Patsy Carroll Under Southern Skies

“Of course there isn’t,” smiled Bee. “Brace up, Patsy. You’re just nervous over that picture business this morning. I think perhaps Carlos told Mammy Luce that story just to be malicious and scare her. He looks like that sort of person. Maybe he dislikes us as much as his grandmother appeared to, and just because we live in the house that belonged to his former employer.”

“If that’s the case, he may have told the yarn to Mammy Luce on purpose to get her to leave, and so inconvenience us,” suggested Eleanor. “He may have thought she’d leave in a hurry without telling us why she was going.”

“Let’s begin at the beginning and see what we know,” proposed Bee. “First, there’s crazy old Rosita who called us thieves and said we’d never find something or other that Camillo, whoever he is or was, had hidden. Second, there’s Carlos, who turned out to be the grandson of Rosita, who said she was not crazy but pretended to know nothing else about anything here. Third, there’s Mammy Luce, who went off and left us because she saw, or thought she saw, a ghost. Fourth, there’s Emily, who said Carlos told Mammy Luce that the ghost of the cavalier in the picture gallery walked about this house. Fifth, there’s Patsy, who heard an odd noise in the gallery and saw, or thought she saw, the cavalier picture move. Put it all together. Does it mean something or nothing?”

“No one except Carlos can answer that question. The whole thing, except Patsy’s scare, centers on him,” declared Mabel.

“I’m going to have a private talk with Dad,” announced Patsy. “I’m going to ask him not to speak to Carlos about the ghost story, but to let him alone and see what happens next. If he really has a grudge against us he’ll be sure to do something else to bother us. We’ll be on the watch and in that way we’ll catch him at it. Then maybe Dad can make him tell what he wouldn’t tell us.”

“But what about your aunt, Patsy?” conscientiously reminded Eleanor. “She’s going to ask your father to speak to Carlos, you know.”

“I’ll see Dad first and explain things. I’ll ask him to tell Auntie, when she mentions Carlos to him, that he thinks it would be a good idea to let Carlos alone for the present and watch him. It is a good idea, and I know Dad will agree with me. I’d say so to Auntie myself if I were sure she wouldn’t mind. She would, though, because she’s not in sympathy with us when it comes to mysteries.”

“If any more queer things happen, Miss Martha will have to admit that there is a mystery hanging over Las Golondrinas,” Bee predicted. “I forgot to add Dolores to the list. She’s another mystery.”

“She surely is, but she doesn’t belong to the Carlos puzzle,” returned Patsy. “Never mind, give us time and we’ll put all the pieces of all the puzzles together. We’re determined to do it. That’s half the battle.”

“We may even find the secret drawer,” supplemented Mabel hopefully.

This remark was received with derisive chuckles. Her companions had come to regard the mythical secret drawer as a huge joke.

“Laugh at me if you want to. When I find it, then it will be my turn to laugh at you,” Mabel emphasized.

“When you do, we’ll stand in line and let you laugh at us,” jeered Eleanor.

“I’ll remember that,” retorted her sister. “I’m going to the sitting-room now to patiently pursue my indefatigable investigations. Ahem! ‘Never despair’ is my motto.”

“‘Sleep, sweetly sleep,’ is going to be mine,” yawned Eleanor. “I’m going to take a nap.”

“I’d like to go down to the orange groves.” Patsy beamed significantly upon Beatrice. “I’m not supposed to trail around this vast tract of terrestrial territory alone. If some one will kindly volunteer – ”

“I’ll take pity on you,” laughed Bee. “Come on. While we’re about it we might as well lug a basket along and fill it with oranges. ‘Try to be useful as well as ornamental.’ That’s my motto.”

“Mine is: ‘Be thankful for small favors,’” retaliated Patsy with an impish grin. “Allow me to escort you to the kitchen for the basket. Good-bye, Perry children. We’ll see you later.”

Patsy offered her arm to Bee with an extravagant flourish and the two girls left the room laughing. Mabel promptly made a bee-line for the sitting-room, while Eleanor went to her own room for her nap.

Bee and Patsy spent an enjoyable but uneventful hour in the orange groves, returning with their basket piled high with luscious fruit. Mindful of her intent to have first audience with her father on his return that afternoon, Patsy posted herself on a balcony overlooking the drive to watch for him.

When, at five o’clock, he drove the car up the drive, he was met halfway to the house by his daughter who imperiously demanded a ride to the garage.

Informed of all that had recently occurred and the course of action Patsy had laid out for him, Mr. Carroll looked decidedly grave.

“I’m sorry to hear this of Carlos,” he said. “So far as work goes, he’s an excellent man. I’m going to adopt your suggestion, Patsy, to say nothing to him at present about this ghost business. I’ll explain to your Aunt Martha so that she’ll be satisfied to let matters stand as they are. Of course, if he continues to stir up trouble among the maids or my black boys by frightening them with ridiculous yarns about ghosts, then I shall feel obliged to come down on him for it.”

“Have you asked him yet about either old Rosita or Dolores?”

Having related to her father all she knew of both, Patsy now referred to them by name.

“Yes.” Mr. Carroll smiled. “I described them to him this morning and inquired about them. He had nothing to say beyond that this Rosita was his grandmother and not insane. He swears that he never saw this girl Dolores.”

“I don’t believe him,” Patsy said with a vigorous shake of her auburn head. “She has lived in this neighborhood several years. She told me so. He was brought up here. He must have seen her often. He’s a Spanish-speaking Mexican and she’s Spanish. He must certainly know who she is. Why he should deny knowing her I can’t imagine. Just the same, it’s something I intend to find out, if only for my own satisfaction.”

CHAPTER XVIII

SOMETHING!

“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 young girl 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. During that 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 engaged a 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 I rented 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, of course. 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 people Auntie 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 hundreds of 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 were lifting 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 that you don’t talk to me,” warned Mabel. “If you do, you may 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 about me, 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 bed than the length of that one sliding step. It halted briefly, turned, then glided to the half-opened door and vanished into the corridor.

CHAPTER XIX

PATSY’S SCHEME

“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 believe that 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 a ghost. Make up your mind to that. It was a real, live person playing ghost. 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 be him.”

“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 even spoke to him except on that one morning when we tried to get him to tell us about Las Golondrinas.”

“We can’t possibly know yet what 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.”