# Landon's Legacy

Extracted from Collier's weekly, 1915 Jan 8, pp. 5–8, 24–26. Accompanying illustrations by Fred C. Yohn may be omitted.
LANGDON'S LEGACY
BY MEREDITH NICHOLSON
ILLUSTRATED BY FRED C. YOHN
A YELL brought Landon's nurse to the door. The amazement with which she regarded him was due to the fact that only a quarter of an hour earlier she had left him zestfully attacking a substantial breakfast and a six weeks' accumulation of mail. However, she was instantly relieved to find her patient in the throes of laughter—not the delirious laughter that had been so dismaying at the height of his fever, but the honest mirth of a man who has heard a good joke and is enjoying it to the full.
She was about to withdraw when Landon lifted his arm appealingly. "Don't go! If you do, I'll have a relapse just for spite," he cried with tears coursing down his thin cheeks. "It's too much to bear alone! I can't stand it."
The bed was littered with letters, and he clutched a telegram—a week old—that seemed to have precipitated his outburst.
He shook his head impatiently as the nurse drew out her thermometer with professional severity.
"Don't you dare poke that thing in my mouth! I've been normal for days and days, and you know it; and you've all been in a conspiracy to keep this thing from me. Oh," he groaned, "I wish people wouldn't do things like this—not just spring it on you when you're down and can't defend yourself. It's not square, I tell you; it's taking unfair advantage!"
"I was afraid you had bad news," said the girl. "That noise you made scared everybody on the corridor."
"Bad news!" ejaculated Landon. "That's just what I have had. My aunt's dead—been dead for a month. And what do you think she's gone and done to me—left me a boarding school, with two hundred girls in it! I've got to talk to somebody, and there's telegrams to send—a whole bunch of 'em."
EVEN in the busy San Francisco hospital where many curious things happened and were discussed discreetly by internes and nurses, Landon's arrival was enveloped in a haze of mystery that set him apart from the daily run of patients. A man of twenty-eight, bearing the marks of a gentleman; burning up with fever and with an unhealed knife thrust in his ribs, he had driven to the hospital from a South American steamer, even the name of a lawyer in New York as his nearest friend, and collapsed in the receiving room. It was not surprising after all, the nurse reflected, that something unusual had happened to Landon, and she lent a willing ear to his disclosures.
"I never saw Aunt Cornelia Thornton but once in my life, and that was when I was at the Tech and went to call on her at a hotel in Boston. She's my aunt all right enough—my mother's only sister. You see, my father and mother died when I was in prep school, and as Aunt Cornelia had made the finishing off of girls her life work my case didn't interest her. She must have made me a present of the school merely because she hadn't anybody else to wish it on. Well, it was mighty decent of her to think of me. Embarrassed as I am," he went on, his humor bubbling in spite of himself, "by having two hundred young angels left me in a will, I'm not ungrateful. It seems that the school was all she had—Thornton Hall, away up in Massachusetts—a money-making concern from all accounts, and it's mine now—the whole bloomin' business!"
He found himself looking once more into the dark eyes
"Just the place," the nurse suggested, "for you to spend that long vacation the doctors have ordered."
"A bully idea!" replied Landon, his eyes brightening. "There's a big farm that goes with the school and—just kindly tell me what day of the month this is, will you?"
"June, the 15th: you've been here just seven weeks to-day."
Landon picked out a letter from the disordered heap and reread it.
"The school closes on the 22d, and this lawyer person who has charge of the estate suggests that I attend the closing exercises, if I can't get there sooner—the big doctor man seems to have telegraphed him that I was trying to die here—and I can just about keep the date. And as soon as the young angels scatter I'm going to occupy the whole bloomin' place all by myself. I know the neighborhood—all hills; tranquil, beautiful Berkshire country—and I'm going to soak myself with peace. You people here don't know anything about me except what I blabbed when my head went wrong, but I'll tell you confidentially that for two years before I dumped myself on your doorstep I worked like a galley slave, went hungry, was shot at, and incidentally stuck with a knife." He tapped his breast on the long scar left by the infected wound that had given the physicians so much concern. "Peace, oh precious boon! And there will be trout and game wardens to play with, and stone fences to sit on and trees to lie under and watch the clouds roll by!"
The rest of the day he studied time-tables, pondered the calendar, and sent telegrams. On the second day the limited bore him eastward.
THE gentlemen of the syndicate that had employed Landon to superintend a copper property in Peru to which they held a dubious title were politely attentive to his verbal report of his experiences. They had many other interests, and if they lost the Don Carlos they would still be able to eat thrice daily. Landon was disposed to take a humorous view of his two years' exile. He chaffed them for not having warned him that two of the engineers who had preceded him on the job had never come back.
"Those fellows were crooks," said the head of the syndicate. "If those pirates down there told you our men were killed, they lied. They sold us out—that's all. And as for your own treatment, we're prepared to go with you to Washington and lay the whole business before the State Department."
Landon shook his head. "Not for mine! Any bleating of that kind would kill all your chances of cinching the property. You've got to prove yourselves smarter than they are—they expect it of us Yankees! A long diplomatic correspondence wouldn't get you anywhere. As soon as I've rested for about six months, I'm going back myself, unless you want to try a new hand."
The faces of the syndicate expressed surprise not unmixed with gratification.
"I don't like leaving unfinished business behind me," Landon continued. "Just let me have a good rest and by Christmas I'll be ready for another try. My professional standing is somewhat involved in this. I want a chance to make good, and I'll do it if you'll only have a little patience. I've got it all pinched down to one man now—Juan Maria Barada, I mean. The fact that he hired a small army of assassins to put me out of business and blew up those beautiful pumps you paid good money for and I worked six months to get in place doesn't spoil my admiration for one of the smoothest old scoundrels that ever drew mortal breath. Barada's a big power down there—political, commercial, and social. An amusing devil in his way, quite capable of inviting you to dinner and after feeding you full of good food passing the wink to have a knife inserted in vulnerable portions of your anatomy as you leave his doorstep smoking one of his cigars—a special article that costs him two dollars apiece. Nothing's too good for his enemies! At the end of my first year he sent word to me that I'd better skip or important things would happen—which they did!"
"Well, of course, you understand we're mighty sorry for all that, Landon," said the president contritely. "We want to make it all square with you as far as we can. We're more than satisfied with all you've done; there's a check under that paper weight that we hope will show how we feel about it."
The check was for twenty thousand dollars. Landon nodded his appreciation. The trip overland had shaken him up a bit, and a New York doctor who had looked him over after his arrival had strongly supported the advice of the San Francisco physicians that he take a long rest. He meant to forget the Don Carlos Mine and all that pertained to it, and his Aunt Cornelia's benevolence provided an ideal refuge.
He bought a ticket and checked his battered luggage to Biltingham, Mass., with an agreeable sense that he was putting the Don Carlos far behind him.
"I HOPE you won't buck at the suggestion, Landon," said Phipps, the attorney for Miss Thornton's estate, "but the acting principal thought it would be a good idea for you to say something—just a word or two—at the commencement."
"Make a speech!" Landon groaned. It would be bad enough to sit on the platform and submit himself to the inspection of the commencement day audience without attempting an address. Speeches were not in his line. But the lawyer was persistent.
"Only a few words—as a matter of business—to assure the patrons that the school will be continued along the old lines, and that sort of thing. As I understand you, you don't care to carry on the school yourself—"
"God forbid!"
"We must maintain it as a going concern until we can sell it. I think you see the importance of that."
Landon's sense of humor had carried him through many difficulties, and he saw the wisdom of the suggestion. And he was not without feeling for the woman who, coming to the end of her life, had generously bestowed her all upon him.
He sniffed the invigorating air happily as a motor bore them out of Biltingham and through the hills. Entering the grounds, they wound through a heavy woodland that yielded to a lawn beyond which lay the school. The acting principal received them, and they proceeded at once to the quad, where all was in readiness for the closing exercises. As Landon stepped upon the platform there was a flutter as the students rose. He had not been prepared for this, and it was not without emotion that he acknowledged their greeting with a profound bow, and tried to remember how distinguished persons acted when they adorned platforms and had speeches to make. The acting principal introduced a bishop, who offered prayer; then the school song was sung. The quad with its setting of gray stone walls, with the blue June sky overhead, presented a scene calculated to charm any eye. The two hundred angels "left" to him—as he was pleased to phrase it—in his aunt's will made a charming picture; he had not seen so many girls since he went to seek his fortune in the Andes.
The president of a near-by college began his address to the graduates. Landon was to follow, and his attention wandered from the address as he tried to formulate his opening phrases.
"He will kill me—he will kill me!" shrieked Alba, and toppled to his knees
Suddenly he moved quickly and crumpled the program he had been twirling idly in his fingers. As his gaze passed carelessly along the rows of young faces he was conscious that one particular face had challenged his attention. He did not account for this, nor could he at once discover again the point of interest. It was incredible that he knew anyone in that company. All the girls he had ever known were long beyond school age. There was something unreal in his vague impression that among all those strangers there was some one he had seen before. He began a systematic scrutiny of the two hundred heads to satisfy himself of his mistake.
In a moment he was looking into a pair of dark eyes set in an oval face under a dusk of dark hair. Her seat was in the last row, just where the seats of the visitors began. She lifted her head impatiently as his stare became prolonged, and a slight color crept into her olive cheeks. Perhaps it was only his imagination, but he could have sworn that at some time in some place he had seen that face before.
It was the haziest, the most tantalizing, of memories. He glanced at her again a moment later just as she was averting her face; evidently she too shared the interest she had aroused in him.
But the speaker was concluding his remarks, and in a moment Landon had been presented to the audience and was expressing in simple, straightforward sentences about half the things he had expected to say about the school, and about the woman who had founded it and carried it on so successfully through so many years. The lawyer told him afterward that it was a very good speech, just right, in fact; and as he hadn't fainted or done worse than falter once or twice Landon was satisfied. It was to be his further duty to hand the graduates their certificates, and this office he performed like an old hand as they tripped demurely before him and acknowledged his high condescension with pretty curtsies. The owner of the dark eyes was not among the graduates though he watched for her eagerly; but during the singing of the closing song he singled her out, and experienced again the curious, baffling sensation that the first glimpse had given him.
THE company began dispersing immediately. Phipps assured him that by five o'clock there would be no one on the place but the caretaker and his wife and the servants who remained to put the house in order for the summer. The rooms Miss Thornton had occupied were in readiness for him, and he was bidden to make himself at home. A number of the parents who were old friends of Miss Thornton lingered to speak to him, and the whole experience proved to be much pleasanter than he had expected. He remained in the entrance court while the visitors were leaving, hoping for a closer look at the dark girl who had attracted his attention.
She came out with a stout, swarthy woman of forty who seemed bent upon expediting their departure as much as possible. In her modish traveling frock the girl looked older than in the white gown in which all the school had appeared at the exercises. As she stepped into a motor she waved her hand to a group of teachers; and in an instant the car was moving rapidly away. He meant to ask the assistant principal about her, but in the confusion of many departures no opportunity offered. Phipps carried him away for an inspection of his rooms, which he found delightfully situated with a fine outlook upon the hills.
"I hope you won't get lonesome: there are some nice people in the surrounding properties, and they'll no doubt look you up. If you'd like me to, I'll drop a line to some of them I know very well—"
"Please don't trouble," Landon replied hastily. "You know I'm not up to much just yet; suppose we let social matters wait a little."
"Certainly; I merely want you to know that you needn't be a hermit unless you want to."
He bade the last of the teachers good-by and lounged about the handsome library where Thompson, the gardener, who had been installed as caretaker during the vacation, came to report that the house was cleared.
"Mr. Phipps said you hadn't been feeling well, sir. I hope we can make you quite comfortable here. You will find your rooms very cool on the hot days. Your meals will be served in your room when you like or in the private dining room below—just as you please, sir."
"Thank you, Thompson; I'll come down for dinner."
Landon was tired, but a cold tub set him up, and he got into flannels and strolled downstairs. The silence of the great house was like a balm to his worn spirit, and there was refreshment in the very thought that at last he was to enjoy the peace he craved.
He ate with a better appetite than he had known since his illness. Then he settled himself to smoke on the broad stone terrace where, the butler informed him, the young ladies congregated in fair weather before the retiring hour. It would be lonely, but he was in a mood for loneliness. It was good to be well and free again. He had not been so much himself since he crawled upon a tramp steamer at Callao to begin his slow return to God's country.
At nine o'clock Thompson found him in the library and explained about the lights.
"I'll remain here a while, Thompson. I suppose we needn't trouble about burglars."
"Well, we do have a tramp occasionally, sir."
"All right, I'll attend to the windows in this part of the house. Good night."
He began turning over the magazines that lay scattered on the long table, found a story that clinched his attention, and settled himself to read. A clock on the stair landing struck ten. As the last deep tone died away a slight sound in the court roused him—the faintest rattle of gravel.
FOR two years Landon had lived with his ears sharply attentive to furtive approaches. Instinctively his hand sought his hip pocket and then, remembering that thousands of miles lay between him and the scene of his long trial in the Andes, he settled himself again to his reading. Then once more he heard a faint noise, even slighter than the first sound that had disturbed him. This time it seemed to be inside the house. The servants' quarters were in a wing at the rear, and Thompson had distinctly told him that everyone had retired. He walked noiselessly to the hall door, snapped off the electric switch, and peered out. One light burned at the further end of the long hall; the dark living room opposite the library was perfectly quiet. The clock on the stair ticked monotonously, but no other sound broke the deep silence. He remained by the door for several minutes listening intently. If one of the servants had returned to the house for any purpose, there was no reason why he should be prowling about in the dark.
He put his hand to the switch to restore the light when something fell with a loud crash, apparently in the living room. He stepped into the hall, felt for the door opposite, and advanced blindly with his arms outstretched. The heavy rugs rendered his entrance inaudible. If he waited in the dark, the prowler would doubtless reveal himself shortly. A quick jump would bring him to the switch and he decided to remain where he was to avoid losing his bearings.
He was now conscious that some one was moving cautiously about further down the long room. He could hear hands lightly touching the furniture and once what sounded like a quick intake of breath, as though the intruder had found his entrance more difficult than he had expected. Neither this hour nor these gropings in the dark supported the suspicion that a sophisticated burglar had entered the house.
Then some one passed near him. He heard a rustle of skirts, and a faint perfume struck his nostrils. He threw out his arms and struck a chair with an ugly thwack. One thing was certain—the strange prowler was a woman; yet the caretaker had told him—he remembered it distinctly—that all the students and guests had gone. Whoever she was the visitor seemed to have become confused, and her movements grew bolder. She was now approaching him again, doubtless seeking to retrace her steps. He was bending forward, all his senses alert, when a hand touched his face—a soft palm whose contact caused his cheek to tingle. He caught and held it and heard quick breaths and a sob as she resisted furiously. For a moment his arms clasped a girlish figure.
"Stand perfectly still while I make a light," he commanded.
He clung to one hand while he felt in his pocket for his match box. She ceased resisting, and he dropped her hand and struck a light. As the match flamed slowly, he found himself looking once more into the dark eyes that had roused his interest in the quad during the exercises.
"I beg your pardon," he gasped. "Please wait till I turn on the lights."
He struck another match to guide him, snapped the switch, and turned toward her in a flood of light. She was undeniably the same young woman, dressed exactly as she had been when she stepped into the motor at the door. There was only the one difference that the lovely eyes were bright with tears. She stood twisting her hands nervously. Her skirt was torn and spattered with mud, and her hair had slipped from under her pretty toque and fallen into a bewildering dusky cloud about her face.
AS HE moved toward her she drew herself up and surveyed him defiantly with her hands clenched. He was disposed to smile at her anger, but the tearful eyes restrained him.
"My name is Landon," he said. "I'm quite alone here. I think you'd better tell me as quickly as possible just what has brought you back."
She bent upon him the rebellious glance of a child caught in a misdemeanor.
"I didn't know you were here: I came back—I came back to hide myself," she cried.
Her slight foreign accent—it was very slight—her dark hair, and the splendid eyes spoke unmistakably for another race. Almost unconsciously he addressed her in Spanish.
"Señorita, you need not be troubled. You may look upon me as a friend. What is it that has brought you back?"
A quick lifting of the head, a brightening of the eyes, told him that he had been understood. His memory reached out blindly for some clue to her identity.
She sank into a chair, still stubbornly silent, and tugged at a soiled white glove. The situation was uncomfortable. The girl clearly had no right to be there; he as clearly had no right to be harboring her. If she had run away, there would be pursuit and in sheltering her he might be laying himself open to serious criticism.
On a table lay a catalogue of the school, and he took it up and turned over the pages hurriedly to the list of students. They were divided by classes, and he ran down the list without finding any familiar name. But just as he was about to drop the book a name at the end caused him to start. What he saw was:
"Special Student.—Pepita Barada, Lima, Peru."
He took a step toward her, then paused and passed his hand slowly over his face. A thousand memories danced before him. When he first went to Lima to represent the American claimants of the Don Carlos and before he had learned all the intricacies of that much-fought-over property he had gone several times to Barada's house. On one of these occasions he had seen for a moment Barada's daughter. She had come into the drawing room to bid her father good night. Barada had risen with his characteristic courtesy and mentioned her name. Yes; it had been Pepita; Landon remembered it perfectly. He had thought of her only as a child, and her father had treated her as such. It was a strange shuffle of the cards that had thrown Barada's daughter in his way—put her indeed under his protection—this remote spot. That Pepita Barada should have been placed in Miss Thornton's school was not surprising, for it was one of the best known girls' schools in the country, with a widely distributed clientele. But quite likely she knew that he and her father were enemies. Even if she had not remembered him, she undoubtedly knew his name and had identified him the instant he appeared on the platform. These were plausible assumptions; but her return to the school still required explanation.
"Señorita, you must tell me your difficulty. I know your father; I saw you once in your house at Lima, and I am anxious to be of service. I had no idea that you were here. You must not imagine that because your father and I were not—not altogether friendly, I shouldn't be proud to assist you. And I must repeat, that you can't remain here: I must report to the caretaker and his wife immediately that you are in the house."
Her expression had changed slowly from wonder and disbelief to something .that at least approximated confidence.
"You are very kind, señor," she replied in Spanish. "I thought you had left the school; I had no idea you would remain here. I am in very great trouble; I ran away from Señorita Valderos. My father had expected to be here to-day, but was delayed and won't reach New York until to-morrow. I came here because" (her eyes filled and her voice became a plaintive whisper)—"because it is very far to my home and the school is the only place I know. You understand, señor? If you cannot keep me here, I must go elsewhere to wait for my father."
He looked at his watch. There were inns in the neighborhood, but he could hardly send her out to seek one at that hour. The fact that he was dealing with the daughter of Juan Maria Barada, a gentleman who had thwarted him in a hundred ways, to say nothing of conniving at his murder, and who would hold him to strict accountability by Castilian standards, increased the delicacy of the situation.
"Why didn't you announce yourself, señorita?" he asked, more to gain time for reflection than to elicit information that was unimportant in view of the fact that she was now in the house and not to be ordered away like a hungry tramp.
"Oh, I was very tired, and I thought everyone had gone and I could come in and hide till morning. I had no money, and to go to a hotel—I could not, as you see!"
She lifted her arms and glanced down at her skirt and the smallest of patent-leather pumps, whose state should have made it clear even to a masculine mind that to ask shelter of an inn would be to invite embarrassing questions.
"You knew that Mrs. Thompson was here. You should have appealed to her," he ventured kindly.
"Oh, but I was afraid to have anyone see me; the Señorita Valderos might return at any minute—and I should die!"
THE thought of her dying gave him a sharp pang. She smiled at this absurdity, but Landon did not smile. The suggestion that Señorita Valderos might return and find the girl alone with him brought him to a sudden resolution. He was dealing with persons of Spanish blood, not with Anglo-Saxons; and this made a difference so vast as not to be measured in mere words.
"If you attempt any further trouble, I will give you both into custody!"
"Señorita," he said, "it isn't possible for Mrs. Thompson not to know that you are here. I am going to summon her immediately—yes—there is no alternative; but you may say as little to her as you like. I will answer for her discretion. The doors are locked, and for a few minutes at least no one is likely to try to enter by the windows—as I assume you did. Please remain where you are till I can bring Mrs. Thompson to look after you."
"Señor will not let that woman take me!" she cried with a fear that was undeniably real.
"Señorita Valderos! I don't know the lady," he said in English, "but you certainly won't leave against your will. Wait till I bring Mrs. Thompson, and then we can talk further."
HE RAN to the gardener's quarters and roused him and explained the situation.
"You foolish child, why didn't you come straight to me!" Mrs. Thompson demanded with rough kindness as her eyes fell upon Pepita.
"I was afraid," said Pepita dejectedly. "I am in very much trouble."
"You may wait in the library, Mrs. Thompson, while I talk to Miss Barada," said Landon. "And, Thompson, you'd better keep watch outside and stop anyone who comes near the house. Now, señorita," he continued, turning to Pepita with a smile of undeniable relief that he had satisfied the proprieties. "I'd better have your story. All I know is that you have run away from your duenna and wish to be cared for until you can communicate with your father. First you had better tell me whether your father is likely to approve of what you have done."
"Oh, the señor need not fear my father. I am sure that he will be very grateful; oh, a thousand times grateful!"
In his absence she had removed her hat and straightened her hair, and the traces of tears had vanished. Seventeen—not more, but now that her panic of fear had passed she was regaining the womanly composure and poise that come early to girls of her race. Landon felt that he could forgive Juan Maria Barada many of his sins with this beguiling daughter before him. He caught himself wondering whether the hand that rested quietly on the table was the one that had brushed his face—the smallest of hands, indeed, but her manner of clenching it spoke for resolution. The Señorita Valderos was a brute indubitably and must have been guilty of some dire offense to have precipitated Pepita's flight.
"You are very good to me, and I appreciate it very much," she began. "I will tell you everything, señor. But it is not easy to tell you. If I had stayed at home in the convent, it would not have happened. But I wished to learn the ways of the Yankee Americanos, and my kind father always lets me do as I wish. You understand, señor?"
Landon understood perfectly that Pepita undoubtedly twisted Juan Maria Barada around her little finger. His heart softened toward Barada. He was startled, however, by the question that now fell softly from her pretty lips:
"You may remember, in my own country, Señor Miguel Alba?"
"Alba!" The name brought him to his feet.
After Barada himself the person who had caused him most uneasiness during his two years at the Don Carlos was Miguel Alba. Alba was Barada's secretary and man of affairs. Not to put too fine a point upon it. Alba was the man who did Barada's dirty work, a spy and serviceable tool who scrupled at nothing. It was Miguel who had been Barada's active agent in the Don Carlos imbroglio. The mention of Alba's name by this appealing young Pepita, in the heart of the Berkshires, awakened a harsh jangle of discords in his memory. Alba had, he suspected, been near at hand when the knife thrust had so nearly ended his earthly usefulness in the dark tunnel of the Don Carlos. He had seized upon the opportunity afforded by his aunt's unexpected bequest to plunge himself in forgetfulness, and now, having been on the place for a few hours, Barada's daughter had turned up and plunged him into a new adventure with his old enemies.
She watched him anxiously until, suddenly recollecting that he had interrupted her story, he murmured an apology and bade her go on. "The Señor Miguel Alba wished to marry me," Pepita announced abruptly. "My father thought it was not best and would not have it so. Three times my dear father said no! When I would go home from the convent to visit, Señor Alba would always be there. He and my dear father are no longer friends—it was business, maybe—and about me a little perhaps! My father would not have me marry Señor Miguel Alba—do I make it clear to you, Señor Landon?"
"Perfectly!" Landon exclaimed, sitting back in his chair and crossing his legs as an expression of perfect understanding not unmingled with satisfaction. Pepita aside, it was good news that the ties between Barada and Alba were broken.
"Señorita Valderos is Señor Alba's friend. She was my governess from the time I was a little child, and when I wished my dear father to send me to one of your schools that I might learn the ways of your country Señorita Valderos brought me. And to be near me all the winter she has been governess in the house of a Spanish merchant in New York, and was to take me home at the close of school. Then my father had to go to England, and that made it possible for him to meet me in New York on his way home. Señor Alba had been here to see me just once—once," she repeated spitefully. "He wished me to marry him and remain in your country. It is not the way of my people, as you understand, Señor Landon. My dear father would be very angry—"
THE anger of Juan Maria Barada at any such proceeding on his daughter's part was so poorly indicated by Pepita's gentle tone that Landon with difficulty concealed his mirth.
"Yes," he observed ironically; "I can imagine that your father would not be pleased to death."
"And the señorita tried to play a stupid trick on me, as though there were nothing in my little head but sawdust—like a silly doll! It was arranged that I should marry Señor Alba to-day, before father should reach New York. He is on the Panatonia, that is due to-morrow. When the train came that was taking all the young ladies to New York, Señorita Valderos said no; it was not our train; that we were to meet my father in Springfield to save him the longer journey. As though, Señor Landon, I had no little brains in my head! All my friends left on the New York train, as we should have done. I said nothing, but when the Boston train came we got aboard as Señorita Valderos wished, and at the first station I went upon the platform for a little air—and did not return."
The look of childish mischief she gave him from under the long lashes caused him to laugh aloud. His acquaintance with Miguel Alba did not encourage the belief that he would tamely accept a frustration of his plans, particularly where the stake was Pepita Barada and incidentally one of the biggest fortunes on the Andean coast. Pepita, having submitted her case, seemed satisfied to allow Landon to deal with it; and he was quite willing to support Pepita's cause.
"What Señorita Valderos attempted is a serious crime in this country. We call it kidnaping. Very likely we can lock her up in prison for years and years."
"That will be splendid," cried Pepita, clapping her hands with delight. "And Señor Miguel—"
"Very likely he can be hanged; possibly electrocuted, after most horrible tortures! We needn't worry about Miguel. He's probably tearing his hair at this moment because the faithless Señorita Valderos failed to deliver you to him in Springfield. He has doubtless said terrible things to his coconspirator."
Pepita laughed gleefully; then a shadow crossed her face.
"But if my father should reach New York and not find me there—"
"Oh, we will take care of all that! I will telephone a message in your name to the telegraph office in Biltingham and with good luck it will reach him before he lands. I will find out just when the Panatonia is expected. He will think you preferred to wait here rather than in New York. But, great heavens—!"
She viewed his sudden agitation in alarm, fearing that some insurmountable obstacle had occurred to him.
"I'm a brute! It just occurs to me that you haven't had any dinner!"
"Señor Landon" (she bent her head and extended her arms beseechingly), "I am starving to death."
While, with Mrs. Thompson's connivance, she was raiding the pantry, Landon ran to his room and unpacked a repeating rifle and two revolvers which he loaded and carried down to the library. There were five laborers on the place who could be relied on in an emergency, Thompson told him.
Pepita, on her way to the room she had occupied all year, paused at the foot of the stairs and gave him her hand.
"You have been very good to me, Señor Landon. I thank you with all my heart."
He kissed her finger tips, and waited to wave his hand as she turned at the landing.
"Now," he said to Thompson, "I'll take the first watch, and you can sleep in the library till I call you. If the man I expect to turn up here comes—and if I understand the time-table he may be along about three o'clock-—we'll admit him. I will keep out of the way until he shows his hand. If he asks for Miss Barada, you will say to him that she is here and that she will remain until her father arrives. If he acts ugly, I'll get in the game. I take full responsibility for the whole business. This is a lonely place: I suppose we might kill a man and bury him without anybody's being the wiser. But we'll hope it won't come to that," he ended cheerfully and went to the telephone to dictate his telegrams.
HE WAS reading in the library hall when at two o'clock the rapid approach of a motor aroused him. He called Thompson, repeated his instructions, and withdrew to the reception room.
The remote tinkle of the bell was followed quickly by a violent thumping on the door. When this had continued for several minutes, Landon called to Thompson to open. The caretaker acted his part as though he had rehearsed it, first throwing on the light outside, and fumbling the bolt audibly before snapping it back. Alba and Señorita Valderos sprang across the threshold and stood blinking in the light.
"Señorita Barada, one of the scholars, has been lost—is it possible she has returned to the school?" shouted Alba.
"Yes; Miss Barada is here," growled Thompson, rubbing his eyes.
"Ah!" cried Alba, glowering at the woman. "It is as I said." Then, turning upon the caretaker authoritatively: "You will summon her at once, porter. She must resume her journey immediately!"
"Miss Barada has retired and can't be disturbed," Thompson replied, quoting Landon exactly.
"But her father—he will arrive in New York and expect to find his daughter. She must be aroused at once; there is no time to lose!"
"It was a mistake—the señorita left the train to buy a paper and was left behind. She came here to wait till I returned for her!" exclaimed the woman.
Thompson shook his head slowly.
"Very sorry; but it's my orders. I can't waken Miss Barada. She is asleep in my wife's care."
"I tell you it's all a mistake!" cried Alba angrily. "The señorita only returned to wait for us; we are her father's friends. This lady is well known to the school authorities. We must lose no time in returning to New York."
"My wife said Miss Barada would sleep very late; you'll have to come back in the morning!' said Thompson as Landon had coached him.
With a gesture of impatience Alba turned to his companion.
"Maria, the man is a fool. Go above and find Pepita. Tell her she must come with us at once."
He seized Señorita Valderos and was pushing her toward the stairway when Thompson caught him by the collar and flung him back.
"Don't try that! What do I know about you? For all I know you're thieves! I tell you you can't see Miss Barada to-night. Clear right out o' this—"
ALBA slipped out of his coat and made another attempt to reach the stair steps. The rings of the reception-room curtain rods clicked as Landon gained the stairway in a long leap. He grasped Alba tightly by the throat and with a rush drove him into the library and flung him into a chair.
"Your manners are worse than your morals, Miguel," said Landon gently. "You lay yourself open to very grave criticism in attempting a trick like that. Keep your eye on the lady Thompson," he added without taking his eyes from Alba.
"You fool!" shouted Alba in Spanish, pointing an accusing finger at Señorita Valderos. "Why didn't you tell me this man was here!"
"How should I have known he remained here!" she flared. "It was said that he was merely a visitor! But where are your senses? What right has he to keep us from Pepita? What has happened that she should be here and the dear Pepita with him? What would Señor Barada say to this!"
"You needn't keep up this bawling any longer," said Landon, speaking in English so that Thompson could follow him. "I know perfectly what you two were up to. I know it from Señorita Pepita herself. She won't leave here till her father comes for her. And I advise you to make yourself scarce before he comes. I'm giving you a fair chance. Will you go quietly or will—"
"Quick, Miguel!"
Señorita Valderos lifted the bronze reading lamp from the table and flung it with all her strength at Thompson, who had been standing with folded arms not two yards from her. Alba was up and upon Landon while the lamp was still in the air. The glass shade broke full upon Thompson's head, but as the heavy base fell at his feet he threw himself upon the two men struggling on the floor, knocked Alba backward with a blow of his fist, and sat upon him. A knife fell into the tile hearth with a loud clatter.
Señorita Valderos stamped her foot in impotent rage at the failure of the assault. Alba, with the burly gardener planted firmly on his chest cursed melodiously in Spanish.
"Just a moment, Thompson," said Landon. He snatched the cloth cover from the table and began tearing it into strips.
"Gag him, and then tie his hands behind him."
Alba immediately renewed his struggles, snarling and trying to seize his captor's fingers in his teeth. A smart slap across the mouth from Thompson's broad hand ended these efforts, and, seeing that his lieutenant needed no assistance, Landon addressee himself to the woman:
"I will renew the offer I made to both of you a few minutes ago, señorita. You are free to leave here if you will go immediately and quietly. Your friend there is going to remain with us for some time. In addition to your joint efforts to kidnap Señor Barada's daughter, Señor Alba is guilty of an assault with intent to murder. Your car is waiting outside. I will put you in it quite as though you were a friend of the house, and explain to the driver that you are obliged to return to the village. If you attempt any further trouble, I will telephone for the constables and give you both into custody. I consider this a very fair offer."
She glanced toward the prostrate Alba, who was thrashing about furiously as Thompson turned him upon his face to bind his arms and wrists.
"I will go," she said tamely, seeing that there was neither help nor counsel to be got from Alba.
Landon opened the outer door and roused the chauffeur, who was dozing in his machine. Señorita Valderos listened quietly while Landon explained that one of the passengers had decided to remain. He bade the driver bear the lady to Biltingham as expeditiously as possible and stood in the court until the tail lights of the machine disappeared. When he returned to the library Alba lay on the floor with his hands tied under him and a wad of cloth firmly fixed in his mouth. Landon walked to the foot of the stairway and listened. Evidently Pepita and her guardian slept peacefully.
"We got out of that very comfortably, Thompson; thanks to you. These fellows are very quick with the knife." He picked up the slender blade and eyed it critically. "Where can we store our friend until we decide what to do with him? It would be better to get him out of the house."
"The gymnasium is just the place, sir," said Thompson, striking a match to light his pipe. "The windows are high and we could keep him there all summer."
"Bully! Let's get rid of him at once and go to sleep."
They marched the prisoner across the lawn at a quick trot and into the echoing gym, where they placed him on a pile of mats with his back to the wall. Thompson was for leaving Alba in darkness, but Landon laughed at the gardener's bitterness and pleaded for a single bracket light.
"We won't be as mean as we can, Thompson. And you will please see that he has food in the morning. They locked the door and returned to the house, leaving Alba mutely staring at the gym ceiling.
LANDON threw himself down on a couch and slept without interruption till eight o'clock, when he went upstairs for a shower and clean clothes. As he glanced from his window he saw Pepita knocking balls about on a clock golf green at the edge of the garden. He watched her for some time, noting her slim young figure, her light, graceful step. Well broken to the ways of the north, this Pepita had risen early and gone forth to meet the June sun!
Landon had known little of girls since his college years. When he left the Tech his employments carried him at once into the world's waste places—to Alaska for a year, to southern California for a longer period, and then to Mexico, where he remained until he undertook the superintendence of the Don Carlos. He walked to a mirror and subjected his left cheek to a deliberate scrutiny. Yes, it was the left; just there—he touched the spot with his finger—that Pepita Barada had brushed his cheek with that adorable little hand of hers! Then he said most uncomplimentary things to himself and went downstairs. A small table was spread for two in the long, cool cloister, and Mrs. Thompson appeared to say that breakfast would be served whenever he was ready.
"Miss Barada said she would wait breakfast for you. No, sir; she slept well and knew nothing of the trouble; neither did I till James told me. Oh, he's all right, sir; only a few scratches where the glass struck him. He has been to the gym to look after the gentleman there. He said to tell you there was nothing to report."
PEPITA ran toward him as he appeared at the edge of the lawn. Her dark cheeks were aglow, and she seemed even lovelier than he had thought her as he watched her from the platform among her fellow students.
"Mrs. Thompson thinks it would be altogether proper for us to breakfast together. If you have no objections, señorita—"
"Oh, I told her I would wait for you! It's very stupid eating alone."
"But it is not the way of your people: a young girl and a strange man—not so very old!"
"It will be very proper if I say it is!" she declared and this seemed wholly reasonable and the final word on the subject.
"Mrs. Thompson wouldn't tell me anything—not a single thing!" Pepita complained petulantly as she unfolded her napkin. "I must know everything—every little, tiny thing!"
She held up a forefinger and thumb to indicate the comprehensive nature of her demand.
Partly in chaff, partly in sober earnest, he told of the visit of her former governess and Alba. He made as little as possible of the struggle in the library, attributing it to sheer carelessness on Alba's part.
"He forgot for a moment that we don't do things that way in the northern hemisphere."
"Oh, but you don't mean that at home—"
She paused in the pouring of his coffee to fix her eyes upon him rebukingly.
"A thousand pardons! I merely meant that away off, in dark corners of the world where there are no police and no electric lights, any of us might be tempted to exercise force—even to drawing a knife—that is all!"
"Oh!" The long lashes fell, and she turned the spout of the coffeepot into his cup. Then the dark fringe lifted as she looked up again to see if he were chaffing her.
"You must not do that any more, señorita," he commanded mockingly.
"What is it Señor Landon means?" she asked with exaggerated surprise.
"Only that it is not well for my soul that you play tricks with your eyes."
"I shall never look at you again," she said, peering into the cream pitcher as though seeking there the answer to all riddles.
"Even weeds die without the sun!"
"Ah, it is too bad all the girls have gone; you should have the whole school to practice on!"
"My aunt Cornelia was a farseeing woman; she knew that all this would happen just this way."
"She was a noble lady," said Pepita with feeling. "We were all very sad when she died."
A call to the telephone interrupted them. The operator at the railway station read him a message from the steamship offices saying that the Panatonia would dock in one hour.
HE had already asked Thompson to set up the nets, and they strolled to the court with balls and rackets. He discussed with her the matter of hastening to New York to meet her father. Mrs. Thompson could accompany them and Pepita could go to the house of a cousin of his. Still there was Alba, immured in the gym; to release him would be to incur Barada's wrath, and Landon was human. Now that his tragic adventure in Peru had been transformed into a comedy in Massachusetts, he meant to squeeze all the joy possible from the meeting between Barada and Alba.
Pepita unhesitatingly made the decision; she would remain where she was. As they passed the gym door Thompson was observed sitting on the steps smoking his pipe and reading a newspaper. His laborers were at work within calling range.
"The gentleman took his coffee, sir, and I left him untied so he can stretch a bit."
The use of the school gym as a prison for unwelcome suitors amused Pepita greatly. Together they rang endless changes upon the idea.
"But it's too bad, Señor Landon, that all the girls are not here!" she cried, shaking her fist at the gym. "They will be very sad when they learn that so much has happened!"
"But this is a post-graduate course—it's only for advanced students!" laughed Landon.
After a lively hour on the tennis court she threw down her racket.
"You have not been well, señor, and you must not become fatigued. We will rest till luncheon."
Her spirited game had indeed worn him out, but her solicitude for his welfare was consoling. She ran to the house and returned with an armful of sofa pillows and established him in a summer house which she declared to be the most comfortable place on the grounds. Then she tripped away and came back bearing a tray with lemonade and cakes. The drink was the concoction of her own hands, she proudly averred. It was pleasant indeed to be ministered to by Pepita, daughter of Juan Maria Barada! She left him and went to roam in the garden.
AFTER luncheon al fresco she prescribed a siesta. As he came down from a refreshing nap she danced in joyously from the telephone.
"My father has arrived; I talked to him in New York—he will be here at six o'clock. We shall all dine together! Is it not wonderful?"
His sudden depressed look caused her to cry out in alarm.
"You are ill, señor! Shall I not call for doctors?"
"The coming of your father means that you will soon be gone; that is all, señorita," he said gravely.
"But not for one, two, three days—I have already decided that! Would we leave you so quickly when you have done so much—when your kindness has been so magnificent!"
A summons from Thompson called Landon to the gym, where be learned that Alba had asked a conference.
"He seems very quiet, sir; says he just wants to explain matters a little."
As Landon entered Thompson slipped in after him and set his back to the door. Landon met his old adversary in the middle of the room.
"Señor Landon, there has been a great mistake; I wish to tender my apologies for all that occurred last night. But you can imagine my solicitude—the daughter of my old patron lost—lost through the stupid misunderstanding of Señorita Valderos!"
The terror in his eyes belied his outward assurance.
Landon shook his head.
"That won't wash, Alba. There was no mistake. You meant to kidnap Señor Barada's daughter and frighten her into a marriage before her father could interfere. You were thwarted only by the girl's cleverness. It is not with me that you have to settle; you will have to make your explanations to Señor Barada, who will reach here in an hour."
"In an hour! He will kill me; he will kill me!" shrieked Alba and toppled forward to his knees.
"That's not my affair," said Landon, drawing away and scowling into Alba's fear-struck eyes. "Murder is much in your line, señor. Just to satisfy my wholly impersonal curiosity, how many times did you try to put me out of the way?"
"It was Barada! I swear I had nothing to do with it! And what, señor, do you owe to that man—your worst enemy! I will tell you everything about Barada and the Don Carlos; there is nothing, I swear, that I will keep back!" Then, finding that his offer of a confession involving Barada fell upon cold ears, he crawled toward Landon, his bound hands dangling behind him. "I will give money; I will make you rich! I know where there are mines, richer, far richer than the Don Carlos. I have friends, many of them, who will help. You shall be rich—forty thousand dollars paid in gold to-morrow. Let me go, señor, and I will repay you ten thousand times!"
LANDON walked slowly to the door.
"Thompson, Señor Alba complains that he hasn't had enough to eat; bring him double portions hereafter."
"It will be best for you to meet your father alone," he said to Pepita when he returned to the house. "The school car will carry you to town, and Mrs. Thompson will accompany you."
"But, señor—"
"When he arrives my work is done," Landon interrupted her. "It will be best for you to tell him your story alone. You see, it is not as though he and I were friends; but that's a disagreeable matter that doesn't concern you."
Her great eyes welled with tears.
"But my dear father's gratitude! He will wish to thank you through all the years of his life, even as I!"
Landon laughed and clapped his hands together to break the spell of her tears.
"Why should we speak of gratitude when you've given me the happiest day of my life!"
THE car was in the court and Mrs. Thompson waited. With one of her bewildering transformations Pepita laid her hand on his arm. She seemed deeply troubled and spoke rapidly.
"When I tell my dear father all that has happened he will be very angry. He will at once wish to kill Miguel Alba. But, Señor Landon" (she clasped her hands imploringly), "you will not permit that—it would spoil all my happiness! You must not let my dear father do harm to Señor Alba; you will promise me that, señor?"
"Oh, your father will do nothing foolish, I'm sure. But—quite between ourselves—I've been looking forward to this meeting between your father and Señor Alba. You would take from me one of the real pleasures of my life!"
She bent her head, and then, looking at him guardedly, murmured:
"But if Señor Alba should by accident escape—"
"But where would that leave me! It's possible that your father wouldn't believe my story at all if I didn't have Alba here dead or alive to prove it! You must remember that your father will not be pleased to find me here."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"You need not fear; my dear father will listen to all I say to him, very, very carefully. When he arrives he will be very tame, like a beautiful dove."
"My life is in your hands, señorita. Señor Alba is a clever man, and will no doubt find a way out of his difficulties."
HE sent for Thompson, and they conferred for a quarter of an hour. Then he roamed over the house, lounging through the students' rooms, still littered with odds and ends discarded in their packing.
At the same hour yesterday his senses had been lulled by the thought of the long summer of ease; but he knew now that there would be no peace for him—that he should range the hills beset by a taunting memory of dark, eloquent eyes alight with laughter or bright with tears, and feel the hand of Pepita Barada brushing his face like a spray of lilac encountered in a dark garden. He heard the car swing into the court, but he still lingered, feeling that Barada might prefer to be alone with Pepita for a while. The faint sound of voices reached him from the library for half an hour. Once Barada bellowed angrily, and Pepita's voice rose for an instant in expostulation. Landon was quite unconscious that it was of him they were speaking. Thompson tapped on his door and he went down. Barada, short, thick, with a square-trimmed beard, met him at the library door.
"There are times, Señor Landon, when thanks avail nothing. This is one of them," he said, as they shook hands.
Far away, in the music room, Pepita played a familiar Spanish air.
"It was a privilege and a pleasure to serve your daughter, Señor Barada. I beg that you will consider this house and all that pertains to it your own, for as long as you like. I am greatly honored in having you as my guest."
"I have made a long journey, señor, and a few days of rest among these quiet hills will be grateful. I accept your generous hospitality with pleasure."
Barada bowed profoundly. The malevolent humor that Landon had associated with the Spanish-American magnate was softened now. This evasion of the business of the hour, these polite interchanges were, in view of their long antagonism, quite preposterous, as Barada well knew. They remained standing, as though each were anxious to show the other the fullest deference.
"Señor Miguel Alba is also your guest," remarked Barada without a trace of emotion.
"I trust, Señor Barada, that the presence of your protégé and friend will afford you pleasure. We will consider him your guest as well as my own."
"Nothing would delight me more than to greet dear Miguel at once!"
"There need be no delay, if you will do me the honor to accompany me, Señor Barada. The friend we both admire has been employing himself happily in the gymnasium; exercise is wholesome, as you know, señor."
There was no accounting for Barada. Landon's respect for him increased. Instead of the noise and bluster he had expected, the Peruvian was conducting himself with a restraint that was as baffling as it was amusing.
When they were halfway to the gym Landon saw Thompson running toward them.
"He's gone; the prisoner has escaped;" blurted the gardener. "I untied his hands so he could eat his supper and he climbed into the trapeze and swung to a window and dropped out. I'll call my men and get after him— You'd better telegraph to town, sir."
"You shouldn't have left him!" cried Landon angrily. "I warned you that he'd take any chance to escape."
"Let us confer alone," said Barada in the gentlest of tones.
LANDON told Thompson to await orders, and the gardener withdrew. Barada extended his cigarette case.
"Señor," he remarked, pinching the end of his cigarette, "my interests in life are many. Miguel served me long; he knows much of my affairs, as you will recall. Is it not best, perhaps, that I should not pursue him?"
"It shall be as you wish," remarked Landon, striking a match. Their cigarettes alight, he strolled toward the house with Barada the inscrutable. He had told his employers that Barada must be defeated if at all in a test of wits, and his own were well nigh exhausted in his effort to maintain the key of this astonishing conversation.
"I think," Landon remarked in a very fair imitation of Barada's manner, "that I understand what is in your mind, Señor Barada. The knife of a friend is twice dangerous when he becomes an enemy."
"That is a true saying, señor. And, besides, it would greatly injure my Pepita if this unfortunate experience were to be known. And it is not well for one so innocent to have a murderer for her father."
"Annoying, to say the least, Señor Barada!"
"Moreover" (and Barada chuckled softly), "it is best to permit others to take vengeance for us upon our enemies. Miguel has foolishly been selling forged bonds in a Peruvian company with which I have no connection. The police are already seeking him, I learned from our consul who met me in New York. The law should have its way—is it not so? By the way, Señor Landon, I remember well your interest in the Don Carlos. With fewer obstacles you would have succeeded where many had failed. Your many embarrassments were deplorable. I am glad of this opportunity to express my regret that you encountered so many difficulties."
"Your sympathy touches me deeply, señor; but one should not have regrets where regrets are vain? Another turn of the wheel and—who knows!"
"It occurs to me, Señor Landon, that you may wish to renew your labors in my country. In that event my personal assistance and the facilities at my command are at your disposal. A few details, the signing of a few papers before our consul in New York, and my own interest in the Don Carlos will be waived completely. I trust that my meaning is clear to you, Señor Landon!"
Landon's heart beat wildly. It was incredible that Barada, in this casual fashion, was abandoning his claims to the Don Carlos!
"You do me much honor, Señor Barada. What you promise means much to me, professionally and personally," Landon replied; and he was not able wholly to conceal his deep feeling.
"Señor, there are moments in a man's life when the fullest generosity is inadequate. If there should ever be a time when I can add anything to what I have already promised you, on the word of a gentleman—"
THEY had passed through the entrance, and into the dim cloister, when Pepita stood suddenly before them, seeming in that picturesque setting like a young goddess come back to a forsaken temple. "You are good friends once more!" she cried.
Both men paused, arrested by her charm and loveliness. They turned toward each other as though her appearance had suggested an inevitable ending to Barada's sentence.
Then as by a common impulse they clasped hands.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1947, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 76 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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