CHAPTER XXXIV
THE EVIL EYE
"You don't know the woman who is causing the trouble. You haven't seenher eyes. But--Madre de Dios!--my father is a changed man. Sometimes Ithink he is--what you call--mad!"
Our visitor spoke in a hurried, nervous tone, with a marked foreignaccent which was not at all unpleasing. She was a young woman,unmistakably beautiful, of the dark Spanish type and apparently a SouthAmerican.
"I am Senorita Inez de Mendoza of Lima, Peru," she introduced herself,as she leaned forward in her chair in a high state of overwroughtexcitement. "We have been in this country only a short time--my fatherand I, with his partner in a mining venture, Mr. Lockwood. Since the hotweather came we have been staying at the Beach Inn at Atlantic Beach."
She paused a moment and hesitated, as though in this strange land of thenorth she had no idea of which way to turn for help.
"Perhaps I should have gone to see a doctor about him," she considered,doubtfully; then her emotions got the better of her and she went onpassionately, "but, Mr. Kennedy it is not a case for a doctor. It is acase for a detective--for someone who is more than a detective."
She spoke pleadingly now, in a soft musical voice that was far morepleasing to the ear than that of the usual Spanish-American. I had heardthat the women of Lima were famed for their beauty and melodious voices.Senorita Mendoza surely upheld their reputation.
There was an appealing look in her soft brown eyes and her thin,delicate lips trembled as she hurried on with her strange story.
"I never saw my father in such a state before," she murmured. "All hetalks about is the 'big fish'--whatever that may mean--and the curse ofMansiche. At times his eyes are staring wide open. Sometimes I think hehas a violent fever. He is excited--and seems to be wasting away. Heseems to see strange visions and hear voices. Yet I think he is worsewhen he is quiet in a dark room alone than when he is down in the lobbyof the hotel in the midst of the crowd."
A sudden flash of fire seemed to light up her dark eyes. "There is awoman at the hotel, too," she went on, "a woman from Truxillo, Senora deMoche. Ever since she has been there my father has been growing worseand worse."
"Who is this Senora de Moche?" asked Kennedy, studying the Senorita asif she were under a lens.
"A Peruvian of an old Indian family," she replied. "She has come to NewYork with her son, Alfonso, who is studying at the University here. Iknew him in Peru," she added, as if by way of confession, "when he was astudent at the University of Lima."
There was something in both her tone and her manner that would lead oneto believe that she bore no enmity toward the son--indeed quite thecontrary--whatever might be her feelings toward the mother of de Moche.
Kennedy reached for our university catalogue and found the name, Alfonsode Moche, a post-graduate student in the School of Engineering, andtherefore not in any of Kennedy's own courses. I could see that Craigwas growing more and more interested.
"And you think," he queried, "that in some way this woman is connectedwith the strange change that has taken place in your father?"
"I don't know," she temporized, but the tone of her answer wassufficient to convey the impression that in her heart she did suspectsomething, she knew not what.
"It's not a long run to Atlantic Beach," considered Kennedy. "I have oneor two things that I must finish up first, however."
"Then you will come down tonight?" she asked, as Kennedy rose and tookthe little white silk gloved hand which she extended.
"Tonight surely," answered Craig, holding the door for her to pass out.
"Well," I said, when we were alone, "what is it--a romance or a crime?"
"Both, I think," he replied abstractedly, taking up the experiment whichthe visit had interrupted.
"I think," he remarked late in the afternoon, as he threw off hisacid-stained smock, "that I will go over to the University librarybefore it closes and refresh my mind on some of those old Peruvianantiquities and traditions. The big fish or _peje grande_, as I rememberit, was the name given by the natives to one of the greatest buriedtreasures about the time of Pizarro's conquest. If I remembercorrectly, Mansiche was the great cacique, or something of thatsort--the ruler in northern Peru at that time. He is said to have left acurse on any native who ever divulged the whereabouts of the treasureand the curse was also to fall on any Spaniard who might discover it."
For more than an hour Kennedy delved into the archeological lore in thelibrary. Then he rejoined me at the laboratory and after a hasty bite ofdinner we hurried down to the station.
That evening we stepped off the train at Atlantic Beach to make our wayto the Beach Inn. The resort was just springing into night life, as themillions of incandescent lights flooded it with a radiance which wecould see reflected in the sky long before our train arrived. There wassomething intoxicating about the combination of the bracing salt air andthe gay throngs seeking pleasure.
Instead of taking the hotel 'bus, Kennedy decided to stroll to the innalong the boardwalk. We were just about to turn into the miniature parkwhich separated the inn from the walk when we noticed a wheel chaircoming in our direction. In it were a young man and a woman ofwell-preserved middle age. They had evidently been enjoying the oceanbreeze after dinner, and the sound of music had drawn them back to thehotel.
We entered the lobby of the inn just as the first number of the eveningconcert by the orchestra was finishing. Kennedy stood at the desk for amoment while Senorita Mendoza was being paged, and ran his eye over thebrilliant scene. In a minute the boy returned and led us through themaze of wicker chairs to an alcove just off the hall which later in theevening would be turned into a ballroom.
On a wide settee, the Senorita was talking with animation to a tall,clean-cut young man in evening clothes, whose face bore the tan of a sunmuch stronger than that at Atlantic Beach. He was unmistakably of thetype of American soldier of fortune. In a deep rocker before them sat aheavy-set man whose piercing black eyes beetled forth from under bushyeyebrows. He was rather distinguished looking, and his close-croppedhair and mustache set him off as a man of affairs and consequence in hisown country.
As we approached, Senorita Mendoza rose quickly. I wondered how she wasgoing to get over the awkward situation of introducing us, for surelyshe did not intend to let her father know that she was employing adetective. She did it most cleverly, with a significant look at Kennedywhich he understood.
"Good-evening. I am delighted to see you," she greeted. Then, turning toher father, she introduced Craig. "This is Professor Kennedy," sheexplained, "whom I met at the reception of the Hispano-American Society.You remember I told you he was so much interested in our Peruvianruins."
Don Luis's eyes seemed fairly to glitter with excitement. They wereprominent eyes, staring, and I could not help studying them.
"Then, Senor Kennedy," he exclaimed, "you know of our ruins ofChan-Chan, of Chima--those wonderful places--and have heard the legendof the _peje grande_?" His eyes, by that time, were almost starting fromtheir sockets, and I noticed that the pupils were dilated almost to thesize of the iris. "We must sit down," he went on, "and talk about Peru."
The soldier of fortune also had risen as we approached. In her softmusical voice, the Senorita now interrupted her father.
"Professor Kennedy, let me introduce you to Mr. Lockwood, my father'spartner in a mining project which brings us to New York."
As Kennedy and I shook hands with the young mining engineer, I felt thatLockwood was something more to her than a mere partner in her father'smining venture.
We drew up chairs and joined the circle.
Kennedy said something about mining and the very word "mine" seemed toexcite Senor Mendoza still further.
"Your American financiers have lost millions in mining in Peru," heexclaimed excitedly, taking out a beautifully chased gold cigarettecase, "but we are going to make more millions than they ever dreamed of,because we are simply going to mine for the products of centuries oflabor already done, for the
great treasure of Truxillo."
He opened the cigarette case and handed it about. The cigarettes seemedto be his own special brand. We lighted up and puffed away for a moment.There was a peculiar taste about them, however, which I did not like. Infact, I think that the Latin-American cigarettes do not seem to appealto an American very much, anyhow.
As we talked, I noticed that Kennedy evidently shared my own tastes, forhe allowed his cigarette to go out, and after a puff or two I did thesame. For the sake of my own comfort I drew out one of my owncigarettes as soon as I could do so politely.
"We are not the only ones who have sought the _peje grande_," resumedMendoza eagerly, "but we are the only ones who are seeking it in theright place, and," he added, leaning over with a whisper, "I am the onlyone who has the concession, the monopoly, from the government to seek inwhat we know to be the right place. Others have found the little fish.We shall find the big fish."
He had raised his voice from the whisper and I caught the Senoritalooking anxiously at Kennedy, as much as to say, "You see? His mind isfull of only one subject."
Senor Mendoza's eyes had wandered from us and he seemed all of a suddento grow wild.
"We shall find it," he cried, "no matter what obstacles man or devil putin our way. It is ours--for a simple piece of engineering--ours! Thecurse of Mansiche--pouf!"
He snapped his fingers almost defiantly as he said it in a high-pitchedvoice. There was an air of bravado about it and I could not help feelingthat perhaps in his heart he was not so sure of himself as he would haveothers think. It was as though some diabolical force had takenpossession of his brain and he fought it off.
Kennedy quickly followed the staring glance of Mendoza. Out on the broadveranda, by an open window a few yards from us, sat the woman of thewheel chair. The young man who accompanied her had his back toward usfor the moment, but she was looking fixedly in our direction, paying noattention apparently to the music. She was a large woman, with darkhair, and contrasting full red lips. Her face, in marked contradictionto her Parisian costume and refined manners, had a slight copperswarthiness about it.
But it was her eyes that arrested and held one's attention. Whether itwas in the eyes themselves or in the way that she used them, there couldbe no mistake about the hypnotic power that their owner wielded. She sawus looking at her, but it made no difference. Not for an instant did sheallow our gaze to distract her in the projection of their weird powerstraight at Don Luis himself.
Don Luis, on his part, seemed fascinated.
He rose, and, for a moment, I thought that he was going over to speak toher, as if drawn by that intangible attraction which Poe has so cleverlyexpressed in his "Imp of the Perverse." Instead, in the midst of thenumber which the orchestra was playing, he turned and, as though by asuperhuman effort, moved away among the guests out into the brighterlights and gayety of the lobby.
I glanced up in time to see the anxious look on the Senorita's facechange momentarily into a flash of hatred toward the woman in thewindow.
The young man turned just about that time, and there was no mistakingthe ardent glance he directed toward the fair Peruvian. I fancied thather face softened a bit, too.
She resumed her normal composure as she said to Lockwood, "You willexcuse me, I know. Father is tired of the music. I think I will take himfor a turn down the boardwalk. If you can join us in our rooms in anhour or so, may we see you!" she asked, with another significant glanceat Kennedy.
Craig had barely time to reply that we should be delighted before shewas gone. Evidently she did not dare let her father get very far out ofher sight.
We sat for a few moments smoking and chatting with Lockwood.
"What is the curse of Mansiche?" asked Kennedy at length.
"Oh, I don't know," returned Lockwood, impatiently flicking the ashesfrom his cigar, as though such stories had no interest for the practicalmind of an engineer. "Some old superstition. I don't know much about thestory; but I do know that there is treasure in that great old Chimumound near Truxillo, and that Don Luis has got us the governmentconcession to bore into it, if we can only raise the capital to carry itout."
Kennedy showed no disposition to leave the academic and becomeinterested in the thing from the financial standpoint, and theconversation dragged.
"I beg pardon," apologized Lockwood at length, "but I have some veryimportant letters that I must get off before the mail closes. I'll seeyou, I presume, when the Senorita and Don Luis come back?"
Kennedy nodded. In fact, I think he was rather glad of the opportunityto look things over unhampered.