skipped a beat as she listened. Patsy felt the cold chills race up and down her spine. Two pairs of eyes were now fastened in strained attention on the door. Was it opening? Yes, it surely was; slowly, very slowly. It was open at last! A huge white shape stood poised on the threshold. It moved forward with infinite caution. It had halted now, exactly on the spot where Bee had lately stood while Patsy tried out her prowess with the lariat.
Over in the corner Patsy was gathering herself together for the fateful cast. Up from the trunk she now shot like a steel spring. Through the air with a faint swishing sound the lariat sped. She pulled it taut to an accompaniment of the mostblood-curdling shrieks she had ever heard. Next instant she felt herself being jerked violently forward.
“Bee!” she shouted desperately. “Take hold. I’m going!”
Bee sprang for the rope and missed it. Patsy shot past her across the room, headed for the door. Stubbornly clinging to the rope, she was bumped violently against the door casing, dragged through the doorway and on into the corridor.
As she shot down the stone passageway she was dimly conscious of doors opening along it and voices crying out in alarm. On she went, propelled by that sinister, terrible force ahead. Now she had bumped around another corner and was entering the picture gallery. At the ends and in the center of it bracket lamps burned dimly.
She could see the enormous white shape. It had paused in the center of the gallery. The relentless force had slackened. The rope now lay in loose coils along the gallery. And then something happened which nearly took Patsy’s breath.
Even in that faint light she saw the picture of the cavalier move forward. The huge white shape leaped straight to meet it. The rope began to move along the floor again. Patsy braced herself and tightened her grasp on the end she stillheld. Wonder of wonders! The apparition had disappeared.
Patsy heard an oddly familiar sound. Next she realized that the savage jerking of the rope had not begun again. As she stood staring at it, still clutching it tightly, there began again those same awful shrieks, mingled with snarls such as a cornered wild beast might utter.
In the midst of them she was suddenly surrounded by a frantic little group of persons. She heard her father saying: “Thank God, she’s safe!” She felt consciousness slipping from her like a cloak.
“The rope—hold the rope,” she mumbled, and pitched forward into a pair of extended arms.
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 knowwhoit is! It’s oldRosita. I’msurethat’s her voice.”
“So the girls here think,” replied her father. “Bee tells meyoulassoed 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 getout. 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 companyhad 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 cameyouhere?”
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 thetwo 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? Iknowthat you are far more to blame thanBeatrice, 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 theoccupants 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 havetimeto happen here,” was the significant response.
“But nothingbadhas 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.Theydisobeyed me and lefttheirdoorunlocked.”
This emphatic thrust had its effect on the culprits. They blushed deeply and looked exceedingly uncomfortable.
“Well, she might have gone slipping about thehouse 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 youthat, 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 torelent 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.
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 girlleaned 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 theseñorshowed 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 himmany 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 perhapsyoucan tell us who Camillo is or was!” exclaimed Patsy. “You seem to know a good deal about the Feredas.”
“How knew youhisname?” 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.
“Wedon’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 wassimpatica, but she was most unhappy. Her grandfather was the cross, terrible old one. He, too, had the madness. He wasloco.”
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.”
“Theseñorasked Carlos of the secret door. Was it the true door, or but the canvas? Carlosknew 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 wiseseñorhad said she would do this, because the mad turn fiercest against those they love. Theseñorand the black mencaught her and theseñorwound the rope round and round her body. Then they carried her down the stairs and held her fast, while theseñorwent for the automobile. Theseñorsaid 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 couldhelpknowing 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.