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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. The Land of Tomorrow 1
2. On the Road to Taxco 15
3. The Silver Shop 29
4. House of Forgetfulness 42
5. More Than Meets the Eye 48
6. Now Whos Confused? 60 7. Acapulco Trip 74
8. Attack in the Night 83
9. Patio Incident 99
10. Midnight Chase 108
11. Mystery in the Morning 120
12. Mole Is Alerted 131
13. Still No Kit 142
14. The Other Sister 149
15. Wheels Within Wheels 156
16. The Scheme That Failed 164
1
CHAPTER 1
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 dark-
skinned 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
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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.
3
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.
4
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
5
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.
6
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.
7
8
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
9
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,
10
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.
11
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
12
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.
13
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 againVictor 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.
14
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.
15
CHAPTER 2
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
16
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 high-pitched 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
17
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
18
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
19
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.
20
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
21
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
22
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
23
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.
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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.
25
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
26
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
27
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.
28
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.
29
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
30
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
31
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
32
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
33
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.
34
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
35
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?
36
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
37
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
38
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.
39
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
40
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
41
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.
42
CHAPTER 4
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
43
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,
44
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 long-
since 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 flowersgeraniums, 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.
45
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
46
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 half-
moon.
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
47
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.
48
CHAPTER 5
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
49
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
50
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?
51
52
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
53
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
54
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.
55
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
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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
57
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 flat-
heeled 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
58
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?
59
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.
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CHAPTER 6
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
61
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
62
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
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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
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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
65
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 themshe 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?
66
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.
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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
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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
69
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
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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.
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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 so