The Silver Secret

Connie felt increasing alarm. Where was Kit? Had she

been kidnapped or.
Connies mind stopped short of envisioning any other
possibility, but for the first time since she had become
involved in this mystery she was frightened not just plain
scared as she had been in the cemetery, but sick and cold
with fear. It was quite clear that Kit had disappeared because
she had been mistaken for Connie. Kit, who knew little or
nothing about the silver theft. Kit, who only wanted to have
a little fun on her vacation, and who loathed anything even
vaguely mysterious, who, in spite of her resemblance to
Connie, was as different from her twin as day is from night.
With Kit in terrible danger, the Silver Secret became more
than a puzzling mystery. Solving it now was a matter of life
or death!

The CONNIE BLAIR Mystery Stories

The Clue in Blue
The Riddle in Red
Puzzle in Purple
The Secret of Black Cat Gulch
The Green Island Mystery
The Ghost Wore White
The Yellow Warning
The Gray Menace
The Brown Satchel Mystery
Peril in Pink
The Silver Secret
The Mystery of the Ruby Queens

A CONNIE BLAIR MYSTERY

The Silver
Secret
By
BETSY ALLEN

Grosset & Dunlap

PUBLISHERS

NEW YORK

 1956 BY GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.

The Land of Tomorrow

On the Road to Taxco
The Silver Shop
House of Forgetfulness
More Than Meets the Eye
Now Whos Confused?
Acapulco Trip
Attack in the Night
Patio Incident
Midnight Chase
Mystery in the Morning
Mole Is Alerted
Still No Kit
The Other Sister
Wheels Within Wheels
The Scheme That Failed

1
15
29
42
48
60
74
83
99
108
120
131
142
149
156
164

CHAPTER

The Land of Tomorrow

Oh, what a marvelous view! cried Connie Blair.

One entire wall of the room into which she stepped
was glass, and from the top floor of the hotel she
looked out over the Alameda, a big green park in the
heart of Mexico City. Look, Kit. She turned to her
twin sister. Isnt it beautiful?
Kit was too enraptured to do more than nod. It
was the bellboy who answered. S, Seorita! he
said happily as he placed the girls luggage on racks.
It is the best room of all, I think. Like a penthouse,
no?
Connie smiled and agreed, amused that the darkskinned young Mexican with the flashing smile
knew the American term. From the great window
she could look down at an angle to a dining terrace,
banked in the corners with foliage. It all looked very
1

continental and extravagant.

Kit, meanwhile, was gazing at the fountains
which played in the park, at the iris in bloom, and at
the carpet of indistinguishable small flowers that
melted into the grass. Its something like
Rittenhouse Square in Philadelphia, isnt it? she
asked.
Only bigger. About six times bigger, Connie
computed. Since she worked for Reid and Renshaw,
a Philadelphia advertising agency, and walked
through the Square on her way to the office every
morning, she was in a position to know.
The bellhop pulled the floor-length draw curtains
even farther back and grinned at the enthusiasm of
these pretty American twins. It wasnt often that
even the Bamer Hotel had such a charming pair
among its guests. Blond, brown-eyed, long-limbed,
and exceedingly trim and smart in their tailored
gabardine suits, Connie and Kit were so young and
attractive that they were bound to draw attention
wherever they went. And in Mexico City, filled with
brunette Latin types, their shining fair hair was
outstanding.
But though they were aware that the boy was
openly admiring, they were amused rather than
especially flattered. Like everything else on this
exciting holiday trip, they considered his approval
fun.
2

Finally, saying Gracias for the peso notes

handed him by Connie as a tip, he withdrew, and the
girls were alone. Kit pulled off her gloves and tossed
them on the bureau. Pinch me, she suggested to
Connie with a laugh. I still cant believe its true!
The idea of flying to Mexico for a fortnights
winter vacation was still so new to Kit that it seemed
incredible, even though here she was! The legacy
from her godmother had come as a complete
surprisefive hundred dollars to spend on a
Mexican holiday, because Miss Florrie, as the
twins had always called her, was anxious that Kit
become acquainted with a country in which she had
passed several happy years.
Connie, whose employers were sufficiently
advanced in their thinking to approve of winter
vacations, counted up her savings and decided that
she could afford to go along, so for the first time
since their trip to Florida, where they had become
involved in The Brown Satchel Mystery, the twins
were together again.
Only this time, Connie had announced on the
plane, its going to be pure pleasure. Im not going
to look at a suspicious character sideways. Im going
to go shopping in Mexico City, and sight-seeing in
Taxco, and water skiing in Acapulco, and
Ohoh, murmured Kit, with a twinkle in her
eye. Famous last words.
3

What did you say?

Nothing. I was just remembering another time
Kits voice drifted off and merged with the
rustle of tissue paper as Connie lifted carefully
packed dresses from her suitcase. As usual, she was
going to be ready to go out and see the town long
before her more leisurely sister.
Come on, Kit. Hurry up! We still have an hour
of daylight. Lets walk across the square and buy a
guidebook and send some postcards to the family
and
Wait a minute! Kit cried in mock consternation.
Not so fast.
But she did manage to speed up, so that in ten
minutes the twins, with their traveling suits brushed
and with clean white gloves in hand, were riding
downstairs and stepping out into a lobby lined with
mirrors in which was reflected an enormous globe of
the world. This revolved within a great central table,
around which low lounges accommodated waiting
guests.
Americans mingled with Mexicans, and Spanish
and English blended into a medley of sound. Several
heads turned to follow the girls as they stepped out
into the twilight, but they were quite
unselfconscious. A twin becomes accustomed to
being watched.
Oh, look, Connie. Isnt that the man with the
4

English accent who was on our plane? Kit touched

her sisters arm and indicated a spare, middle-aged
man in a dark pinstriped suit paying a taxi driver.
Then he turned to follow the uniformed lad who was
carrying his luggage into the lobby.
Connie nodded, and would have smiled in
greeting had the man recognized her. But he was
absorbed in replacing some bills in his wallet and in
keeping an eye on the bellboy. As he crossed the
pavement a card fluttered out of the open wallet and
Connie quite spontaneously reached to pick it up.
Sir! she called.
But the man was already on the other side of the
revolving doors and didnt hear her. She glanced
down at the oblong of cardboard without curiosity,
wondering whether it were important enough to run
after him and return it. Kit glanced at it too, seeing
the familiar form of printing rather than the words.
Its nothing. Just an ordinary business card.
Not quite ordinary. Connie made no move to
follow the man, but handed the card to Kit with one
eyebrow raised a trifle quizzically. In the center was
engraved in dignified black script the name Cedric
Maitland Mole, and in the lower left-hand corner
was noted the organization with which Mr. Mole
was affiliated, Lloyds of London. This explains
the British accent, she said.
Lloyds of London, Kit murmured aloud.
5

Whats thata detective agency? She gave her

sister a sidelong, teasing glance.
Connie laughed aloud. An insurance company,
silly. One of the biggest. Theyll issue a policy on
almost anything they consider a fair riska singers
voice, a dancers feet, a pianists fingers. Theyre
terribly famous. Oh, Kit, you know!
I was just kidding, Kit admitted as they crossed
the street and paused to admire a handsome
monument commemorating the hundredth birthday
of Mexicos independence. But whats so
interesting about Mr. Maitland?
By now, Connies attention was otherwise
engaged. She crumpled the card and tossed it aside,
shrugging. I dont know. Its sort of tempting to
speculate on what he may be doing here, thats all.
Lets just speculate on where we go to buy a
guidebook, Kit suggested. Im more intrigued by
Mexico City than by Mr. Cedric Mole.
The twins continued down the Avenida Jurez,
past the Palace of Fine Arts to a narrower section of
the street which was lined with silver shops. Here, in
a venerable building covered with blue and white
tile, they discovered Sanborns, a combination
drugstore, department store, and restaurant, where
other tourists were buying not only guidebooks but
silver and toothbrushes and American newspapers
and magazines.
6

They took the advice of a clerk and emerged

shortly with a paper-bound volume which they
shared between them, and wandered for a while
along the narrow streets which opened off the park.
As darkness approached, the city seemed to come
alive. Business became brisk in the shops, the
number of pedestrians increased on the narrow
sidewalks, and everywhere was movement and
color, punctuated by the twinkle of electric lights.
Then great neon signs flashed on, featuring
charging bulls and Mexican fireworks, and giving
the downtown district an offbeat touch of Times
Square in New York City. The offices began to
close between six and seven oclock, and the streets
filled with pretty secretaries homeward bound and
young executives strolling toward the hotels which
were popular meeting places before the late dinner
hour.
Connie and Kit finally joined the stream of
pedestrians emptying into the Alameda, and made
their way back to the Bamer, where they found a
table in the small but elegant dining room. Connie,
always experimental, ordered cracked Morro crab
and chicken mole, but Kit, who was more interested
in the guidebook she was still perusing than in food,
settled on a simple American dish.
Ill taste yours, she decided. Then, if I like it,
theres always tomorrow
8

Maana, Connie agreed impishly. Mexico,

the land of tomorrow. I can see youre going to fit
right in!
At that moment, in the arched doorway, appeared
a strangely attired woman whom Connie
immediately recognized as still another fellow
passenger on their flight from New York. She had
introduced herself as an American sculptor living in
Taxco, and for more than an hour had regaled them
with stories of Mexican village life.
In spite of her bizarre appearance, the girls had
found her rather entertaining, and promised to look
her up when they visited the mountain city of the
silversmiths.
She was a wispy woman of uncertain years, with
straight gray hair, cut, surprisingly, in a long bang
across her forehead, and she wore heavy silver
bracelets on her thin arms and an assortment of
necklaces wound around a chiffon scarf which
swaddled her throat. Her full peasant skirt looked
extremely odd in the city, where most girls and
women dressed in simple suits or dark street dresses.
If she had seemed Bohemian and unconventional on
the plane, she looked even more so against the
backdrop of the lobby mirrors, like a gypsy fortune
teller or a theatrical character who had wandered
offstage.
Dont look now, Connie whispered to her twin,
9

but here comes Hannah Devotion Troy!

The warning came too late. Kits head had
already turned, and Mrs. Troy immediately spotted
the shining hair of the Blair twins. With a squeal of
delight she hurried toward them, her skirt billowing
and her bracelets jingling.
How nice to see you again! she cried.
The girls rose and greeted her politely. Connie
felt slightly conspicuous because Mrs. Troys
appearance had drawn the attention of the other
diners to their table, but Kit courteously asked her to
join them. She didnt hesitate for a moment,
snapping her fingers to a waiter, who pulled up an
extra chair. She settled herself comfortably and
smiled at the girls over the menu.
Now, isnt this nice? she burbled. I was telling
my daughter in New York just this morning it was
bound to be a lonely trip back, but it hasnt been at
all, thanks to you. Now what do I want to eat? Let
me see. Her watery blue eyes considered the
entrees and she ordered knowingly, langouste first,
then enchiladas with guacamole sauce.
Tell me, she suggested as the waiter hurried
off, what do you think of the city?
Oh, we love it, Connie said promptly. It has so
much atmosphere!
Ah, but wait until you see Taxco! You will
never want to leave, Mrs. Troy said with a sigh.
10

She reached out and patted Kits hand. You should

come and stay with me, really, instead of at the
hotel.
Thats very kind, but our reservations are all
arranged, Kit replied gently.
Well, if anything goes astray, you are welcome.
As the Mexicans say, My house is yours.
Thats charming, isnt it? Connie murmured.
Then, in an effort to make polite conversation, she
added, Have you lived in Taxco a long time, Mrs.
Troy?
Five years. But only two years in the Casa del
Olvido. A slight frown trembled on her forehead.
Then she twitched her shoulders as though shaking
off an unpleasant thought. I like it there, she said
abruptly. It is a quiet place to work. With a return
of her former ebullience, she added, When you
come I will show you some of my jewelry designs.
You design jewelry too? Kit asked with
interest.
Only recently, replied Mrs. Troy. But it
interests me. Yes, it interests me very much.
She sounds as though she were trying to convince
herself that this is true, thought Connie, as she
dipped a succulent piece of crab in mayonnaise and
tasted it appreciatively. Shes an odd person. I
wonder if shes any good as a sculptor, or as a
designer either, for that matter? She couldnt
11

classify Hannah Devotion Troy, who had announced

her name in full upon first meeting. Most people she
could size up rather quickly, but this peculiar
woman might be either a really good artist or a
thoroughly incompetent dilettante. It was impossible
to predict which was the more likely, and for this
reason she felt stirring within her a genuine desire to
visit the Casa del Olvido. Besides, it would be
interesting to see the interior of a real Mexican
house.
A bellhop with an envelope on a silver tray broke
into her reflections. Seorita Blair?
Both girls looked up. Katherine or Constance?
Connie asked.
The bellhop looked puzzled and proffered the
tray, while Kit murmured in sudden alarm, Oh,
dear, you dont suppose
Relax, Connie said as she picked up the
envelope. Youre as bad as Mother, always sure
that a telegram means death or arson. Its for me,
anyway, my pet, she added reassuringly. If it were
from home it would be addressed to both of us.
Ripping open the envelope, she glanced at the
typed signature and smiled. George Renshaw. You
might know! And Ive been away from the office
just one day.
But what could he want you for, down here?
Kit questioned.
12

Tell you in just a second. Connie scanned the

closely typed lines, while her sister and Mrs. Troy
sat in polite silence, waiting. Its nothing especially
important, she told them after a minute. Then she
explained to Mrs. Troy, I work for an advertising
agency in Philadelphia, and one of our accounts is a
big New York importer who is interested, right now,
in a line of Mexican silver jewelry. Something out
of the ordinary, apparently, and they just want me to
look the situation over when I go to Taxco. She
glanced at Kit. It wont take long and it may even
he fun.
Taxco? Mrs. Troy murmured. Who is the
jeweler?
Connie looked back at the typed message. It says
hereshe hesitated, then found the name again
Victor King.
A waiter was just placing a coffee cup at Mrs.
Troys elbow. Whether she didnt see him, or
whether the name caused her to jerk forward
sharply, it was impossible to tell. But the coffee
spilled, missing Kits skirt by inches, and stained the
white tablecloth an ugly brown.
Goodness, I am sorry! Mrs. Troy apologized.
It was my fault, entirely, said the waiter, in
perfect English.
It doesnt matter, Kit said soothingly. Its just
lucky nobody was scalded.
13

But Connie sat in silence, wondering whether she

were unusually suspicious or whether Hannah
Devotion Troy really had jostled the waiters arm
because she was startled at the mention of Victor
King.

14

CHAPTER

On the Road to Taxco

In the morning Connie was awakened by the church

bells ringing, not sweetly as at home, but in a sort of
happy-go-lucky dissonance. She opened her eyes
slowly, and turned her head to look out over the
Alameda, which at this hour was shrouded in a gray
mist. Sunday, she thought sleepily. Sunday in
Mexico City. She stretched luxuriously and looked
forward to the day.
Kit, in the other twin bed, was still sleeping like a
baby, lying on her side with her hair rumpled on her
forehead. Connie looked at her twin affectionately,
half smiling because even she could see the
astonishing resemblance between them. It was like
looking into a mirror, to look at Kit, even though in
personality the girls were so unlike.
She consulted her wrist watch and was surprised
15

to find that it was eight oclock, because it seemed

much earlier, somehow, as though the city had not
yet begun to stir. Yet, when she slipped out of bed
and crossed to the great window, she could see cars
passing and people hurrying across the park sixteen
floors below.
About to close the window, which slid back and
forth within the sheet of glass which formed one
entire wall of the room, Connie hesitated as voices
drifted up to her from the dining balcony below. A
table was set for breakfast and Mrs. Troy was sitting
on one side, while on the other was a middle-aged,
stocky woman in a tweed suit, whose sunglasses and
open guidebook proclaimed her a tourist.
Connie yawned and watched them for a moment,
out of early-morning idleness rather than special
curiosity. At an angle above them and to the right,
she could see and hear without being seen.
The stranger, whose back was toward Connie,
was apparently questioning Mrs. Troy about the cost
of living in Taxco, and the sculptors rather highpitched voice carried her answer distinctly.
Oh, yes, you can live very cheaply, really. As I
should know, I might add, because that is the real
reason I took up residence there. You see, as an
artist, I have to think about cost all the time, but in
Taxco I can afford a servant, because her salary is
only a few pesos, and I can rent a house that would
16

be out of the question elsewhere. I live on

practically nothing, comparatively speaking. She
leaned forward. In fact, to be completely frank, Im
extremely poor.
Connie frowned, partially because she felt it was
in bad taste to be so confidential with a person who
was, if her guess was correct, a casual traveling
acquaintance. But as she turned away from the
window she was aware of a deeper disturbance. Mrs.
Troys words and her conduct did not fit. She
traveled luxuriously, yet complained of poverty.
Connie stood hesitant in the middle of the floor,
analyzing the reason for this. She admitted to herself
that the sculptors clothes were cheap and flimsy,
her shoes worn, her purse and gloves old and
shabby. Yet Hannah Devotion had been traveling
first-class on the plane, and she was staying at a
first-class hotel and ordering whatever happened to
appeal to her on the menu. Could she have been
lying to her breakfast companion, Connie wondered,
and if so, why?
Why? she asked herself aloud.
Kit blinked and propped herself up on one elbow.
Why what?
Connie grinned. Why stay in bed on a beautiful
day?
Kit threw a pillow at her, and Connie caught it
neatly. This is a vacation, I thought, not a
17

marathon. Kit turned away from the light and

pretended to be going back to sleep. I wish you
wouldnt be quite so vigorous.
And I wish youd be a little more so, Connie
suggested amiably, and threw the pillow back with
straight-armed accuracy.
Oh, all right, Kit complained. She sat up and
slipped her feet into mules unhurriedly, then made
an unexpected dash for the bathroom. Beat you!
she cried.
Connie laughed. Kit, youre an idiot! she
scolded, then wrinkled her nose in amusement.
Gosh, its good to be with you. I wish youd get a
job in Philadelphia. Then we could take an
apartment togetherand everything.
But Kit, turning serious, shook her head.
Meadowbrook is where I belong. Im essentially a
small-town girl. And I suppose youll never believe
it, but I really like working with Dad in the hardware
store.
The telephone rang, and Connie turned away to
answer it.
Is this Miss BlairMiss Connie Blair? asked a
masculine voice. Yes, it is.
Oh, fine! Im glad I caught you. This is Peter
Dawson speaking.
Peter who?
Peter Dawson. Im Victor Kings stepson, and I
18

happen to be in Mexico City for the week end.

Yes?
Well, Dad just wondered if I couldnt drive you
to Taxco, instead of you having to take a bus or hire
a car, I mean.
Connie smiled at the typically American voice
and decided that Peter Dawson sounded young and
friendly. Goodness, news travels fast, she said into
the mouthpiece. I didnt dream Mr. King even
knew I was in town.
He was talking to New York yesterday, I think,
came the quick reply. But were getting off the
point. I want to know if youll accept me as a
chauffeur. Dawson, at your service.
Let me think a minute, Connie suggested.
Sure. Sure. Take your time.
Connie held a hand over the mouthpiece. Weve
been offered a free ride to Taxco by Victor Kings
stepson. He sounds nice. Want me to accept?
Brushing her hair as she stood in the bathroom
door, Kit considered. Why not? Just so we dont
have to leave right away.
Into the telephone Connie said, Thats very kind,
Im sure. But what time would we have to be
ready?
Oh, sometime this afternoon. Say around three
oclock? suggested the voice at the other end of the
wire.
19

That sounds perfect, Connie agreed. She

nodded toward her sister and whispered, Three
oclock?
Kit smiled her approval, as Connie said, In the
lobby? Splendid. Thank you again, Mr. Dawson.
Just call me Pete, advised the boyish voice.
Pete, then. Good-by.
Kit whistled softly in amusement, and teased,
Well, now that were on a first-name basis
But Connie interrupted. Hurry up, you
slowpoke! Were wasting the entire day!
However, after a slow start, Kit swung into action
and showered and dressed in ten minutes. After a
quick breakfast on the balcony, from which Mrs.
Troy had disappeared, the girls went to church and
then walked to the Palace of Fine Arts to see the
showing of the treasured glass curtain, made by
Tiffany of New York, which Kits guidebook told
her was a Sunday morning must.
It proved to be a huge curtain of yard-square
sections of colored glass representing the twin
volcanoes, Popocatepetl and Ixtacihuatl, which stand
guard over Mexico City. By the use of complicated
lighting from behind the curtain, an illusion was
given of dawn breaking over the snow-capped
peaks. Under cover of the accompanying music, Kit
whispered, If youre interested, the curtain weighs
twenty-two tons and cost forty-seven thousand
20

dollars.
Connie nodded, without hearing. Her mind had
drifted away from the spectacle to return to Hannah
Devotion Troy. The woman was beginning to
interest her more and more. She wished she had not
been slightly prejudiced by her bizarre appearance,
and had tried to become better acquainted. Certainly
it wouldnt have been difficult. Mrs. Troy seemed
more than ready to talk.
Connie was always intrigued more by people than
things, but Kit proved to be an enthusiastic
sightseer, and hurried her sister from the Bellas
Artes back to the hotel, where they had arranged for
a car to pick them up and take them to the floating
gardens of Xochimilco.
Their driver proved to be highly informed and
articulate, and the twins spent a very interesting
morning, although the term floating gardens was a
misnomer. More correctly, they found themselves
being poled through canals on a gaily decorated
launch, which was constantly bumped and crowded
by similar launches bearing tourists or Mexican
families on Sunday picnics. Flower sellers floated
by in small boats, food and drink vendors abounded,
and Mexican orchestras on other launches played
such universal favorites as Guadalajara and
Jarabe Tapatio for a few pesos.
Connie and Kit arrived back at their hotel just in
21

time for a late lunch, which left them only a few

minutes to pack before meeting Peter Dawson in the
lobby.
The scene today was very different from the
siesta lull during which they had arrived yesterday.
People were hailing taxis, jostling one another, and
shouting.
I wonder where everyone is going? Connie
asked aloud. Then she whispered to Kit, The joints
really jumping, as Toby would say.
The thought of her younger brothers schoolboy
slang made Kits eyes grow dreamy for a moment.
Well have to buy Toby a special sort of present,
she reminded Connie.
Something cool! Connies eyes twinkled. Ill
buy him one of those big sombreros if youll wear it
home.
By this time they had worked their way through
the crowd of tourists in the lobby, and had arrived,
along with the boy carrying their luggage, on the
pavement outside the hotel. Cars of all descriptions
bearing the sign Libre, meaning taxi, in their
windshields, crowded the street, and every tourist in
Mexico City seemed to be going somewhere.
A young man, with short red hair, a sport jacket,
and a pair of dirty white-duck shoes, detached
himself from the throng. He was hurrying toward the
revolving doors of the hotel when Connie, following
22

a hunch, stepped into his path. Pardon me, but are

you Peter Dawson? she asked.
You bet! Connie Blair? He shook hands with a
lit in grip. Gosh, youre the only girl in the world
Ive ever known to be on time.
Then his jaw dropped as his eyes encountered
Kit. My gosh, dont tell me there are two of you!
Am I seeing double, or what?
Connie laughed. This is my twin sister,
Katherine. Kit for short, she explained. I guess
Reid and Renshaw forgot to mention to Mr. King
that were down here together on a vacation trip.
No matter. Except that Ill never be able to keep
you straight. Peters direct, copper-colored eyes
glanced from one girl to the other and he shook his
head. Talk about identical!
Then he addressed his attention to the bellhop,
who was standing by with the luggage, and helped
him stow it in the rear of a convertible pulled in
among the taxis at the curb. The twins noted with
youthful pleasure that the top was down. The
afternoon was balmy and the sun was bright. It
should prove to be a delightful drive!
But before they could head for the suburbs they
had to get out of the snarl of traffic. Where is
everybody going? Connie asked, after the three of
them were installed in the front seat of the car.
To the bullfights, Peter replied promptly.
23

Within another hour fifty thousand people will be

fighting their way into the Plaza. The fights are the
only thing in Mexico, he added with a chuckle,
that ever begin on time.
One thing I dont want to go to, murmured Kit
with an instinctive shudder, is a bullfight.
Ill shake on that, responded Peter. The fiesta
brava holds no appeal for me.
Have you ever seen one? Connie asked,
wondering whether her own intellectual curiosity
wouldnt demand that she witness, just once, an art
which had become a national passion.
No, Peter confessed, nor do I ever intend to.
Maybe youll think Im stuffy, but I just dont
approve of the whole idea. Any more than I do of
gambling.
Gambling? Connie probed. You mean poker
and such?
I mean anything on which a person can bet and
lose big sums of moneyhorse racing, the lottery,
cockfighting, all the rest of it. Theres something
about the gambling urge that can ruin a man.
Sometimes I think its almost as much of a curse as
drink. Then suddenly Peter laughed as though he
were amused at his own intense feeling. But how
did we ever get so serious? Its a swell afternoon.
Lets laugh and have fun like other people, as the
saying goes.
24

The traffic began to thin when they reached the

Insurgentes Boulevard, and Peter sped toward the
southern outskirts of the city with practiced ease. He
was as competent a conversationalist as a driver, and
between getting acquainted with one another and
talking about the territory through which they were
traveling, time fled.
A superhighway led to Cuernavaca, climbing to a
scenic wonderland at ten thousand feet and then
dropping into a fertile valley where banana trees,
palms, and all sorts of tropical flowers grew. The
girls plied Peter with questions until he cried for
mercy.
Hey, he told them, my names Dawson, not
Baedeker! I know a little about Mexico, but not a
lot. After all, Ive only been here a few weeks.
But I thought you lived here, Connie said.
Peter shook his head, his crisp short hair glinting
in the sunlight like burnished copper. I go to school
in the StatesAntioch.
Oh! said Connie, interested, because she knew
of the college. Ive always been interested in the
system of alternating work with study. What are you
majoring in?
Business administration, said Peter promptly.
Thats why Im here. Im working for my
stepfather for a while as part of my training, trying
to help him with his proposed expansion. But I must
25

admit its slow going. System isnt a popular word

down here.
Connie laughed and suggested shrewdly,
Maana trouble?
And how!
Kit wriggled lazily. I think its a very pleasant
contrast to our way of life. Im for it.
Youre on vacation, Peter reminded her with a
grin. Youre not trying to get things done.
In the center of town Peter circled a tree-filled
plaza and parked in front of Corts Palace, which,
he told the twins, was one of the oldest buildings in
the Western Hemisphere. They went up to a rear
balcony to look at a famous Diego Rivera mural,
then walked to a nearby hotel for a cold drink.
Both Kit and Connie were so enchanted with the
town that Peter couldnt resist driving them around
some of the other interesting sections, and it was
twilight before they once more started toward
Taxco.
Goodness, I suppose well be awfully late for
dinner, Kit murmured to Connie in mild concern.
Where are you staying? I forgot to ask, said
Peter.
The Victoria, Connie told him.
Oh, thats fine. Youll love it. The view from the
terrace is marvelous. All Taxco is spread out at your
feet. Then he turned to Kit. And as for worrying
26

about the dinner hour, dont give it a second

thought. People in Mexico dine around nine oclock,
or even as late as ten. Wish we could have dinner
together but I have a previous engagement.
The road began to climb again, winding into
mountains, past cornfields which seemed to be
planted in perpendicular stripes. Traffic thinned to .i
trickle, then disappeared entirely, and the
convertible twisted up one hill and down another
until Kit claimed that she felt as though she were
traveling on a roller coaster in an amusement park.
Darkness thickened as they shot down into the
valleys, but the mountains were still bathed in an
eerie gray light which proceeds the true night. As
the tires squealed around a particularly abrupt curve,
they sighted a stalled car on the road ahead and a
man signaled Peter to a stop.
As the convertible drew up beside him, Connies
and Kits eyes lit up with recognition. It was Cedric
Maitland Mole of Lloyds of London, and he was
still wearing his pinstriped suit.
Why, hello, Mr. Mole said at once. You girls
were on the plane coming down. Then he added
quickly, directing his explanation to Peter, I seem
to have broken the fan belt on this car. Could I
trouble you for a lift into town?
No trouble at all, Peter said courteously. But I
think Id better push you to the side of the road first.
27

Less chance of getting sideswiped, dont you

think?
This operation effected, Mr. Mole got out his
traveling bag and climbed into the back seat. Then,
unaware that the twins already knew his name, he
introduced himself, and they did the same.
Peter was the last to speak. Im Peter Dawson. I
dont live in Taxco but my stepfather does, and I
think you may get faster service if I drop you at the
garage he uses. Just mention that youre a friend of
Mr. Victor Kings.
Connie was sitting on the outside, half turned
around, with her arm across the back of the seat. She
saw Mr. Mole start in surprise, then recover himself
in time to say, quite normally, Thank you, Mr.
Dawson. Thats very kind.

28

CHAPTER 3

The Silver Shop

Connie let the others make conversation for a while

as she sat thinking. I didnt imagine it, she told
herself. Cedric Mole definitely recognized Victor
Kings name. I wonder if they know each other?
From the back seat Mr. Mole made no
explanation. The typical self-contained Britisher, he
talked in short, authoritative sentences which to the
American ear seemed clipped and almost smug.
Certainly he wasnt the sort of person to whom
Connie warmed, yet she was curious about his
business in Taxco. And if he knew Victor King, why
didnt he come right out and say so? Why was it
necessary to be so secretive?
Of course, she argued, perhaps it wasnt
necessary. Perhaps it was just the nature of the
fellow to be uncommunicative. Maybe he even
29

considered it his duty, as a representative of Lloyds

of London, to admit nothing, reveal nothing. But
curiosity, as usual, nagged her like a mosquito.
A sharp turn to the right brought the highway to
an end. It was replaced by a cobblestoned road
which narrowed as it approached the town, and
within a few minutes Peter dropped Mr. Mole off at
a garage.
Now the going became really slow. The
convertibles headlights illuminated natives,
chickens, pigs, miners with metal helmets, and
children scurrying along in the dark. Stores and
houses flush with the street were swarming with
activity, and the girls were aware of old walls with
carved doorways and lanterns jutting out at odd
angles.
Then, suddenly, the road became a veritable
canyon, which reminded Connie of a picture
postcard she had once received from Carcassonne,
in France. In a few minutes well be coming into
the main plaza, or Zcalo, Peter said. This is the
loafing place of the foreign colony. At this time of
evening youll see plenty of life.
The girls discovered he was right. The square
seemed to be swarming with people. From all sides,
shops spilled light upon huge Indian laurel trees.
These arched like canopies over green benches
occupied by Mexicans, Indians, and Americans who
30

were gossiping, laughing, or simply sitting and

enjoying the passing show.
Against the night sky were silhouetted the towers
of the beautiful church of Santa Prisca, which
dominated one side of the square. To the colorful
scene it lent a special enchantment, almost like a
benediction. Connie exclaimed, Isnt this
wonderful!
Peter leaned forward and smiled at her. I knew
youd like Taxco, he said.
Kit, meanwhile, was sniffing the delicious odors
of Mexican dishes being cooked on the square on
little charcoal braziers. Mmm, smell! She sighed.
Hungry? Peter asked, laughing.
I always seem to be hungry today, Connie
joined in. Maybe its the altitude. She looked
longingly at the stands piled high with tropical fruits
and local sweetmeats. Puestos, Peter called them,
and Connie repeated the word after him. She
intended to brush up on her high-school Spanish
while she was in Mexico. Kit, however, was content
to sit and just absorb the atmosphere of the place. It
was very foreign, quite different from anything she
had ever seen.
All too soon, it seemed to her, they had circled
the Zcalo and were again winding up, up, up along
a street so narrow that two cars could not pass. The
Victoria, as Peter had promised, had a superb
31

location. Built into a cliff, it commanded a view of

the entire city, and after Peter had left them, Connie
and Kit were shown to a room with a private
balcony which looked down on a thousand twinkling
lights. A waning moon picked out the towers of the
church and the rooftops of casitas clinging to the
mountainside in delightful disorder.
Lets stay forever! Kit proposed.
I wonder what it would be like really to live
here? Connie asked thoughtfully. For an
American, I mean? I can understand how an artist or
a writer might get used to the tempo, but for a
business person I should think it would be difficult.
Are you thinking of Peter? Hes nice, isnt he?
Sort ofwholesome.
Connie nodded, agreeing to this description, but
then said, I was thinking of Victor King.
But, Connie, you dont even know him, Kit
protested.
Im going totomorrow morning, Connie
promised. Then Im going to wire Reid and
Renshaw and finish up this business, so that I can
turn turista for the rest of the trip.
This prediction, however, turned out to be wrong,
for the next morning Peter phoned, apologetically,
before breakfast, and told Connie that his father and
he had to drive to Mexico City on an unexpected
errand, and that Mr. King wouldnt be able to see
32

Connie until the following day.

It doesnt really matter, Connie told Kit, even
though she was anxious to get anything that related
to business behind her. Well go shopping and
sight-seeing for a whole long lovely morning.
They did just that, wandering in and out of the
little silver shops that lined the cobbled streets, and
buying identical full-skirted dresses at an
establishment which specialized in the peasant
cottons Americans loved.
They lunched in the sun on the hotel terrace,
wandered down to the market below the square,
visited the church and stood in quiet admiration
before each of its twelve altars, then came out to sit
in the square at twilight and watch the world go by.
It is said that at least once a day almost everyone
in Taxco has reason to cross the Zcalo, and this
seemed to be true. Home-going school children in
uniforms, artists with easels tucked under their arms,
Indian mothers with nursing babies wrapped tightly
in the long scarves known as rebozos, stray dogs,
laden donkeys, a mamma pig and her children out
for a walkthe procession was endless! So it didnt
surprise Connie that she caught a glimpse of Cedric
Mole, stony-faced and preoccupied, getting up from
a distant bench, nor was it particularly unexpected
when she and Kit came face to face with Hannah
Devotion Troy outside the post office.
33

Dressed for shopping in a flowered chiffon dress,

nurses shoes, and a white felt hat, Mrs. Troy was
cordial but obviously in a hurry. Now do come see
me, she urged the twins. Ill be home all day
tomorrow, and you wont have a bit of trouble
finding my house. Just turn down Calle del Arco and
ask at the corner. Everybody knows the Casa del
Olvido.
What does olvido mean in English? Connie
asked.
Forgetfulness, said Mrs. Troy.
The House of Forgetfulness, murmured Connie
as the sculptor turned away. A curious name, isnt
it?
Its rather pretty, Kit said.
Or rather sinister, Connie suggested slowly,
upon which her sister stamped her foot in
exasperation. Theres nothing one bit sinister about
Mrs. Troy, she said sharply. Shes just artistic and
peculiar andand somehow I think maybe shes
almost tragic, but I dont know why.
Tragic? Connie snatched at the word, then
shook her head.
Havent you noticed her eyes when shes off
guard? Kit asked. Sometimes she looks sad, or
frightened, or something. I cant quite define the
expression, but Id like to know more about her.
Connie laughed. You sound like me, not like
34

yourself at all! she teased. Why dont you call on

her in the morning while Im seeing Victor King?
She may open up to one person when she wouldnt
with the two of us.
Kit decided to follow this suggestion, and Connie
promised to join her there after she had visited the
silver factory. The next morning Connie hurried off
immediately after breakfast, but Kit went back to
their room.
She had put her white canvas play shoes to dry on
the balcony coping, after scrubbing them with soap
and water. They were the only low-heeled slippers
she had brought with her, and she wanted to change,
because it was completely impossible to stay upright
on Taxco cobblestones in anything but flats. But
when she arrived in her room she found that one
slipper was missing, and a few minutes later, while
she was still leaning over the balcony to see if it
could possibly have dropped into the garden below,
a little chambermaid came running through the door,
breathless and stricken.
There had been a disaster, she explained in
broken English. The shoe had been knocked off the
railing by her mop, and when she had arrived in the
garden to recapture it, a dog was disappearing under
the gate with the object in his mouth!
The maid had given chase, but too late! With
tears in her eyes she apologized. What could she do?
35

It doesnt really matter, Kit told her, speaking

very slowly, as one would to a child. They were
almost worn out, anyway. And Ive been wanting to
buy some huaraches, so this will give me a chance.
Go to the market, the maid advised. They are
cheaper there. Still begging the seoritas
forgiveness for her stupidity, she backed out the
doorway.
Connie, meanwhile, walked quickly down the
steep steps which led to the road. Here, in the early
morning, there was a different kind of traffic. Trim
little maids with market baskets swinging from their
brown arms hurried along in one direction, while
school children scurried in another, shouting and
laughing and swinging their books, which were
bound by old-fashioned straps. The cool mountain
air touched Connies face like a kiss, and she smiled
at a dark-skinned baby sitting on a doorstep. Then
she stopped to get her bearings in the Zcalo and
headed in the direction of the King workshop and
showrooms, which she had already seen from a
distance on the previous day.
She hoped she would have a chance to talk with
some of the artisans, because back home in
Philadelphia she had been brushing up on her
Spanish with language records, and she would
welcome a chance to test her skill. As she climbed
the steep cobbled footpath which led up the
36

mountainside, she reviewed some of the words she

might need.
She knew that taller was the word for workshop
and that tienda was the word for store, and the
simple questions she would wish to ask were not
difficult to express.
Musing, she reached her destination, a pink
plaster building set flush with the narrow street. The
name Victor was inscribed in elaborate black
script at eye level on the wall, and the inevitable
lantern cast a shadow on the tinted paint. An arrow
indicated that the entrance was at second-story level,
and a steep tiled staircase led to a heavily carved
door. Connie walked in a trifle timidly.
Then, expecting to find either Mr. King or an
assistant in the display room, she stopped in
surprise. The only person in the room was
examining a silver bowl. His back, although turned
toward her, was immediately recognizable. It was
Cedric Maitland Mole.
Her footsteps were quite audible. He turned
toward the girl in the doorway and raised his
eyebrows in apparent interest. Ah, good morning,
Miss Blair.
Good morning, Connie said, a trifle nonplused.
I was expecting Mr. King.
Before Mr. Mole could answer, a slender Indian
lad appeared and said in halting English, Mr. King
37

will be in very shortly. Meanwhile, would you like

to see the taller? He stood aside and indicated the
way.
The what? Mr. Mole frowned.
The factory, Connie explained. Gracias, she
said to the boy. Id like to very much. She smiled
and followed the guide, while Mr. Mole rather
grudgingly trailed along behind.
The workrooms were hot and noisy, but not
crowded. Several men, stripped to the waist, were
hammering away on intricate jewelry designs.
Connie stopped near one of them and asked a couple
of questions in careful Spanish, and the man nodded
understandingly and answered her slowly, seeming
pleased when she signified that she understood.
Mr. Mole, who apparently disdained any attempt
to speak the artisans language, asked in English, Is
that an authentic Aztec design? When the workman
shook his head in bewilderment, Mr. Mole repeated
the question more slowly, his voice rising to a shout.
Apparently he decided that the man was hard of
hearing or stupid; Connie couldnt decide which.
She moved on to look over the shoulder of a boy
who appeared to be only about ten years old, but
who was working with the surety of an expert. That
is very beautiful, she told him in Spanish, admiring
the necklace he was fashioning from silver.
The lad looked up at her and smiled. S.
38

Gracias, Seorita! His eyes followed her bright

head as she moved about the room.
As she went from one artisan to the other her
mind was busy. None of the men seemed to be
working on big pieces, and she noticed that several
of the chairs were empty. Apparently the
establishment was not operating at top speed. She
wondered, as she walked, how much production
could be stepped up if Victor King should sign a big
New York contract. In maana land, would it be
possible to institute American methods? She wasnt
sure. People here moved at such a leisurely pace.
Mr. Mole had apparently tired of the factory and
returned to the showroom, so she moved over to the
guide and thanked him for his courtesy, preparing to
follow the English visitor.
It is all very interesting, she told him in
Spanish, but arent you shorthanded? There are
many empty seats.
The young man nodded sadly. S. For two weeks
now there has been little work. But soon things will
be better. He seemed quite confident.
Thats good, Connie told him, and thanked him
again. Then she walked through a small office,
where a padlocked wooden cupboard occupied one
wall, and rejoined Mr. Mole.
The Englishman was staring moodily out the
window when she came into the room, but when
39

Connie spoke, he whirled around, then crossed the

room in a few rapid steps. Young lady, he told her
very softly, I dont know your business here but I
think I should warn you to be careful in your
dealings.
His frown, either from concern or from anger,
was very intense. Butbut Connie started to
protest. At that moment, however, there came an
interruption. Running up the steps from the street
came a big sandy-haired man in a white linen suit.
Every inch of him breathed energy and bounce.
Even his walk was hearty, and it reminded Connie
of a Texan who has spent many hours riding the
range. His smile was broad, his eyes were bright,
and his glance took in the situation quickly.
Sorry to be late, he said. Im Victor King.
Mr. King looked so overwhelmingly normal that
Connie felt relieved. Whatever Mr. Mole was trying
to warn her of she didnt know, but certainly the
appearance of this bluff, hearty American was a
decided relief. She smiled and introduced herself,
but before she had an opportunity to continue, Mr.
King said, Id like to show you around a bit, Miss
Blair, but I have a definite appointment with this
gentleman. I wonder if you could come back this
afternoon?
Of course, Connie agreed immediately. She
nodded to Mr. Mole and made a quick and graceful
40

exit. About two oclock? she asked from the door.

Splendid! Mr. Kings resonant voice echoed in
the stairwell. Sales personality plus, thought
Connie, as she walked out into the sunlight. This, a I
least, was something she could understand.
On the sloping street, however, she stood for a
moment irresolute. What should she do with the rest
of the morning? The answer came quickly. Shed go
and join Kit at the Casa del Olvido. There was no
point to wandering around the byways of Taxco
alone.

41

CHAPTER

House of Forgetfulness

With downcast eyes, Kit picked her way down the

cobbled street, stepping from stone to stone like a
careful cat. No wonder there was a little rhyme of
advice to visitors:
To avoid a fiasco and agonized squeals
Dont come to Taxco without flat heels!
She considered taking her shoes off and going
barefoot, then decided this might look too
conspicuous and struggled on. Taking the
chambermaids advice, she headed for the open-air
market, only to discover that the approach to it was
breath-takingly steep and rugged. Steps started
conventionally down a cliff, then disappeared as
though workmen had wearied of their task, to be
42

replaced with slippery cobblestones which looked

like fat pillows embedded in the mountainside.
To live in Taxco you need to be three-quarters
mountain goat, muttered Kit to herself as she
teetered at the top. At this point, I give up.
She wished that she had stopped at a shoe shop in
the Plaza de San Juan, on her way from the hotel,
but since she was now closer to the Casa del Olvido
than to that little square, she decided to pay her call
on Hannah Devotion Troy before returning for the
shoes.
It wasnt too far, she kept telling herself.
Stopping to check directions, she found the right
street. The cobblestones were rough, the soles of her
slippers thin. Kit walked on grimly. Keeping close
to the walls of the buildings which hugged the
narrow street, she arrived at her destination
thankfully.
A great grilled iron gate was set into the side of a
sheer wall, and Kit remembered that Mrs. Troy had
explained that the house was built around a patio,
into which horses had been driven in earlier days.
Since there was no sign of a bell or a knocker, and
since the gate was standing ajar, Kit walked through,
to find herself in an enchanting paved courtyard
dappled with sunlight and cheery with bird song.
Balconies ringed the patio, and in a corner an
ancient jacaranda tree leaned invitingly forward,
43

dripping its clusters of blue blossoms on the uneven

cobbles which persisted even here!
In the exact center of the court was an octagonal
stone well, antique, crumbling, and apparently longsince abandoned, because it was topped by the most
enormous bird cage Kit had ever seen.
It was from this cage that the trilling and singing
was coming, and she stood for a while, her head
lilted to one side, trying to listen very carefully so
that she could sort out the various birds. Mrs. Troy
hadnt mentioned that she owned an aviary!
Aside from this background music, however, the
place was very quiet. There was no sign of life on
the balcony, and no clatter of pots and pans betrayed
the whereabouts of the kitchen wing. After the
incessant movement of people and burros through
the citys streets, the peacefulness appealed to Kit.
She feasted her eyes on the blooming flowers
geraniums, poinsettias, and all manner of annuals
sprawling over the stones in lavish abundanceand
decided that this must make a perfect retreat for an
artist. It had atmosphere and dignity.
So much dignity, in fact, that Kit wondered how
to announce herself. It seemed brash and almost
disrespectful to shout a loud hello! Yet she
hesitated to knock on any of the closed doors which
opened off the courtyard. She supposed if she just
stood here a while somebody was bound to turn up.
44

It was ten minutes, however, before a little Indian

criada, or housemaid, came hurrying through the
archway at the opposite end of the court. She saw
Kit and looked mildly surprised, then came over
solemnly and said, Buenos das, Seorita. You
wish to see Mrs. Troy?
Relieved that the girl could speak a little English,
Kit said, YesI didif I wont be disturbing her.
She asked me to call.
S. The maid seemed to understand perfectly,
and Kit decided that association with an American
must have given her a working knowledge of the
language. Mrs. Troy is still sleeping, but she should
be down in a very little while now. She always has
coffee in the patio at ten. The maid indicated a
chaise and a couple of low chairs on the far side of
the court. Wont you sit down, Seorita, and make
yourself comfortable?
Thank you, Kit said, smiling. She glanced at
her wrist watch and found that if Mrs. Troy were
prompt, she had only about twelve minutes to wait.
The little maid bobbed a sort of primitive curtsy
and hurried off to market, her black braids swinging,
her empty basket held lightly in one hand. Unlike
the older women, she wore no rebozo, and Kit
noticed that her dress, though faded from much
washing, was fresh and clean. Kit decided that living
in Taxco had even more appeal than she had
45

previously thought. It had been a long time since her

mother in Meadowbrook, Pennsylvania, had been
able to afford full-time help!
A boy came into the court, a basket of bread on
his back, and thinking Kit belonged here, handed her
a long, crusty loaf and backed out, smiling and
nodding.
Alone once more, she didnt go at once to
compose herself in a chair, as the maid had
suggested. There was so much about this house that
was fascinating, so much in the courtyard to look at
and examine. Even the small cobbles laid in
geometric patterns beneath her feet were unusual
and interesting, because every once in a while the
design suddenly blossomed into strange animals and
other shapes. There were a crab, a star, and a bull,
and, close to the octagonal well, a shape like a halfmoon.
Kit was walking toward it, picking out the various
patterns with interest, when her heel turned on a
broken stone and she lurched forward, thrusting out
a hand to catch herself against the wells edge. But
her palm hit the rim of the aviary, and, instead of
offering her support, it gave way like a wagon being
pushed.
Too late to save herself, caught off balance with
one arm helplessly flailing in mid-air, Kit fell
forward. The crack with which her temple hit the
46

stone of the fountain was muffled by the trilling of

the birds, but as blackness stabbed at her eyes she
heard them, like a bewildered chorus, singing,
Cheep, cheep, che-weedle-weedle-wee.
Im going to faint, she thought. Why, how
ridiculous! And then the whirling darkness and the
pain in her temple met and merged and she slipped
into the vortex which was oblivion, and crumpled,
white-faced and unconscious, to the patio floor.

47

CHAPTER

More Than Meets the Eye

In no particular hurry, Connie sauntered down the

Calle Guadalupe and stopped to watch a number of
women rubbing clothes on stone boards which were
set into the coping around a shallow pool of cold
water. They were talking and gossiping as they
worked, and seemed quite happy about their task,
although in contrast to the automatic washing
machines used at home it seemed like back-breaking
labor to the American girl.
Following the directions Mrs. Troy had given her,
Connie made her way slowly toward the Casa del
Olvido. As she walked she became more and more
entranced with Taxco. Even the names of the streets
were strange and amusingthe Street of the Dark
Supper, the Plaza of the Roosters, the Street of the
Little Birds, the Butchers Place. Only one was
48

sinister. This, the Street of Death, ran on the north

side of the Santa Prisca, where a little stone skeleton
perched on the church wall. Connie hurried past this
macabre figure, glad that she was walking this way
in sunlight, not in the dark.
Indians in white wrap-around pants, matrons
coming from market, and donkeys bearing loads of
faggots, tile, charcoal, even furniture, plodded along
beside her, and she seemed to arrive at the iron door
of the Casa del Olvido almost too soon. Like Kit,
she pushed it open because she could find no bell,
but unlike Kit, she did not stand entranced at the
peacefulness of the patio scene, because there before
her was Mrs. Troy, on her knees beside the prostrate
figure of her sister.
Whats happened? cried Connie in alarm,
starting forward. It was obvious that Kit had been
hurt.
Mrs. Troy looked up in concern. I dont know.
She seems to have hit her head. Lifting a wet cloth
she was holding to Kits temple, she added, At least
theres quite a bump.
Connies eyes narrowed. A bump or a blow? She
wondered. Somehow the peace and beauty of the
patio failed to impress her, and there flashed into her
mind once more the ominous skeleton in the Street
of Death.
Sinking down to the cobblestones, she cradled
49

Kits head in her lap. Mrs. Troy started to wring her

hands and moaned, I dont understand how she
could have fallen.
Connie agreed with her. Neither do I, she said.
But she must have! Hannah Devotion insisted
with a little gasp. There was no one here. I was just
getting up, and I came out on the balcony, when
When what? Connie asked, but before her
hostess could reply Kit stirred. Her eyelids fluttered,
then opened, and she put a languid hand to her
forehead. Ouch, she murmured expressively.
Just lie still a few minutes, Connie warned her.
You fainted, Kit.
I know, her twin agreed. I remember. I turned
my ankle, I think.
You hit your head, Connie told her. Youll be
all right in a little while.
I think Ill go and make some coffee. We all
need it, suggested Mrs. Troy in a tremulous voice.
She tottered off, looking especially frail and
uncertain of herself, as though she too might at any
minute collapse.
Connie watched until she was sure Mrs. Troy was
out of earshot, then clutched Kits arm. What really
happened? she asked quickly. Did you fall or were
you attacked?
Rubbing her forehead ruefully, Kit repeated,
Attacked?
50

51

Did somebody hit you, I mean?

Kit frowned. I dont think so. I remember
turning my ankle, and making a grab for the bird
cage, and the darned thing seemed to move.
Move? It was Connies turn to look puzzled.
She got to her feet and went over to the aviary,
tugging and pushing at the bars with both hands. It
seems perfectly secure now.
Kit sat up. Does it? Maybe I imagined
Here! Connie gave her sister a hand, helping
her to her feet, then steadying her. Take it easy,
she suggested as, together, they walked toward a
chair.
Im all right now, Kit reassured her. What a
stupid thing to dojust because I was wearing high
heels.
She was explaining the predicament in which the
absconding dog had left her when Mrs. Troy arrived
with a coffee tray in her hands. She smiled at Kit in
relief as she handed her a cup of the steaming liquid.
Drink it black, she advised. It will help your
head.
Kit did as she was told, and after about ten
minutes was able to assure both her sister and her
hostess that only a vestige of a headache and the
bump on her forehead remained to remind her of the
accident. Im sorry to have caused you any
concern, she apologized. And now do let me tell
52

you how much I admire this beautiful house!

It is nice, isnt it? agreed Mrs. Troy. I feel so
fortunate to be able to rent it. After a bit Ill show
you my studio.
But before she could carry out this promise
another visitor arrived, announced by the returning
maid. Excuse me, please, she said to Mrs. Troy,
but there is a gentleman outside who would like to
see you. She handed her employer a card.
With a sixth sense Connie guessed the
gentlemans identity even before he entered. It was
Mr. Cedric Mole who tramped across the courtyard
behind the little brown-skinned maid when she
reappeared.
He introduced himself to Mrs. Troy with great
propriety, then acknowledged the presence of the
twins with unconcealed surprise. To Kit he said,
Good morning, for the second time.
Connie realized, at that moment, that since they
were dressed alike in the cottons they had purchased
the afternoon before, he had mistaken her identity.
As Kit opened her mouth to correct him, he
interrupted. Goodness! Where did you get that
bruise?
It was Hannah Troy who hastened to explain,
apologizing for the uneven cobblestones in the patio
and insisting, Ive almost fallen myself, several
times. Mr. Mole listened to her with conspicuous
53

attention. His eyes were narrowed, and it seemed to

Connie that he was trying to size her up.
For that matter, Connie herself was still trying to
size up Mrs. Troy. Her fluttery mannerisms, her
outlandish clothes, and the look of vague alarm in
her pale-blue eyes spelled nothing in particular.
Perhaps, as Kit had suggested, they were personality
trappings which cloaked a tragedy in her past. Her
rather anxious hospitality seemed to indicate the
need for companionship, yet on the other hand she
had told the twins she loved Taxco because it was a
quiet place in which to work.
Feeling quite at sea, Connie listened while Mr.
Mole asked if Mrs. Troy might be able to spare him
a few minutes alone. Now what can he want with
her? Connie whispered to Kit as soon as the two
had disappeared within the house. Hes here on a
job; thats sure. But I dont know whether hes
particularly interested in Mr. King or in Hannah
Devotion Troy.
Why Mr. King? Kit queried.
Because Mole was at Victor Kings this
morning.
Light dawns, murmured Kit. He spoke to me
as though I were you.
Connie shrugged. It doesnt matter. But what
does matter is that something is going on that I dont
understand. Theres more here than meets the eye.
54

Kit groaned. Now, Connie, please dont start

imagining things!
Im imagining nothing, Connie insisted. Mr.
Mole is a Lloyds of London man, and Lloyds isnt
the sort of outfit to send an investigator to a little
town like Taxco without good reason.
But what can he be investigating? asked Kit
rather wearily.
Thats what Ive got to find outand soonif
Im going to wire Reid and Renshaw any kind of
satisfactory report on Mr. King.
You could always ask him, suggested Kit, who
favored the direct approach. Mr. Mole, I mean.
I could. But would he tell me?
He might.
Connie considered this statement. You may have
something there, she admitted. But first Ill have
to manufacture a chance to see him alone.
That shouldnt be hard, replied Kit. If Hannah
invites us to lunch, we could put her off, and all
leave together. Then I could go on to the shoe store
and you two could have a chat.
All right, Connie agreed. And listen, Kit. For
today, let him go on thinking that Im you.
But why?
Call it a hunch, Connie said with a shrug. I
think maybe something might develop, thats all.
At that moment Mrs. Troy and Mr. Mole
55

returned, and she didnt have time to elaborate on

her statement. Mrs. Troy seemed very pale and
rather harassed, but she was hospitable enough,
urging Mr. Mole to remain and visit her studio along
with the twins, because she had some new silver
designs she especially wanted them to see.
Mr. Mole accepted the invitation readily, and
together they were led along the balcony to a huge
studio room with a north light. This overlooked a
charming garden enclosed by a high wall with
steppingstones jutting out to form crude footholds to
the top. Bougainvillea flamed against the roof of a
small summerhouse, and somewhere in the distance
a Mexican was singing a mournful song. Mrs. Troy
commented on the tune sagely. It is said that these
people are only happy when they are sad.
Mr. Mole chuckled. Do you think that is true?
Perhaps, Mrs. Troy replied. I dont really
know.
There was something in her refusal to commit
herself on even this unimportant point that put
Connie on the alert. She listened with seeming
attention while Mrs. Troy showed them her jewelry
designs, adapted from Aztec antiques, and described
the marriage of metals in copper and silver, which
were welded so beautifully that they seemed to be
all of one piece. But all the while she was admiring
the designs, which were really very artistic and
56

unusual, she was also trying to fathom the

personality of the woman, and she was certain that
Mr. Mole was occupied with the same problem.
What manner of person was this, who cloaked
what Connie now recognized as real ability in the
fluttery mannerisms of a turn-of-the-century
spinster? As she glanced from the necklaces and
bracelets on the table to the several pieces of
unfinished sculpture in another part of the room she
came to one conclusion. At least the woman was no
dilettante.
Mrs. Troy did not ask the girls to lunch. The
mornings accident had upset her, she apologized,
and she had acquired a splitting headache. If they
would excuse her and come another time, she
thought she would go to her room and lie down.
Of course! Kit apologized in her turn. She
reassured Mrs. Troy that she herself was now quite
all right, said good-by without lingering, and, along
with the others, started for the street.
At the door in the outside wall Connie suddenly
turned. I forgot my purse, she said. You go on.
Ill catch up.
She ran lightly back across the patio on her flatheeled slippers and found the bag just where she had
left it, beside the chair on which she had sat when
Mrs. Troy served them coffee. About to retrace her
steps without disturbing anyone, she happened to
57

glance up at the part of the balcony off which the

artists bedroom opened. Hannah Devotion had just
climbed the steps, but, unaware that anyone was
below, she stood leaning against the railing, her
head buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking
convulsively. It would have taken a far less astute
person than Connie Blair not to realize that she was
weeping.
Because she felt like an interloper, witness to an
emotion not intended for her eyes, Connie tiptoed
back to the grilled iron gate and quietly let herself
out.
Kit and Mr. Mole were some distance up the
street, but Connie could see that the Englishman was
talking to her sister very seriously, punctuating
whatever he was saying by pounding a fist against
the palm of his hand. She approached them
curiously, but he broke off as soon as she came
within earshot, and when they came to the Zcalo,
he foiled the twins prearranged plan by excusing
himself abruptly and hurrying away.
Well, thats that, murmured Connie, a trifle
disgruntled. Then she asked abruptly, What under
the sun was Mr. Mole saying to you? For a Britisher,
he looked as though he were being terribly intense.
Kit heaved a sigh and shook her head. He still
has us mixed up. He thinks I was at the silver shop
this morning. What happened there, anyway?
58

Nothing. Mr. Mole had an appointment with

Victor King so I bowed out. Im going back this
afternoon.
Well, anyway, Mr. Mole seems very upset about
things in general. To use his exact words he said,
Look here, young lady, let me give you a bit of
advice. Id avoid Victor Kings shop, if I were you.
Theres something odd going on. I dont know just
what, but I intend to find out. And I dont think its,
anything for an American girl to be involved in.
Connie whistled softly. But why?
Thats what I asked Mr. Mole, said Kit.
Why?
And what was his reply? Connie wanted to
know.
He said, I dont trust the silversmiths King
employs. I think theyre engaged in something more
than jewelry making. And I dont like that bump on
your forehead, either. I dont think youre the type to
fall and hit your head against a coping. I think
perhaps you were followed from Victor Kings.
Well, for Petes sake! said Connie in
astonishment. Of course I know and you know that
hes completely confused.
Ill tell you who is confused. I am! Kit said
rather sharply. And now, if you dont mind, Im
going to buy a pair of low-heeled shoes.
59

CHAPTER

Now Whos Confused?

When the girls arrived at the Hotel Victoria for

lunch they found Peter Dawson marching up and
down on the sunny terrace, looking aggrieved.
Where have you been? he asked them. Ive
been hunting all over Taxco for you!
We were calling on an artist by the name of Mrs.
Troy, Connie replied. Maybe you know her.
Hannah Devotion? Sure I know her. She rents a
house from my stepfather.
Connie and Kit exchanged glances. Here was a
possible clue to Mr. Moles morning appearance at
the Casa del Olvido.
Shes interesting, dont you think? Connie
asked casually.
Odd might be a better word, Peter suggested
with a grin. But Victor says shes a darned good
60

designer. Personally, Im more interested in

merchandising than in the creative end of the
business, so I wouldnt know. He changed the
subject abruptly. I thought you might like to have a
real Mexican lunch, and I know a little spot where
only the natives and a few of the permanent
residents go. Pausing, he looked hopeful.
Connie glanced at her watch. I have a date with
your stepfather at two oclock. Will there be time?
Sure! Peter said blithely. Come along. Ive got
the car.
Ten minutes later Connie and Kit found
themselves winding down one of the tortuous steep
streets behind a truckload of miners and two small
donkeys, each carrying half a dozen rush-bottomed
chairs. The car crawled along at a snails pace. Since
they had left the hotel, Peters foot had been on the
brake constantly, but not once had he been able to
use the accelerator.
I think burro-back would have been faster,
Connie teased.
Peter was willing to laugh at himself. I should
know better than to try to use the car in Taxco, he
admitted. But I never get a chance to drive at
school, andwell, I just cant resist it, thats all.
A typical American remark, chided Kit,
chuckling.
And why not? Peter shot back, perfectly willing
61

to continue the repartee.

But Connie interrupted. Speaking of being
American, she said, Ive been wondering about
something. How do the native workmen feel about
people like your stepfather? Do they resent being
bossed by an outsider, or are they perfectly willing
to work for anybody who will pay them the going
wage rate?
Peter glanced at Connie speculatively. Now
theres a curious question for a girl to ask.
Im interested. As a matter of fact, Ill even
admit that I suspect the Indian and Mexican artisans
rather resent American big business stepping in. Am
I wrong, Peter? She leaned forward in the car seat
so she could look him in the eye.
In a way, I guess youre right, he said slowly.
He hesitated a moment, thoughtfully, then
continued, The temperament of these fellows is sort
of hard to understand. It isnt that they resent
progress and organization and all that sort of thing.
Its just that they think differently than we do.
What do you mean by that? Connie asked.
Well, let me tell you a storya true story, Peter
suggested. It hasnt anything to do with our shop,
but its typical. Theres an Indian in Taxco who
makes chairs, something like those up ahead only
better. One day Victor was passing his shop and
there was a particularly handsome one sitting in the
62

doorway. It was neat and sturdy, besides being a

little bit out of the ordinary in design.
He stopped and looked it over and admired it.
How much? he asked the Indian. Sixty pesos, the
fellow said.
Victor, being a promoter, thought it over. He
could see that there might be a good American
market for these chairs. If I could get you an order
for several dozen chairs, how much would they be?
he asked.
The Indian thought for quite a while. In
quantity, seventy-five pesos, he finally said.
But that doesnt make sense, Kit objected.
It didnt to Victor, either. Peter grinned. But it
did to the Indian. He figured it would be such a bore
to make chair after chair just exactly alike that they
should cost more in consequence.
Connie laughed understandingly. Thats a very
good illustration, she told Peter in a complimentary
tone. And you think the silversmiths may react the
same way if theyre put on a production line?
Im not sure. Victor thinks he can handle them,
but temperament is a curious thing.
Well, theres one thing certain, Connie said to
herself. Peter Dawson is a thoroughly honest young
man, even though his business acumen may be
questionable. She wondered if he realized that in
making this statement he had cast decided doubt on
63

the possibility that his stepfather might be able to

supply the American market with Mexican jewelry
in quantity. She also wondered what Victor Kings
reaction would be to his stepsons lack of
salesmanship.
Now she was even more anxious than before to
talk to Mr. King himself, but as they ordered lunch
she began to wish she could have found the
opportunity to question Mr. Mole first.
Could have! The past tense never appealed to
Connie. Even as the words repeated themselves in
her mind she decided this feat was still not
impossible, if she could discover where the Lloyds
man was stopping. And there were two possible
ways of finding out, either from Peter or from the
garage to which they had towed his ill-fated rented
car.
There was no reason not to be direct. When
opportunity offered,
Connie
brought
the
conversation around to Mr. Mole and said, I
havent seen him around the Victoria. I wonder
where hes staying? Do you know?
At the Casa Humboldt, Peter replied. Hes
looking into an insurance situation for my
stepfather, and he wanted to be close to the shop.
So far, so good, Connie decided. Now if she
could only convince Kit and Peter that they neednt
hurry with lunch, and that she could find her way
64

back to the center of town alone

This, too, proved to be remarkably easy, because
there was a certain Mexican dessert Kit asked about
and which Peter urged her to try. You take your
lime, Connie told them. Ill go along and meet you
kick at the hotel at four oclock.
Peter gave her directions to Victor Kings shop.
Dont walk too fast in this heat, he warned her.
You have plenty of time.
Smiling to herself, Connie broke into a dogtrot
the minute she was out of sight of the restaurant.
He little knows, she murmured as she scaled the
hill.
The Casa Humboldt was easy to find. A passing
child pointed it out at once, and since two oclock
was the beginning of the normal Taxco lunch
houror lunch hours as Peter aptly tagged them
she was fairly sure of finding Mr. Mole at the hotel.
Indeed, he was sitting in the sala, or lobby, studying
a road map.
So that he would not notice the lack of a bruise on
her temple, Connie combed her hair low on that side
and then approached him. He looked up in some
surprise and then arose.
Rather breathlessly, Connie explained her errand.
As you know, I have an appointment with Mr. King
almost immediately, but I want to talk to you first.
To me?
65

Yes. Connie told Mr. Mole about her

connection with Reid and Renshaw and her mission
in Taxco as it concerned the silver merchant. I just
want to make sure of two things, she told him, that
Mi. King is honest and that he can produce.
And you think I can help you? Mr. Mole
feigned surprise.
On the first point Im sure you can help me,
Connie said firmly, by telling me your business
with Mr. King.
I am investigating an insurance matter, replied
the Englishman testily, as though he considered this
American girl rather impertinent. No allusion was
made to his warning of the morning. He might never
have spoken the words!
I know that, Connie said. And I know that
youre from Lloyds of London. But is it asking too
much to beg you to be more specific? Im very
anxious to turn in to my company a perfectly fair
report.
She tried to look especially appealing and
demure, because she wanted to get her information
in a hurry. The clock was already passing the hour,
and although a few minutes one way or the other
probably wouldnt matter, she had a conscientious
reluctance to be late.
Mr. Mole cocked his head on one side and
regarded her thoughtfully. Then he said, Sit down.
66

Connie sat on the edge of a chair, her hands

clasped in her lap.
This will be in confidence, said Mr. Mole.
Of course.
The matter into which I am inquiring, he said,
is a robbery, rather a large robbery. Apparently Mr.
King has been the victim of a clever thief, or group
of thieves, who have made off with a small fortune
in silver ingotsthose are the metal castings, you
understand.
Connie didnt understand, but she nodded
anyway. Ingots. She filed the word away in her mind
for future examination.
One hundred and eighty-nine thousand pesos are
involved, said Mr. Mole, biting his lower lip
unhappily.
What would that be in dollars? Connie asked.
Roughly, fifteen thousand, replied the
insurance man.
Connies eyes widened. Golly, thats a lot of
money!
Mr. Mole nodded. Enough to ruin many a man,
he said gravely. Fortunately for him, Victor King is
insured.
You mean Lloyds will pay that?
If we have to. If we cannot catch the thief, or
thieves.
It was the second time Mr. Mole had used the
67

plural, and Connie was not unaware of it. What

about the local police? she asked. Are they of no
help?
Their investigation of the robbery has produced
not a single clue. But they are not accustomed to
dealing with clever thieves or dangerous criminals.
You can tell that by the jail.
Whats the matter with the jail?
A child could break out of it. All I can say is that
up to now there must have been little or no crime in
Taxco.
Connie frowned. Yet Mr. King has been robbed
of a good deal of money.
Mr. Mole nodded. Personally, he said, dropping
his voice to a mere whisper, I dont trust the
workmen he employs, even though the police insist
that they all are trustworthy. Theres not one that
understands a word of Englishor at least they
pretend they cant.
You think theyre dishonest?
I think they hate King and all he stands for. I
think they want to put him out of business.
Oh, now, Connie murmured. Certainly they
wouldnt be plotting to put themselves out of work.
You never can tell, insisted Mr. Mole with a
shake of his head. You never can tell about
foreigners.
Scarcely able to stifle a smile, because the mans
68

distrust of anything he couldnt understand was so

patent, Connie thanked Mr. Mole for his explanation
and hurried on to Victor Kings silver shop.
She found Mr. King talking with one of his
artisans, but he broke off when she came in and
greeted her expansively.
Im sorry to be a little late, Connie apologized.
It doesnt matter. In Taxco time slides through
ones fingers. You must have noticed that nobody
hurries here. Yet work gets done. Otherwise
She broke off with a slight shrug.
You are thinking that otherwise I would not be
able to consider accepting a big United States
contract. Mr. King smiled. And you are right. I
have an unusually able group of artisans in my shop,
and because I am not stingy with a peso I can
acquire as many more as I need.
This sounded reasonable to Connie, and when she
visited the factory with Mr. King as escort she could
sense no ill will in the attitudes of the men. This
scarcely bore out Mr. Moles theory that King was
being cheated by his employees, yet she tried to
keep an open mind.
You are not working at full-production speed
now, of course? she asked, gesturing toward the
empty benches.
Not by a long shot! Mr. King assured her
quickly. I can double the present rate, even triple it
69

within a matter of days. Drawing her into the

display room, he added, The small force operating
at present is due to an unfortunate circumstance of
which you may have heard. Recently I sustained a
considerable loss. My night watchman was slugged
and my safe was robbed. Unfortunately, I had on
hand an unusually large number of ingots at the
lime.
Connie expressed her sympathy. Id like to see
what an ingot looks like, she commented. Is it like
a brick?
Its about the size of a brick, butwell, I guess
youd say it was pyramid-shaped with the top sawed
off. He glanced at a young man who was carrying a
heavy parcel up the stairs. Here comes a small
shipment now. Wait until I sign for it and Ill show
you. He instructed the delivery man to put the
parcel on a desk in his private office and invited
Connie to have a chair.
After he had affixed his signature to duplicate
forms he told her a little about the buying of silver in
bulk. Most of the information about kilograms
Connie didnt understand, but she did gather that all
Mexican silver was smelted in Monterrey and
passed through the Bank of Mexico on its way to the
purchaser.
And where is your safe? she asked, glancing
around.
70

Mr. King smiled. Im afraid youll consider it

rather primitive, he admitted. Its that wooden
cupboard with the padlock, but since the recent
episode I have ordered a proper steel model. Such a
robbery is an incident I wouldnt care to repeat.
Aside from the loss, there is the inconvenience and
all the red tape of settling the claim.
I do hope you were fully covered, Connie
murmured, trying to sound naive and uninformed.
Mr. Kings eyes met hers. But of course! I
should be a fool otherwise. He changed the subject
deliberately. But enough of the dull, commercial
side of my business. Let me show you some of our
beautiful plata. I am very proud of some of the new
designs.
Together, they spent an interesting hour
inspecting various candlesticks and bowls, a sample
tea service, and an assortment of necklaces, earrings,
cuff links, and bracelets, some of them intricately
enameled, others set with semiprecious stones.
Mr. Kings forceful personality and his
conspicuous enthusiasm for the designs impressed
Connie. Ive met one of your artists, she said,
Mrs. Troy.
Oh, yes, of course. An excellent woman,
excellent, Mr. King replied. She is new at jewelry
design, but she is developing some very lovely
things.
71

My sister and I called on her this morning and

she showed us some of them, Connie admitted,
then added, watching Victor Kings reaction closely,
Mr. Mole stopped by, too.
For a moment a frown crossed the big mans
forehead, then he burst out laughing. Our good
Briton isnt leaving a stone unturned! he chortled,
slapping his knee. Mr. Mole is here from Lloyds of
London, he told Connie quite freely. He seems to
be investigating not only the robbery but my entire
acquaintanceship in Taxco. Be prepared, Miss Blair!
Hes apt to approach you any minute now.
Connie laughed in her turn. There was something
very winning about Mr. Kings geniality. Yet when
she left the silver shop a little later and started back
to the hotel there was still a question in her mind
concerning the report she should send to Reid and
Renshaw. Trained to consider every angle of a
situation, she couldnt completely discount Mr.
Moles conclusion that Taxco artisans resented the
invasion of American big business. If the Lloyds
man should be right, and if Mr. Kings workmen,
unknown to him, were plotting together against their
employer, which seemed very unlikely to Connie,
then his project for the New York jeweler would be
a poor risk.
Thoughtfully, very slowly, Connie walked to the
telegraph office. She addressed a wire to Mr. George
72

Renshaw.
Hold everything, she wrote. Not entirely sure
of situation here.
Then, still lost in contemplation, she plodded up
the precipitous street toward the Victoria Hotel.

73

CHAPTER

Acapulco Trip

A note was pinned to the pillow on Connies bed.

Gone swimming with Peter at the Rancho Telva,
right next door. Come along!
Kit hadnt bothered to sign her name, but Connie
read the message with a smile on her lips. Kit, she
was glad to discover, was having fun!
It seemed a pity, in a way, that her own vacation
trip might be spoiled by a sense of duty to Reid and
Renshaw which seemed to be leading her deeper
into a tangle of circumstances surrounding Victor
King. She wished she could determine clearly in her
own mind whether or not he would be a bad risk, but
until she was sure she could do nothing further.
Oh, well, she said aloud, I might as well forget
it for the rest of the day. Maybe by tomorrow Cedric
Mole will turn up something.
74

Changing to a new blue bathing suit, which

exactly matched the sky above Taxco, she joined the
others, who were sitting on the coping, kicking their
feet in the water and talking with such animation
that they did not sense her approach.
Hi, there! Connie called. Have you been in?
Not yet. We were waiting for you, Kit replied.
Then, with a sparkle in her eyes that made her even
prettier than usual, she added, Guess what! Peter is
just as crazy about fishing as I am!
Impossible, Connie said with authority.
Peter laughed. Ive got a great idea, he said,
seconded by Victor. We think it would be fun to
drive to Acapulco bright and early in the morning.
Mothers down at the house there, you know, and
we could let Kit hook herself a couple of marlin or a
sail.
A couple! Connie cried. I thought one was an
achievement.
Not in Acapulco, Peter retorted. In Acapulco
you really catch fish!
The excitement in Kits bright eyes was
unmistakable. Connie thought quickly. Would a day
or so make any difference to Reid and Renshaw?
Might it not be a good idea to consider this whole
situation from a distance, get some perspective on
it? Maybe she was talking herself into something,
but it was, after all, their vacation, and Kit deserved
75

some consideration. Well, she said, who am I to

resist?
Wonderful! Peter cried. Ill telephone Mother
tonight.
How about your job here? inquired Kit
belatedly.
Poof, said Peter airily. In Mexico what are a
couple of days?
Forty-eight hours, Connie murmured, but the
remark made no impression whatever. The other two
were already discussing tackle and bait.
The trio left Taxco at seven-thirty in the morning,
after an early breakfast, because Peter warned that as
they dropped down from the mountains it would
become very hot and that the middle of the day was
no time to travel, especially at sea level. Connie
concealed from Kit her secret reluctance to leave
what she now thought of privately as the scene of
the crime and gave herself up to the enjoyment of
the rugged, unspoiled countryside.
For four hours the convertible wound in and out
and up and down, on gradually descending levels,
until the tropical vegetation became increasingly
lush and the sea glimmered in the distance under a
fiery sun.
For a time the girls felt stifled. This is like
Atlantic City in August, Connie mentioned,
shedding her sweater.
76

Only hotter, Peter agreed. But youll get used

to it. And at Mothers house theres always a
breeze.
He was right. The Kings Acapulco house was
built into the side of a cliff overlooking the bay.
Balconies hung over the water in tiers, and trees and
flowers seemed to blossom from the ungarnished
rock.
Mrs. King proved to be a surprise to Connie, who
had unconsciously expected a repetition of Peters
simplicity. She was a woman in her early forties,
with hair bleached almost white, a shade definitely
trying to an aging face. Her nails were carefully
manicured, her skin was evenly tanned, and she was
wearing expensive pale-pink linen shorts and a
matching shirt, to the collar of which was casually
pinned a diamond and ruby crown.
She greeted Peter affectionately, and welcomed
the twins in an offhand but hospitable manner,
showing them to a very modern bedroom
overlooking the bay. Which one of you is it that
fishes? she wanted to know, then said, Dont
bother to tell me. I cant possibly tell you apart,
anyway.
They swam before lunch, going down a winding
flight of steps to a rock platform from which they
could dive into the water. Then the girls lay in the
sun for exactly ten minutes, which Peter timed.
77

Not a second more! he warned them. To get a

burn in Acapulco is just short of committing suicide.
Tourists have been known to be shipped home in
wet cotton batting, and that is not for you.
At luncheon, served in a room which commanded
a magnificent vista, Mrs. King inquired idly of Peter
about her husband. Hows Vic and what is he
doing? Behaving himself, I hope.
At the moment, yes, said Peter with a chuckle.
Theres a Mr. Snooper from Lloyds keeping him
out of trouble, but Im afraid this guy is stirring up
the workmen in the process. He obviously suspects
that the robbery was an inside job.
Oh my, said Mrs. King with a sigh. Well, at
least while Vics busy with his jewelry business he
isnt gambling. To the girls she explained, My
husband is the sort of man who will bet on
anythingbut anything! Wont he, Pete?
Im afraid so, Peter said rather ruefully.
Remembering his earlier remarks against betting,
Connie and Kit sensed that he didnt particularly
enjoy the airing of this family skeleton, especially
before them.
Apparently Peters mother felt no such qualms.
Hes been rather good, lately, Ill have to admit,
she added in a completely uninhibited manner. Last
year he lost so much on the lottery I put my foot
down. Not another debt of yours will I pay, I told
78

him, and do you know, I think it worked!

Mother! Peter protested, but Mrs. King said,
Oh, pish-tush! Everybody knows Vic would take a
chance on a ride to the moon. Why be cozy about it?
You dont mind discussing a mans foibles, do you,
girls? They all have them, as youll discover soon
enough!
Connie and Kit, though they made all the proper
replies, were actually rather nonplused by such
frankness, and it was with considerable relief that
they broke away a little later for a short siesta while
Peter readied the boat.
Shes a strange woman, Kit whispered when
the bedroom door was closed behind them. Theres
something sort ofsort of feline about her, dont
you think?
Connie, more worldly than her sister, had seen
the type before. Shes a typical wealthy woman, Id
say, she said slowly. The type that acquires
husbands the way she acquires jewels, because she
likes them. But I dont think shes terribly bright.
Shes
certainly expensive-looking,
Kit
murmured. That pin!
She is, Connie agreed. And she adores Peter,
which is one point in her favor, anyway.
They didnt see much of Mrs. King the rest of the
day, because Peter kept them out fishing until almost
dark. Kit, to her delight, actually hooked a small
79

marlin, and after an exciting half hour, landed it.

They come bigger than that, Peter promised her.
Wait until morning. Then well really get some
good fishing. Thats the best time!
In the evening the girls changed into full-skirted
cotton dresses, and dined very late with Mrs. King
and Peter on a terrace from which they could see the
lights of Acapulco twinkling from a dozen hills. A
half-moon rose over the water, and a breeze came up
with it, humming as through harp strings. From
somewhere below came a tinkle of little bells and
the strumming of a guitar. In a little Spanish town
twas on a night like this
They sat for a while, the four of them, reveling in
the night, which enveloped them like a great velvet
serape. Then some friends called for Mrs. King and
Peter took the girls up to El Mirador, a great hotel
built on a bluff over the sea, to watch diving boys
drop from an incredibly high cliff, bearing flaming
torches which were extinguished only when they hit
the dark water far below.
Later, both Connie and Kit slept like babies, but
their alarm clock was set for shortly after dawn.
Along with a veritable armada of sporting boats
from the big hotels, they raced out to the fishing
grounds. Here, as Peter had predicted, Kit caught her
first sailfish, a real beauty, which measured an inch
taller than she stood.
80

Satisfied? Peter asked her when she landed

another marlin an hour later.
Completely, Kit sighed happily.
Want to go home?
Never!
I do, Connie said with her usual forthrightness.
This sun is really beginning to bite!
Peter obligingly turned the boat and they headed
back past Roqueta Island toward the Kings dock.
Stay back under the canopy, he warned both Kit
and Connie. You dont want to spoil the rest of
your vacation with a bad burn.
Lazily, and quite happily, in spite of Kits
insistence that she could fish forever, the girls lay
back and watched the passing scene. All manner of
craft plied the waters, from single-sailed catamarans
to fast speedboats with water skiers swooping along
in the rear.
It was a perfect vacation picturelike
something photographed for a travel folder, Connie
commented.
The advertising woman in you speaking, Peter
called back over his shoulder.
Cant get away from the job! Connie agreed
with a grin. But as Kit and Peter started another of
their endless conversations about fishing, she gave
some thought to that remark. She did have a great
interest in her work, a great feeling of responsibility
81

to Reid and Renshaw. And she knew in her heart

that when she had successfully concluded her
assignment and wired back to the office her
considered opinion of Victor Kings silver business,
then and only then could she really be carefree and
at ease.
As they pulled into the dock a houseboy in a
white jacket came running down the steps, and,
although he spoke in Spanish, Connie understood at
once.
There is a telephone call, he said, from Taxco
for Seorita Blair.
Which one? Connie asked as a matter of
course, but even before she had her answer a sixth
sense told her that it wasnt for Kit.

82

CHAPTER

Attack in the Night

Connie ran up the steps in the wake of the slender

brown-skinned houseboy. The telephone call piqued
her curiosity. Who could it be?
But she soon discovered that she would have to
curb her impatience. There was no such thing as a
quick or easy connection on a Mexican telephone. It
took the operator twenty minutes and a great deal of
unintelligible conversation to get Taxco once more
on the wire.
Finally, however, a mans voice reached Connie
faintly.
Miss Blair?
Yes.
This is Cedric Mole. Are you the Miss Blair who
called on me at the Casa Humboldt?
Yes, I am, Connie replied. She immediately
83

realized that Mr. Mole must have learned of her

whereabouts at the Hotel Victoria.
I need your help, he said at once. I need a
confidential interpreter. Something very distressing
has happened. Last night I was attacked on the street
and rather roughed up.
Why, how shocking! Connie said at once. But
where is Mr. King?
I cant discover, said Mr. Mole in a tone which
clearly indicated annoyance. But he is not at
home.
Connie thought quickly. She didnt know exactly
what Mr. Mole required of herand certainly her
Spanish was quite inadequatebut she didnt want
to miss a chance to be in on any new developments
concerning the silver robbery. If I can possibly
arrange it, well start back to Taxco at once, she
said soothingly. We were planning to drive back in
the late afternoon, anyway. Are you in a hospital
or what?
Hospital! snorted Cedric Mole. In this archaic
town? He snorted again, then announced, I am
under doctors care at my pension.
Connie smiled to herself. The insurance man
sounded more indignant than hurt. Ill come to see
you as soon as I get back, she promised.
Thank you, came the clipped British accent in
reply. Thank you so much.
84

Not at all, murmured Connie to herself as she

put the receiver back in its cradle. Not at all.
Six hours later she walked into the Casa
Humboldt for the second time. With difficulty she
had persuaded Peter and Kit that they need not
accompany her. She preferred to interview the
injured Mr. Mole alone.
Mr. Snooper, as Peter jokingly continued to call
him, was sitting up in bed with a Scotch plaid rug
around his shoulders. He had a very black eye and a
rather ugly bruise on his chin, and he was sipping a
cup of hot tea.
Good afternoon, he greeted Connie quite
formally, then added, Would you care for tea?
No, thank you. Connie pulled a chair forward
and sat down. Tell me what happened, she said at
once.
In a rather roundabout way Mr. Mole explained
the events of the previous day. Connie gathered that,
in line with his investigation of the robbery, he had
taken it upon himself to visit the homes of each of
the artisans employed in the King shop. It was also
rather obvious that his manner to the wives and
children had been far from tactful. Connie could
imagine his approach, supercilious and distrustful.
He had taken along a lad who spoke a little English
to translate his questions, which quite plainly had
indicated that he suspected each and every one of
85

the workmen of being a thief.

Oh, dear, murmured Connie. I really dont
think the direct approach, in this case, was very
wise.
And why not? asked Mr. Mole indignantly.
Facts, after all, are facts.
But were you able to discover anything of
importance? Connie ventured.
Well, no, admitted Mr. Mole. As you
Americans say in the vernacular, the people simply
clammed up.
Connie was not surprised. She felt sure she would
have clammed up herself, under such circumstances.
And she could imagine the rage of the silversmiths,
when they came home in the evening to discover
that their families had been subjected to such
treatment. These people of Mexico were proud.
They were also almost unfailingly polite and
pleasant to foreigners. But there was a limit to what
they could be expected to take.
The rest of Moles story she could guess without
help, but she let him tell it. Late in the evening,
unable to get the riddle of the robbery off his mind,
he had gone for what he described as a stroll. In a
street where there was no lantern light, and where
the moon was hidden behind a curtain of trees, so
that the night surrounded him like a shroud, Mr.
Mole had been assaulted and slugged by persons
86

unknown. But he had recognized, he was sure, the

breath of one of his attackers as a certain Manuelo in
Kings silver shop. It was redolent ofand here he
wincedgarlic!
Connie laughed aloud. Everybody seasons with
garlic in Mexico! she exclaimed.
But Mr. Mole had a single-track mind. He had
arranged for the chief of police to call at six. He
glanced at his watch; it was now five forty-five. And
he wanted Connie to interpret as best she could his
very definite feeling that both Manuelo and Miss
Troys gardener, Ignacio, who apparently also
chewed garlic as a pastime, should be put under lock
and key.
But you cant arrest every man in Taxco who
has garlic on his breath! Connie objected. The
attitude of this Englishman was becoming more
fantastic by the moment. She began to wonder if the
beating had affected his brain. Anyway, what does
Mrs. Troys gardener have to do with it? I never
even knew she had one.
He works for her part time, said Mr. Mole. I
questioned him yesterday, since he had also been
employed in some menial capacity at the King silver
shop at the time of the robbery. And, he added with
special relish, he is Manuelos brother!
Connie sat for a moment without speaking. Let
me get something straight, she said finally. Are
87

you accusing Manuelo and Ignacio of beating you

up, or are you accusing them of committing the
robbery, or both?
Mr. Mole raised himself further up on his pillows.
I am accusing them of assault and battery! he
snapped. At the moment I have no conclusive proof
that they were mixed up in the robbery, but I will
have it! I intend to get it, Miss Blair. I intend to get
it. You mark my words.
Connie felt at a loss. In her own mind she had to
admit that Cedric Mole could be right. Victor King,
bluff, hearty, with his air of happy-go-lucky
American innocence, might well be the victim of a
gang of unscrupulous workmen. From stealing silver
shavings they might have decided to try for bigger
stakes. They might even have done so knowing that
they would not be hurting King directly, that his
insurance would cover their theft.
If the artisans were guilty, she rather hoped that
this was their reasoning, because she liked the
Mexicans and Indians to whom she had talked. She
liked their friendliness and their gentleness of
manner. They seemed very real to hermuch more
real than Mr. Mole!
At this point the Englishman started to describe
his battle wounds, blow by blow. It was a recital
which was interrupted only by a mild, smiling
Mexican policeman, who bowed jerkily from the
88

doorway, a pith helmet held across his chest like a

shield.
The next half hour was one of the most
embarrassing Connie had ever spent. In her hesitant
Spanish she tried to soften and ease over Mr. Moles
accusations, yet make it quite plain to the chief of
police that since the gentleman had been assaulted, it
was really his duty to bring the culprits to justice, if
he could ascertain who they were.
S, the chief kept repeating. S, s. He
apparently believed that if he said Yes, and smiled
when he said it, Mr. Mole would be mollified. But
nothing could shake the officers confidence in the
innocence of Mr. Kings artisans.
Gracias, said Connie finally, getting to her
feet. The chief will do his best to be of help, Mr.
Mole. That is all he can say.
It wasnt enough for Cedric Mole, but he had to
content himself with this promise. Connie made a
quick exit, along with the chief of police, and when
they came to the street door, she explained, The
Englishman is rather upset and excited because he
has been badly hurt.
S, said the chief, still smiling, as she watched
him walk away.
She was still standing in the doorway, wondering
whether to walk up to the hotel or try to find a taxi,
when a street urchin ran up to her with a note in his
89

hand.
Seorita Blair? he asked, grinning.
S, she replied, surprised because he had
obviously recognized her.
The boy handed her the note and she gave him a
peso. He thanked her warmly, then waited.
The message was from Kit, which instantly
explained the bearers recognition. It read, Great
influx of turistas. Victoria full up. Mrs. Troy has
invited us to stay with her, so come directly there.
Goody, said Connie aloud. This change of plan
did not displease her one bit. In the first place she
might have a chance to discover if Ignacio had
anything to do with Moles attack, and in the second
place Mrs. Troy, if properly approached, might be
able to offer some further clues concerning Mr.
Kings business dependability.
The boy looked up at her, still grinning. I take
you, he said in English, to the Casa Olvido.
All right. Connie wasnt in the least reluctant to
have such an escort. He listened patiently to her
Spanish, replied in broken English, and by the time
they had crossed the Zcalo they were good friends,
chattering away in a kind of Esperanto which was
both amusing and practical.
The childs name, Connie discovered, was
Albertito, and he was very desirous of learning to
speak good English so that he could become rich,
90

like the Americanos. It was impossible to explain to

him that not everyone in America was rich. He
simply did not believe it. Regard Seor King, he
said.
What makes you think Seor King is wealthy?
Connie asked. He works. He earns money in his
silver business. That does not mean he is especially
rich.
Seor King is rich, Albertito said adamantly.
Otherwise he could not give Seora Troy such a
gift.
Connie became really interested. What gift is
that? she asked, trying to keep her tone casual.
My papahe is named Ignacioworks for
Seora Troy, and he says Seor King gave her many
pesoshis grubby little hands grasped an
imaginary bundle, describing the huge quantity
so that she might go to her daughter in New York.
Connie looked dubious. But how could your
papa learn such a thing?
Albertitos response was prompt. He was
weeding a flower bed under the balcony where they
were sitting. They didnt know he was there.
Insistently he demanded, One must be very rich to
make such a gift. Do you not say so?
Yes, Albertito, I guess youre right. Seor King
must be very generous. But as she spoke these
words Connie was thinking, if this is true, what does
91

it mean? Why should Victor King stake one of his

designers to a pleasure trip to New York? Or could
Ignacio have misunderstood? Maybe it had
something to do with business.
There were so many things she needed to find out
that Connies head was positively swimming. Yet
the patio of the Casa del Olvido, when she arrived,
seemed to her a haven of peace and quiet where no
disturbing queries could possibly be expressed. The
birds in the aviary were chirping, the branches of the
jacarando tree were waving gently, and Mrs. Troy,
Peter, and Kit were all lounging in low chairs on the
far side of the old well, sipping iced tea and chatting
together as though there wasnt a care in the world.
With open arms, they welcomed Connie into their
midst. Mrs. Troy seemed more than hospitable
today, saying she was so glad Peter had thought to
call her and that rooms had been made ready for
the twins on opposite sides of the court.
You dont mind being separated, I hope? The
rooms are small, and will take only single beds.
Anything at all will be wonderful, Connie
replied. I think were very lucky girls.
Peter yawned, stretched, and stood up. Ive got
to be off, he said. I want to try to locate my errant
stepfather. Then, after dinner, I wonder if you lucky
girls would like to come dancing with me at the
Telva. Say about ten oclock?
92

Both Connie and Kit glanced at their hostess.

Do go! urged Mrs. Troy. There is a wonderful
Mexican string band. Im sure you will enjoy it.
So it was arranged, and the twins went to their
rooms to bathe and dress, while Mrs. Troy, trailing
what seemed to be a lavender crepe de Chine tea
gown of extremely antique vintage, disappeared in
the direction of the kitchen to give some instructions
to the maid concerning her unexpected guests.
It was nearly ten-thirty when Peter returned to
pick up the girls, and Connie was remarking with
amusement that back home in Meadowbrook,
Pennsylvania, her mother would be horrified if
either of her daughters should suggest going out on
such a late date.
But here the dinner hour is nine or after, Mrs.
Troy reminded her. And Peter is a dear boy and
utterly trustworthy. I am sure you will be quite
safe.
Kit, who had disappeared in search of a wrap to
throw around her bare shoulders, called to Connie
from her bedroom door. Can you come here a
minute, please?
When her sister was within easy earshot, she
explained, I suddenly feel a little squeamish. Either
the heat or the change of altitude or something I ate,
I suppose. Anyway, I think it would be smarter to go
to bed than to go dancing, if you dont mind.
93

Peter will mind, but Ill try to comfort him,

Connie said teasingly. Youre sure you dont want
me to stay home and hold your head?
Of course not! Kit replied generously. You go
on and have fun.
Connie was not loathe to do so. By now, she felt
completely at ease with Peter Dawson. He was oldshoe comfortable to be with, and she found that she
could talk to him as though she had known him all
her life.
They walked to the Telva, and Connie was
surprised to discover that the streets were buzzing
with activity. From the distance came the blatant
strains of a brass band and skyrockets boomed
overhead in a seemingly endless procession.
Whats going on? she asked.
Just another fiesta, Peter told her. Havent you
heard that every day or so theres a fiesta, complete
with fireworks, in Taxco?
At that moment a church bell began to peel
merrily and a phonograph produced, by loudspeaker, the beautiful music of Ave Maria,
mingling discordantly with the strident sounds of the
brass instruments which never were played quite in
unison. Peter treated it all as a matter of course, but
Connie was fascinated. Until they reached the
Rancho Telva and found themselves in an oasis of
comparative quiet, she felt as though she were
94

walking through a carnival.

She and Peter danced easily and well together,
and the band leader obligingly played a rumba and
then a samba for them. Then Peter decided to teach
Connie the steps of a dance which was popular at
the moment all through Mexicoa rhythm called
the cha-cha-cha. Finally they went back to their
table, laughing and weary, quite ready to settle down
and chat over a cool drink.
Did you catch up with your stepfather? Connie
asked idly after a while.
Peter laughed. No, but I learned his
whereaboutsthe rascal! He took off for Mexico
City with a friend. It seems one of his lottery
numbers came in.
Connie shook her head. Then your mother is
right? He really does love to gamble?
Peter nodded. Hes incurable, really. A complete
playboy on one hand, yet a very clever businessman
on the other.
Connie leaned forward, her hair bright in the light
of electric lanterns swinging in the trees. Peter, let
me ask you something frankly. Do you think that if
the King shop gets this big New York contract,
Victor will really be able to produce?
Peter toyed with the straw in his glass, without
meeting Connies eyes. A week ago I would have
said yesan unqualified yesbut now
95

Now? Connie prompted as he hesitated.

Now Im not so sure, he admitted, as though
almost against his will. Something is going on that
I dont understand. Whether this Lloyds of London
guy has stirred things up or whether its something
much more complicated He paused again and
shook his head.
You know, of course, that Mr. Mole thinks the
men are disloyal, and that they well may be
responsible for the robbery.
Peter looked up, and his chin firmed. Yes, I
know! And I can honestly say I think he couldnt be
wronger.
Tch, tch, such grammar!
Effective, though. Ive worked with the fellows
in the shopManuelo, Alejandro, Carlos, Napoleon,
and the rest of them. I think theyre good Joes.
Really I do, Connie. Cross my heart! he added
boyishly.
Connie breathed a small sigh of relief. Im glad
to hear you stand up for them, she said softly. But
then who could have stolen the silver, if they didnt?
Peter, tell me, could you even hazard a guess?
Peter shook his head, and his eyes looked
troubled. Search me, he said slangily. Im as
much at sea as you are.
Connie twisted her glass of limeade in her hands.
It was almost empty, and a waiter hovered
96

questioning.
S, por favor, Peter told the man, and waved
him away with the empties. Then, over the bare
table, the two young people looked at each other.
Peters expression was worried, Connies inquiring.
It was she who spoke first.
Peter, she asked gently, did Mrs. Troys trip to
New York have anything to do with the silver shop?
Is that why your stepfather paid her expenses?
Slowly, unhappily, but without surprise Peter
shook his head. No, the trip had nothing to do with
business, and it has been bothering me ever since I
saw the check stub showing the withdrawal. Victor
is generous, but I see no reason why he should be
quite that altruistic. Ive been meaning to ask him
right out, but somehow I never seem to get a chance.
Of course it might have been a loan.
The waiter put down fresh limeades, and Connie
sat and stared thoughtfully at the people on the
dance floor until he went away.
How did you hear about it? Peter finally asked.
Through a little boy named Albertito, replied
Connie. The son of Mrs. Troys gardener, Ignacio,
who overheard the transaction and was very much
impressed by Mr. Kings generosity.
Of course he could have misunderstood,
suggested Peter. My stepfather might have
advanced Hannah Troy some money to be charged
97

off against future work.

Yes, Connie murmured, thats true. Then she
tactfully changed the subject and soon Peter was
enthusiastically outlining his plans for the expansion
of Victor Kings silver shop.

98

CHAPTER

Patio Incident

Kit lay in bed at the Casa del Olvido listening to the

distant sounds of fiesta. Her head throbbed and her
stomach churned and she felt altogether miserable,
but she comforted herself with the thought that in
the morning she would undoubtedly be better. The
turista complaint rarely lasted very long.
Church bells rang almost continually, mingling
with faraway music and the boom and whoosh of
fireworks. Whenever she was just about to doze off,
another giant cracker would explode or a bright
spray of light from a rocket would light the night
sky. Since the window in her room had neither
screen nor shutter, and opened directly on the patio,
there was no way of ignoring this performance. The
light penetrated even her closed eyelids, and sleep
eluded her.
99

How long she lay there she could not judge. Once
she heard the outer gate open and closethe little
maid going off to the fiesta, she supposed. At
another time she heard a disturbed bird peep
irritably. Then a door banged gently and a night owl
called; but all these sounds were mere punctuation,
commas and periods and semicolons, to the allprevalent noise of the fiesta, which echoed among
the mountains with increasing insistence as the night
wore on.
Kit turned and tossed, buried her head in her
pillow, threw off the lightweight blanket, became
chilled and pulled it up to her chin again. Finally she
could stand it no longer. Her head was beginning to
feel big and heavy, with the ache increasing in direct
ratio to the fiesta gaiety.
She got up and stumbled around looking for the
aspirin bottle, then remembered that it was in
Connies overnight bag, which of course was across
the court. Still without turning on a lightthe
rockets made this quite unnecessaryKit slipped
into her robe and pattered barefoot over the cool
cobblestones of the patio to the opposite wing of the
house.
Connies door was unlatched, as she expected,
but it took her a few minutes to locate the overnight
case, and then she discovered that the aspirin bottle
had been removed. Feeling her way around the
100

room, she searched all the likely placesthe dresser

top, the desk, the night tablebut although she
located a bottle of toilet water and another of hand
cream the special vial she wanted was nowhere to be
found.
Suddenly she felt so thoroughly wretched that she
curled up in a ball on Connies bed. Maybe shell
come home soon, Kit thought, as the sleep which
had eluded her earlier swept over her in a wave.
Maybe shell know where the aspirin is.
For perhaps an hour she slept deeply, so deeply
that she didnt hear the cautious, silent opening of
the door, didnt see the person that peered in to see
whether Connie had returned home.
It was some time later that Kit awoke with a start.
Whether minutes or hours had passed she could not
guess. For a while she couldnt even remember
where she was. Then it came to her. She had been
looking for the aspirin bottle in Connies room.
At the same instant she became aware of what
had awakened her. There was someone moving
around in the patio. She sat up on the bed, then
tiptoed toward the window noiselessly, standing so
that she could look out but could not be seen.
Why she took this precaution Kit could not later
have explained, yet at the time she had the feeling
that all was not well. A cascading shower of light
from a Roman candle lit up the courtyard for an
101

instant and in the glow she saw, quite distinctly, two

small panniered burros and a man in a Mexican
straw hat.
The mans back was toward her, and he was
crouched on the cobblestones beside the well. Kits
heart began to beat like a trip hammer. What was he
trying to do?
In the next rocketburst she discovered. While she
stood against the inside wall, tense and trembling,
the entire aviary moved slowly to the right, swinging
silently on a well-oiled mechanism to a position
which left the top of the well exposed.
So slowly did it move that the birds were scarcely
disturbed in their sleep. Only one or two gave a few
cheeps of protest, then snuggled down, heads under
wings, again.
Kit remembered the day that she had fallen in the
patio and the aviary had seemed to move. Very
vividly, at this moment, did she recall her insistence
on the fact to Connie. She had been right!
She stood very still now, scarcely breathing. It
was as though she were in a darkened theater,
watching the unreeling of a motion-picture drama,
so synthetic did the scene before her seem.
The man leaned over the rim of the well, and with
both hands reached inside, then pulled out a package
and silently placed it in one of the hampers lashed to
the burros side. He repeated this performance again
102

and again, while Kit watched, unconsciously

counting. In all, a dozen packages about the size and
shape of shoe boxes were extracted from the well
and packed quickly in the baskets. Then, with
experienced deftness, the man swung the aviary
back into place, flung a couple of soiled serapes
over the backs of the burros, and without a
backward glance, led the animals out of the patio
through the half-opened gate.
The entire operation was accomplished so quickly
and so noiselessly that Kit scarcely had time to
collect her wits. Only the squeaking of the closing
gate aroused her to action.
Why, she thought, he could be stealing
something from Hannah Devotion! I ought to tell
her! She started toward the door and then stopped
short. If this was a thief, he certainly worked with
utter sureness of purpose. Thief? she whispered to
herself, then shook her head. No, somehow this
didnt seem the answer to the scene she had just
witnessed. Perhaps she had been spying on
something not intended for a strangers eyes.
And if this were so, would Mrs. Troy thank her
for arousing her? Kit stood in the doorway,
frowning. She wished Connie were here.
Connie was good at solving riddles. Connie
always seemed to know, almost instinctively, the
wise and direct course of action to take. Besides,
103

Connie would probably be able to make some sense

out of this strange midnight episode, whereas Kit
only felt hopelessly confused.
Still wondering what she should do, she took a
couple of tentative steps forward. Then, quite
unexpectedly, she sneezed. It was not a mildmannered, ladylike sneeze. It was brash and loud
and quite uninhibited. Having sneezed once, Kit
sneezed again!
This second sneeze was more controlled, but it
still echoed with a good deal of vehemence against
the enclosing walls of the house. Kit pressed a finger
against her upper lip, trying to stifle any further
outburst, but at the same moment Mrs. Troy, clad in
a flowing dressing gown, appeared at her bedroom
door.
Kits figure, at the same instant, was lit by a
rockets glare. She stood out against the dark walls
of the house as though she had been pinned there
like a brilliant butterfly.
Connie, is that you? Mrs. Troy started toward
her, gliding rapidly across the patio.
Kit opened her mouth to correct her hostess as to
her identity, then thought, What does it matter?
Im sorry I disturbed you, she said, but I had a
headache and couldnt sleep, andand something
very strange was going on in the courtyard, she
admitted in a rush.
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Strange?
Kit nodded, already wishing that she hadnt
spoken. There was a mana Mexican, I think
with two burros. He was taking packages out of the
well.
Hannah switched on an electric lantern, frowning.
What are you talking about, child? she asked in
apparent confusion. Have you been walking in your
sleep?
Kit shook her head, vigorously. There was a
man here, just a few minutes ago. Really there was,
Mrs. Troy. And the aviary moved! I saw it. I know I
wasnt sleepwalking. Im positively sure!
Hannah Devotion shook her head and patted Kits
shoulder gently. You must have been dreaming,
she insisted. Because I have been reading in my
room, and I am sure I would have heard anyone
come in, even if I hadnt seen them. My ears are
very sharp.
She put an arm around Kits waist and led her to a
chaise which had been rolled out to the group of
chairs on the far side of the well. Our minds can
play us odd tricks, sometimes, the woman said
soothingly.
Kit felt utterly frustrated and close to tears.
But she started again, then suddenly gave up.
Her headache had come back, and, for the moment,
it was easier to accept Hannahs ministrations than
105

to struggle to prove her point.

Lie here for a minute, Mrs. Troy suggested.
Ill get you a couple of aspirin. Traveling can be
very exhausting. What you need, dear, is a good
nights sleep.
Kit leaned back against the pillows on the chaise
and closed her eyes. Oh, well, she thought, what
difference does it make? Why should I be concerned
with the activities of a group of strange people in a
strange country? Probably, once we leave Taxco,
well never see Hannah Devotion Troy again.
Meanwhile, her hostess was pattering back across
the patio, her slippers slapping on the cobbles.
Here, dear, she said, holding forth a glass of water
with one hand and a small aspirin box with the
other. Take two of these. Theyll fix you up right
away.
Kit accepted the pills and gulped the water
thankfully. Youre very kind, she murmured.
And now Id better be getting back to bed.
Of course, Mrs. Troy said. Of course. But rest
here first a few minutes.
When Kit sat up, Mrs. Troy stood above her,
looking down with a peculiar expression on her face.
She seemed more anxious than sympathetic, as
though she were waiting for something. Youre
sure, she said very slowly, thatyouregoing
tobequiteallright?
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Kit tried to nod, but she found that, suddenly, she

was so sleepy that she couldnt move her head. Mrs.
Troys face became hazy, and the words she was
speaking drifted off into nothingness. For a few
seconds Kit tried to fight her way back to awareness,
triedagainst overwhelming oddsto rise. But she
felt as she had once felt in the dentists office when
she had been given gas. The odds were too great.
She was slippingslipping
Those were no aspirin she gave me! was her
last conscious thought.

107

CHAPTER

10

Midnight Chase

Maybe wed better say good night here, Connie

suggested as she and Peter approached the Casa del
Olvido. I wouldnt want to disturb Mrs. Troy.
Sure, Peter agreed, speaking, as Connie had, in
a whisper. Its been great fun. Ill be seeing you
gals tomorrow. By now. He waved and walked
back up the sloping street toward the square.
Connie prepared to creep into her room on tiptoe.
The patio gate, she noticed as she turned toward it,
was ajar. Then she suddenly became aware of
movement from within, and dimly saw an animal
headed in her direction.
Quickly she sprang into the dark doorway of a
house just across the narrow street. Pressed flat
against the wall of the entry, she could see without
being seen.
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From the gate of the Casa del Olvido two heavily

laden burros stepped gingerly, picking their way
with patient care across the smooth cobblestones.
A man followed, turning to close the heavy gate,
which squeaked slightly in protest. He was a big
man, dressed in soiled white wrap-around pants,
such as most of the Mexicans wore, and a huge
sombrero shadowed his face and eyes.
To Connies relief, because she wanted to remain
invisible, no rocket lit the sky at the moment. Yet
she wished she could see the man more closely.
What could he possibly have been doing at Hannah
Troys house in the middle of the night? And why
the burros? What could they be carrying in the
heavy baskets swinging close to their plump sides?
The man headed, as had Peter, toward the Zcalo.
As he passed Connies hiding place, he seemed to be
panting a trifle from exertion, but she couldnt tell
whether he was Mexican or Indian, or even whether
his skin was light or dark.
The impulse to follow him was too strong to
resist. Somehow, Connie felt sure, these beasts of
burden and their master must be connected with the
growing mystery which she was so anxious to
solvewith the silver secret which involved Mr.
King, Cedric Mole, and perhaps Mrs. Troy. Connie
glanced down in despair at her dancing slippers. If
only she were wearing sneakers or rope-soled
109

espadrilles! But it would take precious minutes to

run into her room and change.
Stooping quickly, Connie pulled off her shoes
and ran across the road with them, tucking them
under the gate. Then, as silently as a shadow, she
started up the street in the darkness, keeping close
against the walls.
The midnight prowler and his burros turned off
on a byroad, avoiding the busy square, which was
filled with merrymakers either wending their way
homeward or just standing in groups, laughing and
talking. Connie could glimpse a group of tourists
hanging over a railing, watching the celebrants, and
from them she somehow gathered courage. At least
the town was far from deserted. If she screamed or
gave an alarm she could undoubtedly be heard.
But the street along which her quarry was
hurrying was quite empty, except for a stray dog
who was sniffing around the doorsills of the
darkened houses. Lanterns threw occasional
triangles of light on the adobe walls, but in this part
of town people were apparently asleep.
Connie began to wish she were not alonethat
Peter had remained within calling distance. As the
man prodded his burros along in front of him,
through one alley after another which circled the
Zcalo, Connie had time to realize that she was
probably doing a very foolish thing.
110

111

Yet her curiosity was too great to resist. A chase

had always appealed to her, and this one had all the
elements of high adventure. Her bare feet were
noiseless on the cobbles, worn smooth by
generations of Indians. Her pace was brisk, her
breathing light. If she was frightened, it was with a
fear overshadowed by excitement. Here was
actionaction at last!
It became increasingly clear to her, as she
followed the burros and their attendant, that the man
was skirting the main part of town on back streets,
avoiding the more brightly lighted areas with a
cunning born of experience. There was no doubt that
he knew Taxco well, as a native might know it.
There was no doubt, either, that he was hurrying
toward a certain destination. He walked like a man
with a purpose, and had not once glanced behind
him, so Connie felt sure he had no suspicion he was
being followed.
Abruptly, the man made another turn, to a
narrow, winding path which led uphill toward the
church from which sounds of music still issued. This
surprised Connie, because now they were on a
footpath which was far from untraveled. Indians and
Mexicans, either still going to fiesta or coming away
from the churchyard, had to step aside to let the
burros pass. But they did so without acrimony, and
without any apparent interest in the man who
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plodded on, head down, eyes on the ground, at the j

animals heels.
Connie, however, was immediately the object of
great curiosity. Her yellow hair was like a torch in
the night, and she realized that she probably would
attract so much attention that she could not elude
discovery by the man up ahead. Stopping in the
shadow of a balcony, she felt in her evening purse
for some pesos, and stopped a passing Indian who
wore a dark rebozo over her head. Will you sell this
to me? she asked in Spanish.
The woman was surprised but not dumfounded.
These crazy Americans! her expression seemed to
say. She named a price and Connie paid her
willingly, donned the voluminous scarf, and hurried
on.
As the road became still more steep the backs of
her legs began to ache and her breath came in
shallow gasps. Upupup wound the lane, around
crumbling adobe walls, past a cascade of red tile
roofs, twisting to an unbelievable height, until the
church stood just above Connie, pinnacled on a cliff
from which rockets were still being launched into
the starry sky.
Now, to her left, she could look down on the
buttressed walls of the Hotel Victoria, with its tiers
of balconies curving along the mountainside. She
was on one of the highest of Taxcos seven hills, and
113

the churchyard was almost immediately before her,

but where this chase was leading, if not to heaven,
she had no idea!
One thing was certain, however. She was still in
the midst of a throng. People sat on top of the adobe
wall which shut off the churchyard from her view.
People passed on foot and on burro-back, calling to
one another, singing, laughing, acting as though the
evening were yet young. Apparently this astonishing
town, which dozed through the day, awakened with
the small hours of the morning. And still the church
bells rang, the band played, and the rockets red
glare lit the sky.
Just within the churchyard Connie could now see
a strange and spectacular construction which Peter
had been describing to her earlier in the evening. It
was called a castilloin English a castleand was
a tower taller than the steeple of the church, built of
light wood strips. Mechanical fireworks were
performing on this tower as a lighted fuse crept up
from the bottom, and, with every gyration of these
popping, cracking, whirling, flame-throwing
gadgets, the crowd let out a cheer of admiration and
the music played a little louder. It was perfectly
obvious that the fiesta was now, at long last, really
under way!
It was also rather a relief to find that she was no
longer any more conspicuous than the man up ahead
114

with his straining burros. Her hair hidden by the

dark rebozo, she was noticed no more than any
barefoot young girl of the village. Connie blessed
her lucky stars that she had acquired such a quick
tan! At this point, fortunately, she was able to slow
her pace. The burros up ahead were flagging, and
the man was switching them into an increased effort
on the precipitous road.
For a few minutes Connie thought he was
heading them directly for the crowded churchyard.
Then, just before he reached the arched gateway, he
turned them off along a footpath which skirted the
wall. The animals, who disliked the noise of the
fireworks, had their ears laid back along their heads,
and it took a good deal of prodding and pushing to
make them move along at all.
Now Connie had really to watch her step, because
she alone of all the crowd followed the trio. Edging
along under the shelter of a zapote tree which
overhung the wall, she moved as silently as a
shadow, thankful that her cotton frock was dark
enough to melt into the night.
The man turned a corner of the wall and was lost
to her for a few seconds. Concerned, she scurried
along at a dogtrot, just in time to see him turn into
the graveyard behind the church.
Connie stopped short, startled. This was indeed a
novel cemetery, or panton, as the natives called it.
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In the sporadic light of the exploding Roman

candles it resembled a fantastic oblong wedding
cake, the tombs being painted white, pink, blue, and
yellow. To the strains of Roll Out the Barrel,
which the brass band was now playing, the burros
were urged into a path which led between the graves
toward a large and impressive mausoleum with a
grilled door.
If Connies curiosity had been piqued before, it
was now fanned to a flame. Creeping from one
tombstone and vault to the next in line, she followed
closely on the heels of this visitor to the village of
the dead. Several of the tombs were high enough to
give her shelter, but few were as grand as the burial
chamber before which the burros were stopped.
While Connie watched, the man pulled a key
from his pocket and fitted it into the lock in the iron
door, behind which a candle burned at an altar.
Then, very much in the manner of a person who
knew what he was about, the man leaned down and
tugged at a stone in the floor of the crypt, upending
it against the nearest wall.
Connie followed his next move intently. From the
pannier of one of the burros he took an oblong box,
then another and another, unloading them into an
opening beneath the floor. In five minutes both
donkeys were relieved of their heavy burdens and
the stone was fitted back into place.
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Although he worked quickly, the man didnt

seem to be at all alarmed that he might be
discovered, and Connie could imagine why. With a
fiesta going at full blast in the adjacent churchyard,
the interest was all concentrated there. It would be a
ghoulish soul indeed who would show any
inclination to wander in the cemetery on a night of
merrymaking like this.
Connie watched the man shut the grilled door
once more and fit the key into the lock, again
wishing that she could catch a glimpse of his face.
But even when he turned and walked toward her,
along the path between the tombstones, his
sombrero completely shadowed his features, and his
identity remained as mysterious as his errand.
Leading the pair of burros, he turned back along the
path up which he had come.
Connie stayed crouched behind a tombstone until
she felt sure he was well around the corner of the
church wall. Then she started after him, not wishing
to stay one moment longer than necessary in this
eerie place. It was strange how the lack of human
presenceeven the presence of a man who was
probably a scoundrel or a thiefchanged the
atmosphere. The cemetery, lit by the fitful flare of
fireworks, seemed possessed of evil spirits, and
when Connie stumbled over a can filled with dead
flowers she almost screamed.
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At this point, however, any sound coming from

the cemetery would have passed unnoticed, because
in the adjacent churchyard the climbing flame was
reaching the very top of the castillo. This, although
Connie did not know it, was the grand climax.
Firecrackers snapped, rockets roared, and toy
parachutes were released from the top of the tower,
droppingof all thingsfrightened chickens on
roofs and spectators.
One of the squawking fowls landed directly at
Connies feet and frightened her almost out of her
wits, its descent from the air was so fantastically
unexpected. She jumped back in panic before she
realized what the air-borne creature was, tripped
over an artificial wreath on one of the graves, and
landed in a sitting position with the chicken in her
lap.
This episode slowed up her progress
considerably. When she reached the churchyard
gate, the man with the burros had disappeared and
the crowd of townspeople were surging about,
capturing chickens and starting for home, along with
the band, which had stopped playing at last.
The confusion was great, and Connie was quite
swallowed up in it. She walked down the hill among
the crowd, huddled in her rebozo and speaking to no
one, but her heart was still hammering with fright
and her sense of humor hadnt quite dispelled the
118

involuntary trembling which still shook her from

time to time.
By the time she had cut through the Zcalo and
arrived at the entrance to the Casa del Olvido she
was very tired. She was also a little disappointed,
because she would have liked to discover the
mysterious mans final destination, if not his
identity.
Concerning this identity question, Connie had a
hunch. It wasnt anything she could quite put her
finger on but it was a very definite feeling.
She believed that the man with the burros was not
a Mexican, nor an Indian either. But she couldnt
say why.
Then, just before she stooped to pick up the
slippers which still lay, quite undisturbed, under the
gate, her glance happened to fall on a little
Madonna, set in a niche in the wall.
Of course, she whispered to herself. Of
course!
Now there was no longer any doubt in her mind.
She was sure the fellow was not a native, because all
the people hererich man, poor man, beggarman,
and even thiefwere very religious, and none of
them would have entered the cemetery, let alone
unlocked the door of a mausoleum, without making
the sign of the cross!
119

CHAPTER

11

Mystery in the Morning

Inside the courtyard at the Casa del Olvido

everything was quietfar more quiet than the
graveyard Connie had so recently left. The birds in
the aviary had their heads tucked cozily under their
wings; there was no breeze to set the branches of the
tree to whispering; no sound came from either Mrs.
Troys room or from Kits.
Connie hesitated. Should she go and awaken her
sister to see how she felt? No, she decided, what
Kit needs is rest. By morning shell probably be fit
as a fiddle, after a good nights sleep.
Very softly she entered her own room, and
without turning on a light, for fear of disturbing the
sleeping household, she undressed. Physically she
was utterly exhausted, but when she got into bed she
couldnt sleep. Her mind kept going around and
120

around like a squirrel in a cage, trying to fit together

the parts of the puzzle she had just acquired.
That it was a difficult picture to complete she
realized only too clearly. Ever since her arrival in
Mexico City she had been presented with bits and
pieces of the puzzle, but none of them seemed to
interlock.
Connies mind was naturally orderly, and she
found herself trying to tidy things up. Lying in the
darkness, and then in the half-light before the dawn,
she reviewed very methodically the clues which
might help her to solve the silver secret.
Actually, there werent many. Victor King had
been robbed by a person or persons unknown.
Cedric Mole, in attempting to investigate the
culpability of some of Mr. Kings employees, had
been slugged in the street for his pains. Connie was
comparatively sure that this could be laid at the door
of a group of workmen who refused to allow their
families to suffer indignities without retaliation. But
concerning the robbery itself, Connie was still quite
in the dark. Peter Dawson, who knew the
silversmiths better than she did, could not believe
that they were guilty.
Finally there was a major and quite unrelated
question. If Mr. King had paid Hannah Devotion
Troys expenses to New York City and back, was it
not a remarkably altruistic gesture for a man hoping
121

to expand his business?

This last fact now seemed quite significant. More
and more, Connie was coming to believe that
Hannah Troy was in some way deeply involved in
this puzzle.
Connie tossed and twisted in bed, trying to reach
some conclusion, but the solution kept eluding her.
Of course, she told herself, there was no real reason
to let the unsolved theft keep her from making the
necessary report to Reid and Renshaw. All she had
been asked to do was to give her opinion on the
quality of design in Victor Kings jewelry and to try
to discover whether his shop could produce in
quantity sufficient for the American market. There
her responsibility ended. Or should!
But somehow, inadvertently, her job and Mr.
Moles had become entwined. She could admit to
herself, if to no one else, that she was as interested
in solving the secret of the missing silver as he
possibly could be.
This led her to the decision that she must tell the
Lloyds of London representative about her midnight
chase after the man with the burros. Even though
she didnt particularly like the investigator or admire
his methods, Connie felt she owed him what help
she could give him with his task.
Finally, just as the pink flush of the sunrise was
touching the walls of the patio, she fell asleep, and
122

with her mind finally stilled she slept deeply and

dreamlessly, like a healthy child. No morning bird
song, no ringing of church bells, no sound of
breakfast making disturbed her.
It was very nearly ten oclock when she
awakened. In spite of the leisurely pace at which the
people of Taxco lived, Mrs. Troys breakfast hour
had been announced as nine-fifteen, and Connie was
concerned that she had overslept. Dressing hastily,
she hurried out to the patio to look for her hostess so
that she could apologize.
She didnt have far to look. Mrs. Troy was filling
the bird dishes in the aviary with fresh seed. She was
standing on the far side of the well, and as Connie
emerged from her bedroom door the woman glanced
up in ill-concealed surprise.
Whywhy she stammered, letting the
birdseed trickle to the pavement unnoticed for a
second. Then she recovered herself and said, to
Connies confusion, I didnt see you cross the
patio, dear. Your sister has gone out. She said to tell
you. Its such a lovely day!
The gush of words was quite typical of Mrs.
Troy, but the content was certainly peculiar. It was
most unlike Kit to go off alone, especially this early
in the morning after she had been feeling ill the
night before. It was also quite obvious that Mrs.
Troy had mistaken herConniefor her twin when
123

she had said, I didnt see you cross the patio.

Puzzled, Connie did the thing on which she had
been planning. She apologized for oversleeping, and
urged Mrs. Troy not to bother about breakfast.
If the maid wont mind, Ill go to the kitchen and
help myself.
But its no trouble, Hannah Devotion insisted.
Ill just have a tray brought out here, and Ill have a
second cup of coffee with you myself.
The minute they were seated opposite one another
at a small table, Mrs. Troy asked busily, How are
you feeling this morning? Better, I hope?
This confirmed Connies suspicion, even though
Mrs. Troy had not yet called her by her twins name.
Instead of clearing up the misunderstanding, she
merely smiled and said sweetly, Im feeling fine.
The Mexican bread was fresh and delicious, the
coffee hot, the sliced pineapple sweet and juicy, but
Connies mind was not on food this morning.
Something, she felt sure, was amiss.
Where did my sister go? she asked chattily over
the top of her coffee cup. As she spoke, her eyes
watched for any change of expression in Mrs. Troys
face.
Now let me see, burbled Hannah Devotion,
adjusting one of her many bracelets. I think she
said she was going to the market, because she
wanted to buy some bright-colored rebozos to take
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home as gifts.
That was a safe statement. Every tourist in Taxco
bought rebozos in the market at some time or other,
but it didnt satisfy Connie. As soon as possible she
excused herself and walked deliberately across the
court to Kits room, which Mrs. Troy would of
course expect if she had confused their identities.
Inside, it was just as Kit had left it. The bed, in
which her sister had tried in vain to sleep, was
rumpled and still unmade. Kits purse was open on
the bureau, and her lipstick, without which no
American girl would attempt a shopping trip, was
lying on a facial tissue.
Connie scanned the room with increasing alarm.
Then she walked to the closet and opened the door.
She knew the clothes with which Kit was traveling,
and not a dress was missing, yet her pajamas and
robe were nowhere to be found!
One thing was clear. Mrs. Troy was lying. But
where was Kit? Had she been kidnaped or
Connies mind stopped short at envisioning any
other possibility, but for the first time since she had
become involved in this mystery she was
frightenednot just plain scared as she had been
last night in the cemetery, but sick and cold with
fear, because Mrs. Troys spurious explanation told
her quite clearly that Kit had disappeared because
she had been mistaken for Connie. Kit, who knew
125

little or nothing about the silver theft. Kit, who only

wanted to have a little fun on her vacation, and who
loathed anything even vaguely mysterious, who, in
spite of her resemblance to Connie, was as different
from her twin as day is from night.
Kit! Oh, Kit, its all my fault, Connie cried in
her heart. I just shouldnt have let you be
involved. Every impulse told her to go straight
back to the patio and accuse Mrs. Troy of lying, but
her judgment made her hesitate. A woman who
could tell one lie could tell a dozen. She would be
wiser to keep up the pretense and go to someone
whom she could trust.
But who was that person to be? Victor King, who
might also be a pawn in this strange game which she
couldnt fathom? No, his association with Mrs. Troy
was too close. Peter Dawson? Much as she liked
him, Connie shook her head. If Mr. King was
involved, his stepson might be also, though she
doubted that he was. Cedric Mole? Connie sighed.
Mr. Mole would not have been her immediate
choice, yet at least he had arrived on the scene too
late to be personally implicated in any past crime.
And as a Lloyds of London man he could surely be
trusted.
Yet Cedric Moles slight build, and his rather
inept way of conducting his investigation of the
robbery, did not inspire confidence. She wished she
126

dared go to Peter instead. He seemed so much more

direct and vigorous.
But common sense told her that she should not let
a personality preference guide her. This was a case
in which every person involved must be considered
guilty until they were proved innocent. It was also a
situation which called for action, not delay. If Kit
had been kidnaped, who was responsible? Where
could she be?
Who is responsible? Where can she be? The
questions pounded in Connies head as she gathered
up Kits purse and lipstick and compact. It took a
great deal of self-control to stroll casually back to
the table where Hannah Devotion Troy still sat and
mention, as though it were the most natural thing in
the world, that she thought shed wander down to
the market to look for her sister.
Of course, dear, Mrs. Troy agreed. You know
the way, dont you? Turn right past the Santa Prisca
and take that little street that leads down from Doha
Bertas cantina. Then, as you go along, there will be
some steps cutting down past the wall. You cant
miss it, really.
Youre very helpful, Connie said, with her
tongue in her cheek.
You cant miss it, repeated Mrs. Troy, but I
was going on to say that you can get lost in the
market. It is larger than you might guess, and there
127

are a good many turnings, and of course its very

crowded in the mornings.
You think, perhaps, that I might not find her?
Connie wanted to be sure that this was the
implication Hannah had meant to convey.
Mrs. Troy didnt meet her eyes, but she gave a
nervous, fluttery laugh. Find Connie? Oh, but Im
sure youll find her. Just try all the stalls carrying
rebozos. That will be the easiest way.
That will also occupy the better part of the
morning and keep me busy and out of the way,
Connie thought angrily, as she smiled with false
sweetness and said good-by. Yet what she could
accomplish by staying here she couldnt imagine.
She was certainly too alarmed to keep up any further
pretense with Mrs. Troy.
Forcing herself to walk slowly, Connie crossed
the patio and waved from the gate. If Peter phones,
please tell him Ive gone to look for Connie, she
threw back as a parting gesture.
I certainly will, Mrs. Troy called back in return.
The false heartiness of her reply made Connie
seethe with indignation. Liar, liar, liar! she
muttered to herself. How could the woman dare to
try to dupe her! It infuriated Connie that she should
have to maintain the pretense of being an
appreciative guest under Hannah Troys roof.
Even to choke down breakfast had been an
128

ordeal. But to smile and pretend as though she were

a stupid fool was too much. Temper, however,
would not right the situation. Action was called for,
and action Connie was determined to get!
Out of sight of the gate, she broke into a brisk
walk, heading toward the inevitable Zcalo and the
Casa Humboldt, where Cedric Mole was probably
still pampering himself after his unfortunate beating.
My news will get him out of bed! Connie
muttered to herself.
Hurrying along, she gave the winding steps which
led down to the market place no more than a passing
glance. Connie knew that it would be a fruitless
errand, one on which only a person ignorant of the
facts would spend any time.
Thanks to Mrs. Troys mistake in identity, Connie
was no longer ignorant. She wondered, however,
how it happened that Kit had been confused for her.
Because Hannah certainly knew that it was Connie
who had gone off dancing with Peter. She knew,
too, that Kit was feeling nauseous, and had gone at
once to bed.
This led her to the logical deduction that Kit must
have been apprehended in herConniesroom.
Yes, this seemed almost certain, the more she
thought about it.
Also, it would follow that Kit had gone there
without the knowledge of Mrs. Troy. But why?
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Had something frightened Kit? Had she come

running across the court for succor or for safety or
for something much more mundane?
Connie couldnt fathom the answer to this
question, but in her mind one thing was certain.
Kits abduction had taken place either before or
during the time at which she herself had been
following the man with the burros.
And it could well be that Kit knew more about
this mysterious midnight visitor to the Casa del
Olvido than it was safe for anyone to know!

130

CHAPTER

12

Mole Is Alerted

The Moorish facade of the Casa Humboldt was

becoming familiar to Connie. She entered the
baroque door this morning, however, without giving
a thought to the pensions glamorous past. Prancing
steeds saddled in hand-tooled leather and shining
silver might have waited before this entrance, but
she didnt care. Kit completely occupied her mind.
Where could Kit have got to, in a bathrobe and
pajamas? Certainly not far!
Wait a minute, Connie warned herself. In a car
Kit could be hundreds of miles away. Clothes could
be bought for her, if necessary. She knew from the
newspaper stories she had read that kidnapers too
often stop at nothing.
KidnapingConnie shuddered. It was such an
ugly word!
131

Yet how, otherwise, could Kit have disappeared?

Through her own volition? Wearing only pajamas
and a robe? Scarcely! Unless she were hiding out.
And if she were, Hannah would have had no reason
in the world to cover up.
Is Mr. Mole in? she asked at the desk in the
lobby, and so firmly did she expect an affirmative
answer that the reply, No, Im afraid not, came as
a complete surprise.
Connies eyebrows rose. No? Do you happen to
know where he has gone?
I think he said something about making a bus
reservation back to Mexico, replied the clerk
willingly enough.
The natives and even the foreign residents always
referred to Mexico City as Mexico (pronounced
Mh-hee-co).
Oh, is he leaving soon? Connie asked.
This afternoon, I think. The clerk checked the
ledger. Yes, I believe he expects to check out about
two oclock.
I dont think that he will, Connie thought to
herself, but she thanked the young woman at the
desk politely. Where is the bus station, please? she
added, because she intended to try to overtake Mole
there.
I dont know which line he is planning to go
on, the girl replied. The Estrella de Oro and Los
132

Galgos are the first-class lines, and the Flecha Roja

is second class. Perhaps youd better try the Estrella
first.
Connie thought so too, and supplied with
directions, hurried off.
She found Mr. Mole rather sooner than she had
anticipated. He was sitting in the Zcalo, reading a
newspaper, and her glance lighted on him quite by
chance. Ive been looking for you, she announced
at once. The clerk at your pension said that you
were making a bus reservation back to Mexico.
Thats right, the Englishman agreed. I shall be
leaving at two oclock.
What happened to your rented car? Connie
wanted to know.
Im through with driving in Mexico. Im through
with Mexico for that matter. Mr. Mole looked
exceedingly disgruntled, probably, Connie decided,
because he was still bruised from his beating.
But arent you leaving with the case unsolved?
she asked chidingly.
It is my opinion, replied Mr. Mole in a haughty
British manner, that any further investigation will
lead nowhere, except to a further risk of life and
limb. I shall recommend that my company pay this
claim, but refuse to issue Mr. King another policy,
since the circumstances surrounding the robbery are
certainly strange!
133

Does Mr. King know youre leaving? she

asked.
He most certainly does. Mr. Mole folded his
paper and remarked peevishly, Youre rather
inquisitive this morning, young lady.
I have reason to be, Connie told him. She
glanced around to make sure she wouldnt be
overheard. Something has happened that is very
upsetting. My sister has disappeared.
Disappeared? With an expression of
incredulity, Mr. Mole added, You mean she has
become lost?
Connie shook her head. Im afraid shes been
kidnaped.
In Taxco?
From Mrs. Troys house.
When did thisthis disappearance take place?
Sometime last night. You see, Connie
explained, I was out very late, following a man
with two burros who was hiding some packages in a
cemetery vault, and when I got back to the Casa del
Olvido
Wait a minute! Mr. Mole burst forth. He took
off his reading glasses and scowled at her. Are you
sure youre feeling quite well?
Connie sighed. Im perfectly sane, if thats what
you mean, but maybe Id better go back to the
beginning.
134

I should certainly think so, agreed Mr. Mole.

Talking quickly, and skipping unessential details,
Connie described her adventure of the night before.
She kept her voice cautiously low, just above a
whisper, for now she had Mr. Moles rapt attention.
When she described the size and shape of the
packages deposited under the loose stone in the
mausoleum, he repeated after her, You say
oblongshoe-box size?
Connie nodded. Thats right. Well, perhaps not
quite the size of a shoe box, more the size of a
brick.
Or the size of a silver ingot?
Again Connie nodded. Thats what I was
thinking, too.
Mr. Mole snapped his fingers. You may have
stumbled into something very important, Miss
Blair, he said with narrowed eyes.
It was Connies turn to be testy. I didnt stumble
into anything, Mr. Mole. You might say I climbed
into it! The backs of her legs still ached.
In any event, you were quite right in coming
directly to me, said the Englishman. By Jove, we
may crack this case yet!
Connie gritted her teeth and looked Mr. Mole
right in the eye. But I didnt come to talk about the
missing silver, she told him firmly. I dont care
about the silver. I came to talk about my sister. My
135

sister, Kit! Dont you understand? Weve got to find

her! Then maybe we can find the silver, too.
Connies tone of voice was so urgent, her
expression so desperate, that Mr. Mole felt called
upon to reassure her. Now, now, he said
soothingly. Dont be upset. Im sure youll find
theres some perfectly obvious explanation for her
disappearance. But this other thingits really
important! Do you think you could point out the
exact vault?
Im sure I could, Connie told him with
complete certainty, but I dont intend to do a thing
until my sister is found.
She set her jaw so firmly and spoke so earnestly
that she could see Mr. Mole was impressed. Without
her help he could accomplish nothing, and without
his co-operation Connie didnt know which way to
turn.
She was not in the least surprised when he tried
strategy. Look, Miss Blair, he said with
extraordinary gentleness, I believe youre
needlessly overwrought. I know it all sounds most
confusing, but I do feel your sister will turn up. In
any event, until we have some plan that may lead us
to her, dont you think we ought to do the obvious
thing?
The obvious thing? Whats that?
We should make certain that the mysterious
136

gentleman cached away what we think he did. We

must determine whether ingots of silver were
transported from the Casa del Olvido to the
cemetery. With that knowledge we may be able to
discover the criminal, and, incidentally, your sister.
Incidentally nothing! Connie cried. If you
dont think my sisters more important than a load of
lifeless silver
Oh, I do, I do! interrupted Mr. Mole. But dont
you see, we must approach the problem in the
logical order. First things first, you know.
Connie shook her head in despair at his
tactlessness, but in a way she agreed with him. If the
crux of this mystery could be solved, Kit, who was
obviously one of the pawns, might be discovered
forthwith.
Check, she said almost automatically. But
how do we get into the vault? Its locked.
Remember?
Mr. Mole pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket.
I have some useful implements, he said smugly.
This master key here will probably open the vault.
But, she countered, theres bound to be one
caretakermaybe more. They always seem to have
extra help in Mexico.
We shall approach that problem when it
approaches us, said Mr. Mole sententiously.
Meanwhileavant!
137

Getting wearily to her feet, Connie led Mr. Mole

across the square and up the winding road to the
cemetery.
They were preceded, unfortunately, by a funeral
procession. Since the hill was almost perpendicular
they could see, far ahead, a tiny white coffin painted
with bright-colored flowers, borne on the shoulders
of four black-clad men. The childs coffin was
followed by the weeping family, also clothed in the
deepest mourning, and by a column of relatives and
friends who proceeded slowly through the streets. A
few musicians followed, since this was apparently a
prosperous native group. And Connie, in spite of her
perturbation, was deeply touched by the tragic
scene.
Mr. Mole, however, was unimpressed by the sight
of the mourners. Again it was apparent that he had a
single-track mind.
He did, however, have the courtesy not to suggest
passing the sad little procession, so it took nearly
half an hour to reach the cemetery. Pretending to be
mere tourists, Connie and her escort stayed far away
from the section where the services were taking
place, and only after the natives had left to walk
slowly downhill again did she lead him to the allimportant vault.
A candle still burned before the altar, just as it
had the night before. Cedric Mole regarded the stone
138

floor with unconcealed curiosity, but he made no

attempt to use his master key because Connie had
been right. A caretaker hovered in the distance,
raking leaves but keeping a weather eye on these
strangers.
So that they wouldnt appear to be especially
interested in any one tomb, Connie drew Mr. Mole
on.
Gonzales y de la Mora, he was muttering,
repeating the name inscribed over the grilled door of
the mausoleum. Ever hear of such a family, Miss
Blair?
Connie shook her head.
What about the caretaker chap? the Englishman
whispered, glancing back.
He might, Connie suggested, accept a bribe.
Such a solution was against her principles, but she
felt that this was no time to be squeamish. Important
issues were at stake.
Mr. Mole extracted a hundred-peso note from his
wallet. Do you think he could be persuaded to walk
down to the bank and get this changed?
Connie asked coolly, For what reward?
Sayhalf?
Fifty pesos? It was probably as much as the
caretaker earned in a month. Translated into
American currency, fifty pesos were worth about
four dollars. Connie nodded. I think so, she said.
139

Can you explain to him?

Ill try.
She walked casually toward the old man and
engaged him in conversation, in her labored
Spanish, concerning the history of the cemetery.
After a very difficult five minutes she thanked him,
then suggested that the gentleman accompanying her
would like to make him a present, if he could
acquire the change at the banco downtown.
The caretakers eyes widened when Connie held
forth the hundred-peso note and explained that he
might keep half. Generous tourists sometimes gave
him a peso or two as a tip, but little more.
S, s, Seorita. Gracias! He was so abject and
overwhelmed that Connie felt at any minute he
might bend and kiss the hem of her skirt.
Abandoning his rake and his pile of dried leaves, he
limped quickly off, turning repeatedly until he was
out of sight to salute his benefactors and shout,
Gracias!
Alone at last, Cedric Mole and Connie wasted no
time. They walked quickly to the vault and Mr.
Mole brought out his keys, fitting one into the lock.
Just pray it works, Connie murmured, keeping
one eye on her companion and the other on the road,
so that she could warn him of anyones approach.
It will, said the Britisher smugly, and it did.
Within seconds he was able to pull the door toward
140

him and enter the crypt.

The stone in the floor was less manageable,
however. It was especially well concealed from
prying eyes, and the pair tugged without success at
first one and then another and another rectangular
block.
Connie finally went outside and took up a stand
in the same place from which she had watched the
unloading of the burros the night before. From this
position she tried to reorient herself.
To the left, she told Mr. Mole. Even farther.
About there!
This stratagem proved successful and the Lloyds
representative located the loose stone, but it took
Connie to help him move it. He wasnt so big nor
nearly so strong as the man with the burros, and he
grew quite red-faced with exertion, but if necessary
he would have worked twice as hard.
Finally they had the secret hiding place
uncovered and Mr. Mole reached down and picked
up one of the oblong, heavily wrapped packages. At
the same instant Connie became aware of a footfall
on the graveled path.
Somebodys coming! she whispered. Look
out!

141

CHAPTER

13

Still No Kit

Quick as a flash, and with complete silence, both

Connie and Mr. Mole moved to either side of the
crypt. Pressed back against the walls they waited,
hoping desperately that the elderly widow draped in
deep mourning, who was coming down the central
path, would not notice that the grilled door was ajar.
Mole still held the oblong package in his right
hand, rather like a weapon, Connie thought. She
stifled a smile as she wondered whether he planned
to defend himself against the frail intruder.
But there was no need for alarm. The woman,
wrapped in grief as securely as in her black rebozo,
turned off to a side path and walked on, so that the
entrance to the mausoleum was no longer within her
line of vision.
Quick, whispered Connie. See whats inside
142

the wrapping. Is it an ingot, do you think?

Its heavy enough to be one. Cautiously, trying
not to make a ripping sound, he tugged at the layers
of paper.
Connie watched anxiously, then silently sighed
with relief as Mr. Mole disclosed the end of a silver
brick. By Jove, he said, weve torn it! He
looked at Connie with bright eyes. Thanks to you,
Miss Blair, he added, with a generosity unusual for
him.
Connie knelt to count the ingots in the hiding
place. Twelve, she said. Just as I thought.
Only
twelve?
Mr.
Mole
repeated,
disappointment coloring the question. But thats
not nearly enough! Its only a small part of the total
amount.
Its a start, Connie said. The rest must be
hidden elsewhere, back at Mrs. Troys house,
probably. She snapped her fingers and added, Of
course!
Of course what?
But Connie didnt reply. Better leave these here,
all of them, she advised hastily. We cant very
well walk out with a package, even a small one. The
caretaker might notice.
Reluctantly Mr. Mole replaced the ingot and
together the pair struggled with the heavy stone lid
to the treasure chest. It fell back into place with a
143

thud which alarmed Connie, but when she went

outside and glanced toward the spot at which the old
woman was crouching near a headstone, she realized
that no earthly sound could penetrate her sorrow.
She and Mr. Mole were quite safe.
As a matter of fact, they had locked the door and
were strolling down the walk toward the entrance
when the old caretaker came struggling back up the
hill.
Quite overcome by his good fortune, his eyes
filled with tears as he accepted the fifty pesos.
Gracias, he repeated again and again. Mucho
gracias, Seor.
In her halting Spanish, Connie thanked the old
man in return, saying that they had enjoyed visiting
the cemetery. Then, as quickly as possible, she and
Mr. Mole escaped from the mutual expressions of
gratitude. Connie was becoming more concerned
about Kit by the moment, and the discovery of the
hidden silver convinced her that her twins
disappearance was due to the fact that she had
happened upon something not intended for her eyes.
Yet, at the same time, she couldnt help hope that
she was wrong, and that Kit would by now have
returned safely to the Casa del Olvido.
Youre clutching at a straw, she told herself.
Where could Kit have gone, willingly, in pajamas?
Still, she sprinted down the cobbled path like a
144

145

mountain goat, and Mr. Mole found it next to

impossible to keep up.
Gonzales y de la Mora, he repeated, panting. I
suppose there would be records to show where this
family lives.
I suppose. Connie was paying little attention.
Maybe theyre all dead and gone.
Maybe. Yet I doubt it. Perhaps I should apply to
the Mayor for information.
Perhaps, Connie agreed, but Im going back to
Mrs. Troys.
The Englishman didnt argue with her this time.
Ill try to join you there, he promised, after
lunch.
Lunch? Food was the farthest thing from
Connies thoughts. The fact that it was well past
noon had not occurred to her. Kits whereabouts
were her one and only concern.
The fact that the Zcalo was as crowded as usual
and that a parade of school children carrying flags
was marching lightheartedly through the streets
seemed odd and somehow unsuitable. That the birds
in the aviary were singing and that the sun was
shining brightly on the patio of the Casa del Olvido
seemed positively infuriating.
Mrs. Troys smile of welcome was the climax. It
looked as false to Connie as the tale of Kits
morning errand had sounded. Didnt you find your
146

sister? the woman asked.

Connies eyes narrowed. She had finished with
subterfuge. Look, Mrs. Troy, she said sharply,
my sister hasnt just gone for a walk, and she hasnt
gone hunting rebozos in the market, and you know
it.
I? Mrs. Troy placed a withered hand against her
chest in feigned astonishment. Whatever are you
talking about, child? Thats what she said
I dont believe it, Connie replied, looking the
woman in the eye. There isnt a dress missing from
her closet, and even in Taxco, which Ill admit is
informal, girls dont go walking around the streets in
pajamas!
Mrs. Troys hands fluttered nervously. Well,
wellnow Ill admit I didnt actually see her go
out, she stammered. We had breakfasted, you see,
in our robes, and when Connie went back to her
room I had to go to the kitchen for a little while,
so
Youve got us mixed! Connie almost cried out.
Im Connie, not Kit. But she managed to control
herself. She didnt see what could be gained by such
an admission, and for all she knew the confusion
might prove to be a point that could be pressed to
advantage later on.
So what? she said coolly, without taking her
eyes off Mrs. Troy.
147

The woman stroked her forehead distractedly.

Goodness, she murmured, you do sound upset!
And I dont suppose I can blame you, really. Tell
me, she added in a lowered voice, is your sister
subject, by any chance, to attacks?
Attacks? Just what do you mean? Any sense of
gratitude for Mrs. Troys hospitality had evaporated.
All pretense was dropped. Connie felt sure she was
facing an adversaryan adversary who was bound
to continue dissembling, by what compulsion she
could not guess.
Well, as you were saying, it does seem odd, to
go wandering off in pajamas. If, of course, that is
what she did.
The futility of continuing such a conversation was
obvious. My sister is not subject to attacks of any
kind, Connie said. I believe she was kidnaped.
Thats what I believe. And thats what I intend to
tell the police!
Turning on her heel she marched back through
the patio and out the gate, seething with a
combination of frustration and alarm. Her threat had
not been idle. Go to the police she wouldand at
once!

148

CHAPTER

14

The Other Sister

In the darkened room there was no sound except the

timid scrabbling of a mouse. Daylight filtered in thin
gray lines between the slats of the closed shutter at
the high barred window. There was a musty odor to
the place, an attic sort of smell.
Kit stirred, wrinkling her nose distastefully, then
drifted off into a troubled sleep once more. Down in
the patio, Connies voice rose as she accused
Hannah Devotion Troy of knowing that her sister
had not just gone to the market but Kit did not hear
it. She was dreaming that she was lost in a jungle,
and she kept calling and calling until her voice
became hoarse. The undergrowth was impenetrable.
She struggled against the encroaching vines which
reached for her like tentacles, but she couldnt get
out. Then, on the narrow chaise, she turned and
149

twisted and fought in her sleep, until her brow was

damp with perspiration and her drugged senses
reeled.
Church bells tolled at the Santa Prisca, and a
clock somewhere in the house struck two. The bus
on which Cedric Mole was to have departed Taxco
was loading with passengers in the square, but the
spare Englishman who had engaged a seat was not
among them. At the Hotel Victoria most of the
guests were eating lunch on the terrace and
comparing their morning purchases. In the little
casitas
perched
precariously
along
the
mountainsides the natives were taking their siestas.
The Zcalo was almost empty. Not until four
oclock would it come alive again.
At the sound of the clock striking, Kit came very
slowly back to consciousness. There were no clocks
in jungles. The nightmare through which she had
been struggling gradually disappeared, and the attic
smell became more and more apparent. Where was
she? Although her head was still reeling, she tried to
sit up.
An arm under her shoulders assisted her. Feeling
better? Thats good, said Hannah Troys soothing
voice. Here, dear, drink this.
Kit was aware of being very thirsty. She took the
glass offered her and gulped the water greedily,
scarcely aware that it had a bitter sort of taste.
150

Thank you, she murmured sleepily. Thank you

very much. Then she tried to ask, Where am I?
but before she could quite phrase the question she
had drifted off once more.
Meanwhile, Connie, her jaw set in a determined
line, was hurrying uphill toward the square. She
intended to unearth an officer of the law if it took
her all afternoon, although where the policemen of
Taxco kept themselves she couldnt imagine. Aside
from her one brush with the law in Cedric Moles
bedroom, she hadnt seen a man in uniform.
Then, quite suddenly, she stopped short. In a
mental flash back almost incredibly vivid she
realized that something other than Mrs. Troys
attitude had disturbed her about the patio scene.
Something was missing in the picturesomething
that had, she recognized now, been missing all
morning, even at breakfast time. Where was the big
chaise longue?
She stood quite still in the street, thinking. Had it
been wheeled back under the sheltering balcony? If
so, she couldnt recall seeing it there. Doing her best
to visualize the courtyard in its entirety, she was
quite unaware of a chicken pecking at her feet.
Turning, she inadvertently kicked the bird, which
ran away, squawking angrily. Changing her mind
with quick decision, Connie circled the block and
came up the street at the rear of the Casa del Olvido.
151

She wanted to get inside the house without being

seen.
And there might be a way, if she had guessed
correctly! Connie was remembering something she
had noticed from the window of Hannah Troys
studiothe crude steppingstones leading to the top
of the garden wall. If only these stones were
repeated on the outside!
She tried to orient herself. It wouldnt be this
house, or the next. She stepped back, and could pick
out the studio window high above her, then scanned
the clifflike stone wall.
At first she sighed in disappointment, then,
coming closer, realized that there were barely
discernible projections ascending at an angle. The
climb would be precarious but manageable.
Glancing up and down the street to make sure that
she was quite alone, she scrambled with catlike
agility to the top.
On the inside the steps were well defined and
presented no problem. In a moment she was
standing in the enclosed garden, looking up at the
quiet house.
Because it was siesta time she felt fairly safe. The
pattern of Taxco was as repetitious as the flawless
days. From two until four in the afternoon, people
napped. Even the little criada would be off dozing
somewhere. If ever there were a safe time for
152

153

exploration, this was it.

Fortunately, the ground-floor door was open.
Connie crept up a flight of winding stairs as quietly
as a shadow, and came to the upper floors. She knew
her way about the house only vaguely. Here a door
was ajar, opening into another guest bedroom. At
the left was the entrance to Hannahs big studio. A
little chapel, one wall of which was covered with
baroque gilt ornamentation surrounding the carved
figure of the Madonna and Child, was entered
through an arched passageway behind the stairs.
Connie tarried here, because it was a room Hannah
Devotion Troy had not seen fit to show the girls, but
she could find nothing amiss. She paused once more
at the balcony door, listening, but Mrs. Troy was
apparently resting. The Casa del Olvido was as
silent as a tomb.
After glancing into the sala, a long-unused
drawing room, she hurried on, exploring the old
house from top to bottom, becoming frequently
confused by the odd arrangement of stairs, corners,
terraces, arches, tiled fountains, and kitchens.
Instead of being built on two levels, as it appeared
from the inner patio, the ancient dwelling had five or
six different floors. But finally Connie was back in
the lower garden again, none the wiser. She hadnt
found what she was looking for.
Standing in the shadow of a tree, she studied the
154

rear facade once more, and suddenly gave a small

gasp of satisfaction. To the left of Hannahs studio,
and somewhat below it, was a small barred window!
It would be almost directly under the little chapel,
Connie decided, reconstructing in her mind the
location of the rooms. It would be next to the service
pantry, on the level of the patio. Gathering her
courage, she tiptoed back into the house and tried to
locate the spot, but only a blank wall greeted her.
Once more she ran quickly upstairs to the chapel and
examined the floor with care, but again she met with
disappointment. The church bells tolled three, and at
last she admitted defeat. Leaving as quickly and as
silently as she had entered, Connie again scaled the
back wall.
Hey, there! came a familiar masculine voice as
she lowered herself from the top. What under the
sun are you doing? Practicing for a quick getaway?
Connie looked down into the astonished face of
Peter Dawson. Not exactly, she replied, accepting
his proffered hand and jumping from the last
foothold to the ground. Ive been doing a little
private-detective work, actually. Peter, something
terrible has happened. Kit has disappeared!

155

CHAPTER

15

Wheels Within Wheels

Disappeared? Peter looked utterly incredulous.

But when I called this morning Hannah said you
had both gone shopping, and Ive been looking all
over town for you!
Connie shook her head. Then for several seconds
she gazed into Peters honest eyes, and decided to
tell him everything. Hannahs lying, she said,
mincing no words. Quickly she explained the basis
for this assertion, the confusion in identity, and the
discovery that none of Kits clothes were missing
from her closet.
Peter whistled softly. But what would be the
point to abduction? Why would anybody want to put
you out of circulation for a while?
I dont know.
Unless its because youve been involved, more
156

or less, with Cedric Mole. And the silversmiths in

our shop cant stand Mole, thats sure.
I dont think this incident has anything to do
with the silversmiths, Connie said thoughtfully.
Its Hannah Troy, remember, who is involved.
Scratching his head, Peter looked like a puzzled
schoolboy. Youve got me, he admitted. Its
darned mysterious, thats all I can say.
Connie agreed. Kit will never dare come away
with me again. If there is an again, she said
slowly.
Really alarmed now, Peter said with
determination, Well find her, if we have to
overturn every stone in Taxco! Grabbing Connies
hand, he added, Come on!
Where are we going? Connie wanted to know
as she was pulled along the street at a run.
First of all, were going to put Mrs. Troy
through a third degree she wont forget in a hurry.
Maybe, as you suspect, shes the key to this whole
doggone puzzle.
Rounding the corner, the pair approached the
Casa del Olvido from the front. Peters walk was
almost a march, full of grim purpose, and Connie
trotted along hopefully at his heels. For the first time
she realized how aggressively masculine this young
man could be.
So certain was she that the patio would be empty,
157

and Hannah still invisible, that she didnt hesitate to

stop Peter just short of the entrance. Before we go
in, she said, theres just one question Id like to
ask you.
Shoot, Peter suggested briefly.
Did you ever hear of a person or a family called
Gonzales y de la Mora?
Sure, Peter replied at once. Victor bought his
housenot this one, the one next to the factory
from a guy named Felipe Gonzales. Hed dropped
the full name, I remember, but it was written in on
the deed.
Connies eyes widened. Where is this Felipe
now?
He died a couple of months ago, Peter told her.
Some sort of lingering illness. He was the last of
the clan, I think. Thats one reason he sold out.
I see, Connie said softly, but what she actually
saw was not lighted so much by Peters words as by
her own memory. She was standingonce moreat
midnight in the church graveyard, watching a big
man lead a couple of burros toward a tomb. Her eyes
looked past Peter into the distance and her hands
grew cold with excitement. Suppose her surmise
was correct? Suppose that her deductions, absurd as
they might seem to the uninitiated, were deeply,
inevitably logical? Then it might be she, not Hannah
Devotion Troy, who held the key to the mystery.
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The silver secret might soon be shouted from the

housetops, if she were right.
You look as though you were a million miles
away, Peter commented.
Just a couple, contradicted Connie.
Come on, anyway. We have work to do! Peter
said urgently.
Ill say we have, Connie agreed, but she looked
at Peter almost sorrowfully. In a way, Mr. Mole had
been correct. She had not been following a logical
order.
The patio gate, when they reached it, was closed
and, surprisingly, locked! Connie and Peter stooped
and peered through the bars simultaneously.
Then they both gave a cry of astonishment. Mrs.
Troy was quite visible on the far side of the aviary.
She was bending over a chaise on which was
stretched a reclining figure. And the bright hair told
the pair at once that it was Kit!
Hannah! Peter called, recovering himself first.
Were locked out. Let us in!
Mrs. Troy glanced up in consternation, then
hurried toward the gate. Im sorry, she murmured
as she came. The wind must have blown the gate
shut.
Wind nothing. Someone locked it, Peter
muttered in an undertone. There hasnt been even a
breeze all day.
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Connie brushed past Hannah Devotion Troy

without a word and ran to her sister, dropping to her
knees by Kits side.
Are you all right? she questioned anxiously.
Speak to me! Taking her twin by the shoulders she
shook her gently, but Kits head just bobbled and
her eyes opened, rolled vacantly, then closed again.
Frightened, she glanced up to find Peter and
Hannah approaching. Mrs. Troy was wringing her
hands and crying, I cant imagine what can have
happened. She just wandered in a few minutes ago
and collapsed.
Nonsense! said Connie sharply. Shes been
drugged. Its quite obvious.
Drugged? Mrs. Troy seemed determined to
keep up the pretense. Oh, no
At that moment the maid appeared with a glass of
ice water. Muy malo, she kept murmuring to
Connie, shaking her head. Muy malovery ill.
Im going for a doctor, Connie interrupted. She
jumped to her feet and, still ignoring Mrs. Troy,
spoke to Peter. You stay with Kit. Dont leave her
for an instant, and dont let her drink anythingnot
even wateruntil I come back!
Right, said Peter. Dont worry. Ill take care of
her.
Mrs. Troy, meanwhile, was looking puzzled.
Kit? she repeated. But youre Kit. This is
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Connie.
Oh, no, it isnt, Connie said sharply. Thats
where you made one big mistake. She looked
Hannah Devotion Troy in the eye.
Oh, dear. Once more the elderly woman started
to wring her hands, and slow tears trickled down her
cheeks. Oh, dear, she kept on saying. Now what
am I going to do?
Youre going to stay right here within Peters
sight until I get back, Connie commanded. And,
she added to Peter over her shoulder, dont worry if
the doctor arrives before I do. I have another errand
to do.
She rounded the aviary at a run and sprinted
through the gate, glad that she had noticed an
American name, George W. Miller, with a
comforting M.D. after it, painted on a small sign
beside a doorway in the Calle de las Delicias. This
street was not far away, but before she reached it,
she was accosted by Mr. Mole, who was hurrying
downhill toward the Casa del Olvido.
I have just been permitted to examine the family
record of Gonzales y
Yes, yes, I know. Connie interrupted without
stopping. I want to talk to you. Come along. Im
going for a doctor. Kits been drugged.
Drugged? repeated Mr. Mole incredulously.
But why?
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Because they think shes me. Or did. Connie

broke into a dogtrot, not caring that Cedric Mole
was panting in an effort to keep up. Somebody
decided I knew too much, I guess.
And do you?
I do now!
Great Scott! You dont say? What?
But Connie didnt reply at once. She was
knocking loudly on the door of the doctors house.
A sleepy-eyed servant answered. Is the doctor
in? Connie asked.
S, Seorita, but he is taking his siesta.
Muy bien. Go and awaken him, please, Connie
ordered in Spanish.
Her voice held so much authority that the servant
obeyed without question, and in a few minutes a
stout, sunburned man in a rumpled white suit stood
facing her in the doorway. She explained the
situation in a few quick sentences. My sister is ill. I
think she has been given some sort of drug. She is at
Mrs. Troys housethe Casa del Olvido. Will you
go to her?
Of course, said the doctor. But how very
strange. He glanced from Connie to the
Englishman with a puzzled frown. Wait a minute.
Ill get my bag.
I wont be going with you, Connie was
compelled to say. But Ill follow very shortly. She
162

flashed the doctor a look of real concern. Do hurry.

Por favor! Then, with his promise given, she
turned away with Mr. Mole.

163

CHAPTER

16

The Scheme That Failed

Hurry up! urged Connie, turning toward the

Zcalo once more. Weve got to find a policeman,
fast.
Still out of breath and quite in the dark, Mr. Mole
said testily, First I wish youd explain yourself,
Miss Blair.
Without breaking her stride, Connie told him, I
think Ive got the answer to the silver theft.
You dont!
Connie almost grinned. What would you say if I
named the culpritright now?
She knew it wasnt fair to tease him, but the
temptation was irresistible. Mr. Mole was so smug
and precise andyes, almost stupid, in the way he
had gone about things thus far. His unfounded
suspicions of the artisans at Victor Kings shop still
irked her, also his treatment of their families.
164

Culprit? You mean to imply it was only one?

the Englishman was saying.
If my guess is right.
Oh, then it is only a guess? Mr. Mole sounded
disappointed.
Call it a deduction, more properly. Suddenly
Connie spotted a uniformed figure across the square.
Polcia! she called at the top of her lungs.
Polcia!
A dozen tourists and twice as many natives
turned to look at the pretty girl running beneath the
Indian laurel trees, with a spare, thin-lipped
Englishman at her heels. She grabbed the
policemans arm and started to explain, in her
halting Spanish, We want you to help us catch a
thief.
The officers eyes were kind and keen. You may
speak Americana, he told her after a few seconds.
I have studied your language at the school here. I
will understand.
Connie gave a sigh of relief and continued her
story in English. Both the officer and Mr. Mole
listened, at first, in disbelief, then with growing
interest.
By Jove! Mr. Mole said finally, then kept
repeating the phrase at regular intervals. By Jove!
Ten minutes later the trio mounted the steps
which led into the showrooms of Victor King. They
165

talked for a few minutes to the night watchman who

had been on duty at the time of the great silver
robbery, then went on to Mr. Kings house.
The master is not at home, announced the
maidservant who answered the door. He has just
left for Mrs. Troys casita. Seor Dawson
telephoned and said that he was needed. Seor King
left in a hurry.
The news of Peters telephone call to his
stepfather upset Connie. Why had he left Kit, even
for a minute, when he had promised her faithfully
Hurry! she urged the policeman, and pounded
down the steps into the street. An empty taxi was
passing and she hailed the driver peremptorily.
Take us to the Casa del Olvido. And hurry.
The Mexican driver grinned in delight. S,
Seorita! he promised, and the car leapt ahead like
a rabbit. In minutes, he deposited the party at the
entrance gate.
Within, the scene had changed to the extent that
now both Dr. Miller and Victor King were hovering
over Kits couch, along with Mrs. Troy and the
maid, who seemed to be running back and forth at
the doctors bidding, fetching glasses and teaspoons
and towels.
The moment she saw Mr. King, Connie breathed
a sigh of relief. She exchanged a glance with the
police officer which told him how dubious she had
166

been that the silver merchant would show up here.

Peter, who had been standing to one side looking
troubled but helpless, started toward Connie at once,
then stopped short, frowning, when he saw the
policeman.
What
At the same instant Victor King looked up, and
his normally ruddy face blanched when he saw
Cedric Mole, who was supposed to have left town
by the afternoon bus.
The policeman and Mr. Mole stepped forward.
May we speak to you a minute, Mr. King?
Making a quick recovery, Victor King smiled
genially and said, But of course.
Connie, meanwhile, went directly to her sister,
whose eyelids were fluttering. Give her another
five minutes, said Dr. Miller. Shell be all right.
Is she ill? Or was she drugged? Connie asked.
Drugged, said the doctor succinctly. He
glanced sharply at Hannah Troy, whose face was
positively ashen. Id like to know whats going on
here.
Connie could have told him, but instead she
patted Kits hand encouragingly, and after smiling
down at her for a few seconds, she turned to Peter
Dawson.
Pete, she said, youre not going to like whats
going to happen in the next ten minutes, and I just
167

want you to know that I hate to do it, but theres no

way out.
Peter looked completely confused. I wish youd
stop talking in riddles and tell me what gives.
I think Ive discovered who stole the silver.
Golly Ned! Who?
Your stepfather, Connie answered unhappily,
biting her lip.
Are you kidding, or are you crazy?
Sh! Connie cautioned. Youll see.
The policeman was questioning Victor King.
Do you have a key to the Gonzales y de la Mora
vault?
I guess I have. A bunch of keys came with the
house. But what of it?
It is known that a man of your build and general
description brought twelve silver ingots from this
house and deposited them there late last night.
Mr. King laughed, but the heartiness was forced.
Nonsense, he said. I dont know what youre
talking about.
The policeman turned to Mrs. Troy, who had
come over to stand at the edge of the group.
Seora, he said politely, have the goodness to
show me how to uncover the well.
Mrs. Troy stood with her hands clasped so tightly
that the knuckles were white. She glanced nervously
from one man to the other, and Connie saw Mr.
168

King shake his head ever so slightly. Immediately

Hannah Troy assumed a vague expression. The
well? But the well has not been uncovered in years.
From the chaise Kit spoke, weakly but with
determination. That isnt true, she said. The well
was open last night.
Connie looked at the police officer and nodded.
If she wont show us the catch which releases the
aviary, we can find it, she said.
Very gently, Peter spoke. Show them, Hannah,
he urged.
The little woman fluttered toward the aviary and
bent down for a few seconds. Then, smoothly and
quietly, the great bird cage began to swing back.
Of course! cried Connie, who had been
watching closely. Thats how it must have
happened! As Kit fell forward she made a grab to
save herself and inadvertently released the catch on
the cage!
At that moment King took one menacing step
forward, but the policeman stopped him. Mr. Mole
went over to the open well and reached inside,
pulling forth an oblong package identical to those
which he and Connie had unearthed in the Gonzales
crypt. He handed it to the officer, then leaned over
once more and began counting silently. This would
account for the bulk of the theft, he said after a
minute. He spoke to Connie, without looking at
169

Victor King.
Kit, meanwhile, had raised herself to one elbow
and was watching the tense little drama with
interest. But why? she murmured, then hesitated.
Shall I explain? Connie asked.
The policeman, who had disclosed the ingot of
silver, nodded. Mr. King robbed himself to collect
the insurance money, Connie said. He had lost a
great deal, gambling, and his wife refused to pay his
debts. So I suppose he decided to fake the theft. If he
replaced the silver to the workroom in dribbles,
nobody would notice. And if the insurance paid off,
he would have enough cash on hand to settle his
gambling losses. Then his business wouldnt suffer,
and the big deal he was promoting in New York
wouldnt fall through.
She couldnt look at Peter Dawson as she spoke,
because she hated to hurt him. He was such a
thoroughly honest young man, and so interested in
his stepfathers business, that she knew the news
would come as a terrific blow.
It did. He almost reeled from the shock, but
instead of looking at Connie he kept his eyes on his
stepfathers face, and what he saw there confirmed
her story. Guilt could not be covered by Mr. Kings
assumed indignation.
But its fantastic! he was exclaiming. This
child must be out of her mind.
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At this point Mr. Mole spoke up. This child, as

you call Miss Blair, has earned my undying
respect, he said in his best British accent. And the
respect of Lloyds of London as well. Or, he added
with careful truthfulness, this will be so when I
make my report, which I intend to do at once.
Stiffly, but with quaint dignity, he bowed.
With such suddenness that it caught the
policeman unprepared and took the rest of the group
completely by surprise, Victor King glanced behind
him, and, seeing the way clear, made a leap which
hurdled Kits chaise. Quick as a flash, he
disappeared through the adjacent door.
Stop him! the doctor cried, and made a futile
grab for the fugitives coat.
Peter didnt move. He seemed frozen by
disappointment and chagrin to the spot on which he
stood, but the policeman and Mr. Mole pounded
after the culprit.
Connie started to follow, then thought better of it.
She came over to Peter and put her hand on his arm.
Im truly sorry, she murmured, that it had to be
this way. But its better to know now than later.
He nodded numbly. I guess youre right.
Mrs. Troy collapsed in a chair, trembling. My
smelling salts, she said to the maid, who was still
standing in the background, openmouthed.
Connie couldnt feel a shred of sympathy for the
171

woman whose hospitality had become a burden.

When she looked at Kit, who was still pale and
incredulous, her heart became even harder.
From within the house came the sounds of
slamming of doors and the noise of running feet. Mr.
Mole appeared on the balcony briefly, hurrying out
one door and in another, and the policeman could be
heard, heavy-booted, on the ground floor.
There was something about the chase which
reminded Connie of the soap operas she had seen,
occasionally, on television. She almost smiled.
Then the gravity of Peters face brought her back
to his dilemma. How, he asked, did you ever
figure out this thing?
Frankly, but with all the gentleness she truly felt
toward him, Connie admitted, I didnt, for a long
time. But first of all, I guess, it struck me as strange
that the factory should be so shorthanded, and that
so little work was being turned out. Then your belief
in the silversmithsyour obvious trust in contrast to
Mr. Moles suspiciousnessimpressed me a great
deal. Added to this, Kits fall here in the patio that
first day, when she said the aviary seemed to move,
was curious. At first I thought she had been struck
from behind. Then I discarded that idea. It wasnt
logical. And Kit doesnt dream up things. Her
disappearance practically proved this point.
But to put two and two togetheror two and
172

four and six and eighthow did you do that?

Connie told him, very briefly, about her midnight
chase of the man with the burros, and her
realization, after he had cached his loot in the
mausoleum, that it was no Mexican she had been
following. I still didnt know it was Victor King,
though, she admitted, until suddenly I
remembered his walk. Id noticed, the first time I
met him, that he walked like a Texan, or like a man
who has ridden horseback a lot.
Hannah Troy, slumped in her chair, was weeping
quietly. When Connie glanced at her, she ventured,
They wont catch him. Theyre wasting their time
in the house.
I know that, Connie admitted. Thats why I
didnt run after them. But I think its about time you
showed them his hiding place.
Dissembling had become so much a part of
Hannahs mode of conduct that it was apparently
impossible for her to break the pattern. I? she
queried. But I havent the slightest idea
Oh, yes, you have! Connie contradicted her.
Show us the secret room where you concealed Kit.
Thats where Mr. King will be.
At this point Mrs. Troy really broke down. She
sobbed hysterically, but managed to blurt out,
between spasms, I never did want to go along with
such a scheme, but Victor insisted that all he wanted
173

was to borrow my well for a bit, and he offered me

such a lovely trip to New York, which I never could
have afforded myself.
Then, when you came out in the patio and told
me you had seen a man at the well, I knew hed
blame it all on me, so
It wasnt I. It was Kit, Connie reminded her.
Kit then. I just wanted to get youKit, whoever
it wasout of the way until Mr. Mole had gone
away. Mrs. Troy buried her face in her
handkerchief, weeping copiously, then looked up to
find the Englishman, despairing of the chase,
advancing toward her. And you! she cried
accusingly. You were supposed to leave town!
I am very sorry to have disappointed you,
Madam, replied Cedric Mole so primly that Connie
couldnt stifle a grin.
Be sensible, she suggested quickly to Hannah
Troy. As an accomplice of Mr. Kings, who has
committed a criminal offense in trying to defraud an
insurance company, you had better do something to
help redeem yourself. Show us the secret room.
Officer, do you have a gun? queried Mr. Mole
belatedly.
The policeman produced his weapon. Lead the
way, Seora, he said.
Mrs. Troy, still sniffling, took them across the
patio and up the stairs which led to her studio. She
174

passed this door, however, and went into the small

baroque chapel. While the others watched with
curiosity, she removed an icon from one of the
niches, and disclosed a brass ring, which she pulled
toward her, and slowly, with scarcely a creak, the
entire wall moved outward to disclose a narrow
passageway with a descending flight of stairs.
You cant escape, called Mr. Mole. You may
as well come quietly.
From the secret room beneath came not a sound.
Connie frowned in consternation, then suddenly
shouted, Get to the balcony quick, Officer! Theres
another way out!
She wasnt a second too soon. At that very
moment Victor King was sprinting across the patio
on his noiseless rubber-soled shoes.
At the policemans cry of Stop! Ive got you
covered, he hesitated, then very slowly turned
around and managed a feeble grin. Congratulations,
Miss Blair, he said.
Now how did you know that? Peter asked her,
completely baffled.
There had to be another entrance, or exit,
Connie said quietly. Otherwise, how could Hannah
Troy have wheeled that heavy chaise, with Kit
asleep on it, from the patio into the secret room.
Peter whistled in admiration. Golly, he
commented, with great feeling, what a girl!
175

* * *
Once more, Connie and Kit were seated beside
Peter in the convertible. Once more, they were
driving toward Acapulco, but this time the girls were
leaving Taxco for good, continuing their interrupted
vacation trip.
Kit looked a trifle pale, but was otherwise
unharmed by her recent unpleasant experience.
Connie was unusually quiet, because she knew what
Peter was heading toward. He had been entrusted by
the police with the task of breaking the news of
Victor Kings defalcation to his mother.
Understanding her solicitude, Peter tried to ease
her mind. Dont worry, he begged her. Mother
will be shocked, of course, but remember she
already knows about Victors gambling. She hasnt
really trusted him, deep down, for a couple of
years.
After we get settled at the hotel, and after she
gets over it a bit, Id like to come see her, Connie
offered generously.
You bet. Im counting on it, Peter replied
ambiguously. But his eyes were full of affection and
admiration for this pretty girl, who showed so much
courage and cleverness, combined with a sensitivity
he had rarely met.
What about the silversmiths? Kit wanted to
know. They wont be punished, will they?
176

Why? Peter asked.

For beating up Mr. Mole. They did, didnt they,
after all?
The boy nodded ruefully. Yes, I guess its pretty
certain they took the law into their own hands, but I
suspect the police will scarcely blame them. Theyll
most likely get off with a reprimand.
Kit sat back with a sigh of relief. She always felt
concerned for the underdog.
As curve followed upon curve, and the duncolored mountains seemed to wind endlessly into the
distance, Connie became more and more thoughtful.
Finally she spoke.
Peter, she said, while Victor Kings scheme
was completely dishonest and ruthless, theres one
bright side to the picture.
Whats that? Peter asked, looking dubious.
No money was actually lost, Connie reminded
him. With the ingots found in the cemetery, and the
remainder in the well under the aviary, theyre all
accounted for.
Thats true, Peter admitted, but Victor still has
to pay his gambling debts. I cant see that it helps
much.
If I were you and your mother, said Connie
calmly, Id let Victor sweat that one out, as they
say in detective stories. A little later she added,
Ive just been smitten with an idea.
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Give, my pretty! Peter urged her promptly.

Connie hesitated. Maybe youll think its none
of my affair.
None of this whole nasty mess has been your
affair, Peter reminded her. Neither yours nor
Kits. Yet youve been right in the middle. So now
its your turn. Shoot!
Ive just been wondering what youre going to
dogo back to Antioch?
Peter shrugged. I havent thought that far
ahead.
Youre interested in the silver business, arent
you?
Sure, but now thats washed up.
Need it be? Connie asked gently. Wouldnt
your mother be willing to stake you to the sum
youd need to buy King out?
Buy King out? Peter laughed spontaneously.
The whole shebangs in Mothers name, anyway.
She put up the money. He never invested a dime.
Connie looked surprised and relieved.
Wonderful! she cried. Then, Peter, why dont
you take over the business? The workmen like you
and trust you. The designs are sound, and the chance
of expansion is just as great as it was before Victor
King tried to do a double-take. You could get things
well organized before you go back to school, then
run it by remote control until you graduate. Why
178

not?
Peter looked at her in dawning comprehension
and excitement, until Kit was impelled to caution,
Watch the road!
Connie, he breathed, youre a genius! I cant
think of anything Id rather do.
In that case, Connie said with a sigh of
satisfaction, I think Ill telephone Reid and
Renshaw and explain the whole deal. With you in
the drivers seat I wont be afraid to recommend the
business as a pretty fair risk.
Peter chuckled happily. You couldnt do better
than that?
Connie grinned. I have to be honestand youre
awfully young.
Youth isnt necessarily a liability, Peter teased
her. Just look at you!
Suddenly the air in the mountains above
Acapulco seemed
increasingly fresh and
invigorating. Connie and Kit both smiled, meeting
one anothers eyes. Then Connie wriggled a little, in
pure happiness. I think, she said to her twin, that
the end of our vacation, at least, is going to be pure,
unadulterated fun!
In which I hope youll include me, concluded
Peter.
Period, Connie murmured. Or, as the British
say, full stop.
179