The Unspeakable Perk Part 25

"It's just because they don't understand his type. Nor do you, Fitz, and so you mistrust him."

"I understand that you've shown more interest in him than in any one you know," said the other miserably.

Her laugh rang as free and frank as a child's.

"Interest? That's true. But if you mean sentiment, Fitz, after once having looked into the depths of those absurd goggles, can you, COULD you think of sentiment and the beetle man in the same breath?"

"No, I couldn't," he confessed, relieved. "But, then, I never have been able to understand you, Miss Polly."

"Therein lies my fatal charm," she said saucily. "Now, to the beetle man, I'm a specimen. HE understands as much as he wants to. Probably I shall never see him after to-day, anyway. He's going to get a message through for us that will deliver us from this land of bondage."

"He can't do it--too soon for me," declared Carroll. "And, Miss Polly, you don't think the worse of me for having said behind his back what I'm just waiting to say to his face?"

"Not a bit," said the girl warmly. "Only I know it's nonsense."

"I hope so," said Carroll, quite honestly. "I would hate to think anything low-down of a man you'd call your friend."

Carroll had learned more than he had told, but less than enough to give him what he considered proper evidence to lay before Polly's father.

After some deliberation as to the point of honor involved, he decided to go to Raimonda, who, alone in Caracuna City, seemed to be on personal terms with the hermit. He found the young man in his office. With entire frankness, Carroll stated his errand and the reason for it. The Caracunan heard him with grave courtesy.

"And now, senior," concluded the American, "here's my question, and it's for you to determine whether, under the circ.u.mstances, you are justified in giving me an answer. Is there a woman living in Mr. Perkins's quinta on the mountains?"

"I cannot answer that question," said the other, after some deliberation.

"I'm sorry," said Carroll simply.

"I also. The more so in that my att.i.tude may be misconstrued against Mr.

Perkins. I am bound by confidence."

"So I infer," returned his visitor courteously. "Then I have only to ask your pardon--"

"One moment, if you please, senor. Perhaps this will serve to make easy your mind. On my word, there is nothing in Mr. Perkins's life on the mountain in any manner dishonorable or--or irregular."

In a flash, the simple solution crossed Carroll's mind. That a woman was there, and a woman not of the servant cla.s.s, could hardly be doubted, in view of almost direct evidence from eyewitnesses. If there was nothing irregular about her presence, it was because she was Perkins's wife.

In view of Raimonda's att.i.tude, he did not feel free to put the direct query. Another question would serve his purpose.

"Is it advisable, and for the best interests of Miss Brewster, that she should a.s.sociate with him under the circ.u.mstances?"

The Caracunan started and shot a glance at his interlocutor that said, as plainly as words, "How much do you know that you are not telling?"

had the latter not been too intent upon his own theory to interpret it.

"Ah, that," said Raimonda, after a pause,--"that is another question. If it were my sister, or any one dear to me--but"--he shrugged--"views on that matter differ."

"I hardly think that yours and mine differ, senior. I thank you for bearing with me with so much patience."

He went out with his suspicions hardened into certainty.

VII

"THAT WHICH THY SERVANT IS--"

A man that you'd call your friend. Such had been Fitzhugh Carroll's reference to the Unspeakable Perk. With that characterization in her mind. Miss Brewster let herself drift, after her suitor had left her, into a dreamy consideration of the hermit's att.i.tude toward her. She was not p.r.o.ne lightly to employ the terms of friends.h.i.+p, yet this new and casual acquaintance had shown a readiness to serve--not as cavalier, but as friend--none too common in the experience of the much-courted and a little spoiled beauty. Being, indeed, a "lady nowise bitter to those who served her with good intent," she reflected, with a kindly light in her eyes, that it was all part and parcel of the beetle's man's amiable queerness.

Still musing upon this queerness, she strolled back to find her mount waiting at the corner of the plaza. In consideration of the heat she let her cream-colored mule choose his own pace, so they proceeded quite slowly up the hill road, both absorbed in meditation, which ceased only when the mule started an argument about a turn in the trail. He was a well-bred trotting mule, worth six hundred dollars in gold of any man's money, and he was self-appreciative in knowledge of the fact. He brought a singular firmness of purpose to the support of the negative of her proposition, which was that he should swing north from the broad into the narrow path. When the debate was over, St. John the Baptist--this, I hesitate to state, yet must, it being the truth, was the spirited animal's name--was considerably chastened, and Miss Brewster more than a trifle flushed. She left him tied to a ceiba branch at the exit from the dried creek bed, with strict instructions not to kick, lest a worse thing befall him. Miss Brewster's fighting blood was up, when, ten minutes late, because of the episode, she reached the summit of the rock.

"Oh, Mr. Beetle Man, are you there?" she called.

"Yes, Voice. You sound strange. What is it?"

"I've been hurrying, and if you tell me I'm late, I'll--I'll fall on your neck again and break it."

"Has anything happened?"

"Nothing in particular. I've been boxing the compa.s.s with a mule. It's tiresome."

He reflected.

"You're not, by any chance, speaking figuratively of your respected parent?"

"Certainly NOT!" she disclaimed indignantly. "This was a real mule.

You're very impertinent."

"Well, you see, he was impertinent to me, saying he was out when he was in. What is his decision--yes or no?"

"No."

A sharp exclamation came from the nook below.

"Is that the entomological synonym for 'd.a.m.n'?" she inquired.

"It's a lament for time wasted on a--Well, never mind that."

"But he wants you to carry a message by that secret route of yours. Will you do it for him?"

"NO!"

"That's not being a very kind or courteous beetle man."

"I owe Mr. Brewster no courtesy."

"And you pay only where you owe? Just, but hardly amiable. Well, you owe me nothing--but--will you do it for me?"

"Yes."