CHAPTER 5 AN EVIL CHARM

“Mother has disliked reporters ever since she married my stepfather, two years ago,” Lorinda confided as the girls approached the house. “We were in the Eastern part of the country at the time, and papers played up the story, suggesting that Mr. Rhett was a fortune hunter.”

“Then he had no money of his own?”

“Not a great deal. You see, my stepfather loved travel, and until he met Mother he never really settled down. He made a little by writing magazine articles, and he spent it roving about the country and exploring far corners of the world.”

“It must have been an interesting life,” Penny commented politely. “Your mother enjoyed travel too?”

“Oh, mercy no! One hardly can get her away from Riverview. She and my stepfather never traveled together after they were married.”

Penny gathered that Mr. and Mrs. Rhett were entirely different types of individuals, but she asked no additional questions, for by this time, the girls had reached the house.

Crossing a stone terrace at the rear of the dwelling, they entered a spacious living room furnished with elegant though formal furniture. Shades were partially drawn, giving the interior a gloomy atmosphere, despite the vases of brightly colored chrysanthemums which decorated the tables.

A woman with dark hair tinged with gray sat reading a book. She was immaculately groomed, every curl of an elaborate hair-do in place, but her face lacked tranquility. Her eyes were not on the page before her, Penny noted, and as the two girls came in, she visibly started.

“Oh, it’s you, Lorinda,” she murmured in relief. “I declare, I am getting jumpy! For a moment I thought it might be the police or that inquisitive reporter—”

“Mother,” interposed Lorinda hastily, “allow me to present Penny Parker, from the Riverview Star.”

Mrs. Rhett laid aside the book and stared at Penny, her face without expression. Her voice was cold as she spoke.

“From the Star? Lorinda, I am very sorry, but you know my feeling in this matter.”

“Penny really is very nice, Mother,” Lorinda said, flashing her companion an encouraging smile. “She didn’t want to come out here and question us about father, but the editor sent her. He wants a picture, too.”

Mrs. Rhett arose to terminate an interview which had never really begun. “I am sorry,” she repeated with emphasis. “There are to be no pictures taken.”

“The editor especially wanted a photograph of your husband,” Penny said. “By publishing it in the paper, it may be easier to trace him.”

“Miss Parker,” replied Mrs. Rhett pleasantly but with no warmth, “if I need assistance in locating my husband I shall request it. Meanwhile, I do wish people would not concern themselves with our affairs.”

“Mother, we may not be able to avoid publicity,” Lorinda rushed on. “There’s likely to be a scandal. You see, $250,000 in negotiable bonds disappeared from the bank.”

For a moment, Mrs. Rhett did not speak. A dagger-type paper cutter lay on the polished table beside her. Nervously her fingers closed upon it, and unaware of the act, she jabbed the sharp point several times through a lace doily centerpiece.

“Mother, you’re ruining that!”

Mrs. Rhett dropped the paper cutter, which clattered on the table and tumbled to the floor. Without picking it up, she moved restlessly to the window, only to return.

“What were you saying about $250,000 in bonds, Lorinda?” she asked. “Surely you didn’t mean—”

“I only know what Penny told me. Soon after Father disappeared, Albert Potts discovered the bonds also were missing.”

“There can be no connection. Why, even the suggestion that my husband would steal is ridiculous! It’s preposterous!”

“No one has accused your husband,” Penny said quietly. “Perhaps the bonds will be found. Now that the police have stepped into the case, there should be developments.”

“The police,” repeated Mrs. Rhett with a shiver. “Oh, dear, must we suffer their interference!”

A telephone in an adjoining room rang and Lorinda started to answer it. But her mother signalled to her.

“Let it go, Lorinda. It may be the police now, or another reporter. We’ll have nothing to say.”

The telephone rang again. Footsteps were heard down a hallway and a well-built, dark-skinned house-worker of middle age padded into the room. She gazed with intent curiosity at Penny as she started toward the library to answer the phone.

“No, let it ring, Celeste,” Mrs. Rhett directed. “And if anyone comes to the door asking for me, remember, I am not at home.”

“Yes’m,” mumbled the housekeeper. She bent to pick up the paper cutter from the floor and as she did so an object which was tied about her neck with a cord and kept hidden beneath her starched uniform, swung into view.

Penny obtained only a fleeting glimpse of the curious article, for the woman hastily thrust it into her dress front again. However, it appeared to be a tiny packet of cloth.

Lorinda also had observed the object. Fixing the woman with a stern gaze she said: “Celeste, you’re wearing one of those heathenish ouange charms again! You promised Mother you wouldn’t!”

“This only keeps away bad sickness,” the woman retorted, with a slight accent which nevertheless made her words hard to understand. “A good ouange. Now that my master is away, you are not to tell me what to do.”

“Lorinda, don’t plague her,” Mrs. Rhett said wearily. “We have enough trouble as it is. Let her wear the charm, or a dozen of them, if it gives her any satisfaction.”

Lorinda subsided into injured silence, while Celeste flashed a triumphant smile.

Mrs. Rhett turned again to Penny. In a tone which could be interpreted only as a final dismissal she said: “I am sorry, Miss Parker, that I cannot help you. At present I do not know my husband’s whereabouts or why he went away. If you will excuse me now, I shall go to my room for a rest.”

With dignity she crossed the living room to a handsome circular stairway with a railing of polished mahogany. Her head held proudly, she presented a regal figure as she slowly climbed the steps.

But half way up, she suddenly halted, her body jerking taut. Uttering a low cry which was almost a scream, she stared at an object lying on the step in front of her.

“Why, Mother! What’s wrong?” cried Lorinda.

With Penny and Celeste, she hastened to the staircase. Mrs. Rhett’s face was as colorless as if she had seen a ghost. Her lips trembled. Without speaking, she pointed to the stair carpet.

There at her feet lay two burnt match ends tied together with a bit of scarlet string.

“An ouange! An evil ouange!” whispered Celeste in horror.

Lorinda turned upon her angrily.

“Celeste, don’t say such things! You know how nervous Mother is, and how easily she becomes upset! If this is one of your charms—”

“No! No!” the woman protested. She stared fixedly at the object on the floor. “This charm is not mine and it is not Antón’s!”

“Then how did it get here?”

“I do not know. It is a sign of evil—a sign of death.”

“Superstition!” exclaimed Lorinda.

Mrs. Rhett started on up the stairs, but as she would have stepped over the burned matches, Celeste seized her by the skirt, pulling her backwards. Frightened, the woman screamed and fell heavily against the wall.

Celeste kept her from collapsing, all the while muttering words Penny could not understand.

“Stop that gibberish!” Lorinda commanded.

Mrs. Rhett broke away from Celeste, and with an hysterical cry, moved down the stairway and into the library. Though she closed the door behind her, the girls could hear her sobs.

“Now see what you’ve done!” Lorinda accused Celeste.

The woman paid no attention to her. Bending over the match sticks, she swayed back and forth as she muttered a strange chant. As Lorinda sought to pick up the charm, Celeste struck her wrist a sharp blow.

“Fool!” she exclaimed. “Would you let your mother die a slow and painful death? Do not touch this thing of evil until I have finished! If she had stepped over it, nothing would have saved her.”

Celeste kept on with her mutterings until at last she was through. “I have done all I can,” she said with a deep sigh. Gingerly she picked up the match ends and, dropping them into the living room fireplace, saw them consumed by flame.

“Now what is all this stupidity about Mother dying a slow death?” Lorinda demanded sternly. “How did that thing get into this house, and what does it mean?”

“How it came here I do not know,” replied the woman. “Its meaning is simple. In the jungles such symbols are sometimes placed on new graves, that the departing spirit may kindle a little fire and warm its cold hands in the other world.”

“That’s enough!” interrupted Lorinda. “Don’t tell me any more. It’s all so silly.”

“It is the truth.”

“Well, true or false, Mother is not to be told such nonsense. She’s upset enough as it is.”

“Your mother already knows,” said the housekeeper. “That is why she weeps. She fears that even now the spell is upon her.”

“Celeste, you must be out of your mind!” Lorinda cried in exasperation. “You never said such dreadful things or acted like this when Father was here. What has taken possession of you?”

“I fear for the family. It bodes ill that my master should remain away. If only the Zudi drum were out of the house—destroyed—”

Lorinda’s patience had been overtaxed. “The Zudi drum!” she cried. “Oh, Celeste, you’re impossible! Go find Antón and if you must, talk such nonsense to him! But not another word of it before us! Do you understand?”

Celeste stood facing the two girls defiantly. Her eyes burned with an angry fire, and Penny expected her to make a bitter retort to Lorinda. Instead, she seemed to withdraw into herself, and with downcast head, scurried toward the kitchen.