[Frontispiece: _Four strong arms caught her before her feet touched
the floor of the balcony._]
THE SECRET OF
CASA GRANDE
HELEN RANDOLPH
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
Akron, Ohio New York
_Mexican Mystery Series_
by Helen Randolph
The Secret of Casa Grande
The Mystery of Carlitos
Crossed Trails in Mexico
Copyright, MCMXXXVI
The Saalfield Publishing Company
_Printed in the United States of America_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I The Mysterious Window 7
II The Search Begins 22
III A New Discovery 36
IV Jo Ann’s Secret Quest 50
V The Siesta Hour 66
VI Jo Ann’s Predicament 82
VII The Promenade 99
VIII The Señor’s Library 116
IX The Sealed Door 134
X Through the Mysterious Window 148
XI The Hastily Planned Merienda 162
XII Florence’s Surprise 173
XIII Into the Unknown 185
XIV Ghostly Figures 200
XV The Black Box 220
XVI More Precious Than Jewels 229
XVII The Señor’s Story 240
CHAPTER I
THE MYSTERIOUS WINDOW
Aroused by a slight noise in the room, Jo Ann sleepily tossed back the
turbulent black curls from her forehead and slowly opened first one eye,
then the other. She lay staring half dazedly as the solid doorlike
shutters swung back, letting the rays of the morning sun filter into the
room through the iron bars of the window. Where was she? Why the iron
bars?
Slowly her gaze traveled over the room, taking in the high, heavily
beamed ceiling, the bare plastered walls, and finally resting on Peggy
sleeping peacefully beside her. Everything floated again before her
mind’s eye: their long trip to Mexico, their midnight arrival at this
great old stone house, and their warm welcome by Peggy’s friend, Florence
Blackwell, whom she had never seen before.
The next moment the Indian woman, who had wakened her by opening the
heavy shutters, noiselessly crossed the room and began arranging dishes
on a small table beside the bed.
“_Buenos dias, señorita_ [Good morning, miss],” she said softly in
Spanish as she noticed that one of the girls was awake.
“Ah—_buenos dias_,” stammered Jo Ann.
Again the woman spoke to her, but Jo Ann shook her head. After the woman
had repeated her words very slowly, she was able to understand a few
phrases.
Disturbed by their voices, Peggy suddenly sat up in bed, opening wide her
dark-fringed hazel eyes. She, too, was startled for a moment by the
unfamiliar surroundings; then, noticing the servant and the expression on
Jo Ann’s face, she burst out laughing. “What’s the matter, Jo?” she asked
teasingly a moment later. “Can’t you understand what she’s saying?”
“I think she’s trying to tell me something about Florence, but I’m not
sure. I wonder where she is.”
Almost simultaneously there burst into the room a small trim girl with
smooth fair hair and gentian-blue eyes. “Good morning, sleepy-heads,” she
laughed, dropping down on the foot of the bed and fanning herself with a
large sun hat. “Girls, this is Juana. Did she deliver my message?”
“She tried to,” Jo Ann replied, “but I’m afraid she wasn’t very
successful.”
Turning to the servant, Florence spoke rapidly in Spanish.
Juana grinned broadly, bowed to the girls, and jabbered something they
could not understand.
“She’s trying to tell you how happy she is that you have come to stay
with her Florencita,” explained Florence.
“Tell her that we’re delighted to be here,” put in Peggy promptly.
“How I envy you—being able to speak Spanish that way, Florence,” Jo Ann
sighed. “I’d give anything to do half as well.”
Florence smiled. “Oh, you’ll get on to it in no time.” As she had lived
more than half of her sixteen years in Mexico, Spanish was perfectly
natural to her. It seemed so simple that sometimes she found it easier to
express herself in Spanish than in English.
“Though I’ve studied it two years, I have my doubts about ever being able
to speak it fluently,” said Jo Ann slowly. Noticing Florence’s flushed
face she added, “Where’ve you been? What time is it?”
“Almost ten o’clock. I’ve just been to market.”
“To market? Why didn’t you call us?”
“Well, I knew you girls would be tired and sleepy after your trip, so I
didn’t disturb you. I go to market early every morning. I like to do the
buying myself.”
“Promise you’ll call me next time. I didn’t come down here to lie in bed
and sleep all the time. There’s too much to do and see.”
“All right, then; I’ll call you tomorrow. But come on, let’s have
breakfast. I’m ravenous after my walk, and I know you two must be
starving.”
“If having breakfast served in bed is your idea of our helping you to
keep house, then I’m all for it,” declared Peggy gaily as she flopped her
pink-pajamed legs over the side of the bed. “It suits my taste exactly.”
Florence nodded smilingly toward Juana. “It wasn’t my idea. It was hers.
She’d be terribly hurt if we didn’t let her wait on us. After you two get
rested from your trip, though, I’ll set you to work planning meals and
cooking—and everything.”
“Well, I’m going to enjoy being waited on as long as I can,” laughed
Peggy.
Sitting on the side of the bed, clad in their gay pajamas and eating
their breakfast from an exquisitely inlaid tea table, Peggy and Jo Ann
felt very sophisticated indeed.
“This is the most delicious orange juice and the best toast I’ve ever
tasted,” declared Jo Ann, a moment later.
“It’s the best breakfast I’ve ever eaten in my whole life,” added Peggy
with her usual exaggeration.
Florence turned to the servant, who had just returned with a plate of hot
toast, and repeated their remarks in Spanish.
From that moment Juana was their devoted slave, anticipating their every
wish.
As soon as they had finished breakfast, Jo Ann and Peggy dressed for the
street, Florence insisting, much to their disapproval, that they wear
hats. “The sun is too hot here in the middle of the day to go out without
something on your head,” she explained.
While Peggy was arranging her hair in neat auburn waves, Jo Ann, who had
finished her hasty toilet, stepped to the door leading into the hall and
stood taking in every visible detail of the strangely constructed
building. The immense rooms, each opening onto the long central hall,
seemed dark and gloomy, owing to the thick walls, the concrete floor, the
heavy doors, and the iron-barred windows. Though the bright-colored rugs,
the gay-flowered chintz, and a few well-chosen pictures added a cheerful
homelike note, the general effect was one of austere simplicity.
Having noticed Jo Ann’s interest, Florence came up beside her and,
slipping her arm around her waist, asked, “How do you like our house?
It’s very old, you know.”
“I love old houses,” Jo Ann replied quickly. “This one is extremely
interesting—so different from anything I’ve ever seen.” She hesitated,
then added, “I’ve been thinking of studying architecture when I go to
college.”
“Would you care to see the rest of the house? There are some rather
unusual features about it.”
Jo Ann’s dark brown eyes sparkled. “I’d adore it!”
“I, too,” put in Peggy, who had come out in time to hear Florence’s
words.
Florence pointed to the open door on the right. “This is the sitting
room, but Mother and I stay in the office with Dad more than in here.
Come on and I’ll show you the office.” She led the two girls across the
hall, but stopped a moment later, saying, “The office door’s closed—Dad
probably has a patient—but I can show you the other rooms. The kitchen is
the most interesting room in the house, I think.”
She took them into the dining room and on to the end of the long hall,
then turned into an immense room having three large windows all heavily
barred.
“My goodness, you could ’most put our whole house into this one room!”
exclaimed Peggy. “I’ve never seen such a huge kitchen before in a private
residence. Why do you suppose they built it so large?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure. It’s the strangest house I’ve ever seen. Just
look at that fireplace, for instance.” Florence motioned toward one side
of the room, which was entirely taken up by a huge fireplace set back in
a broad arched recess. “It’s large enough to belong to some big hotel—and
yet we’ve only two bedrooms in the house.”
“But why did they build the fireplace in three sections? All the
fireplaces I’ve ever seen were built on a level with the floor. This one
reminds me of the ‘Three Bears.’ This section belongs to the great big
bear; and this one——”
Florence broke into a peal of laughter at Peggy’s whimsical idea. “No one
but you would have thought of that,” she said.
Juana glanced up from her preparations for lunch, smiling to herself. She
had not seen her Florencita happy for months—not since her mother had
been taken ill and had been sent to a sanitarium for a several weeks’
stay.
As their laughter died away, Florence went on to explain, “You see, the
lowest section—in the middle—was where they built their fire to cook the
food; this section here, of medium height, was where they made their
_tortillas_. It’s just the right height for the _metate_, the stone on
which corn is rubbed or ground into a paste. There’s room here for
several women to work at the same time.”
“But what was the great big bear’s section used for?” interrupted Peggy.
“The highest one was used for draining the dishes and earthen cooking
utensils. Each section is covered with smooth hard stones, and here in
the corner is a small hole left to let the water drain off. It was a very
well-equipped kitchen in its day.”
Florence was delighted to find that her guests were so interested in the
old house which had been her home for many years. She went on to explain
that although modern equipment had been installed wherever possible, they
had tried to leave the quaint old atmosphere undisturbed.
While she was answering Peggy’s questions about the new equipment, Jo Ann
was busily taking in the details of the architecture, especially noting
the absence of woodwork in the queer windows that had iron bars and no
glass.
As her gaze wandered to the window at the end of the room, she caught a
glimpse of something which sent a little thrill of excitement over her.
She crossed the room quickly and stared through the iron bars at what
seemed to be the ruins of an ancient building. Could this be the ruins of
one of those old cathedrals which she had read about and had wanted to
see for so long?
“What’s this old building back of your house, Florence?” she asked
eagerly.
Peggy rushed over to the window to see the building that had caused the
note of excitement in Jo Ann’s voice, while Florence merely smiled and
replied, “That’s a part of a very old church, now used only by the
poorest peons.”
Jo Ann’s eyes opened in surprise. “I don’t see how they can use it—it
looks as if it were falling down.”
“The main part of the church is all right, but they never use the other
part. I don’t know whether it was partially destroyed in a war or whether
it just caved in from old age.”
“How old do you think this church is?”
“I don’t know exactly, but it’s several hundred years old. I’ve heard
that it’s one of the oldest buildings in this part of Mexico. All the
better classes of people attend the large modern cathedral across the
Plaza.”
“May we go over to the old church? I’d love to see it.”
“Why, yes, we’ll have time to go over there before lunch. There isn’t
much to see, so it won’t take us long.”
Florence turned and said something in Spanish to Juana; then the three
girls started out of the kitchen door. “Before we go,” Florence added,
“I’ll show you this other room just across the hall—there’s nothing
interesting or unusual about it, though. It has only one window looking
out on the back street. There’s nothing but the back of that old church
to be seen from it.”
After glancing about this room they hurried on down to the street, Jo Ann
in the lead. She could scarcely wait to visit the old church.
As they started across the street, Peggy looked longingly toward the
Plaza and the crowded streets of the business section of the city. She
much preferred sightseeing in that direction, but she knew Jo Ann had set
her heart on seeing the old church and that there was no changing her.
A few minutes later the girls passed under the old stone arch and into
the vestibule with its font of holy water, then walked softly on into the
church.
Having come in from the bright sunlight, they were unable at first to
distinguish anything except the candles burning on the altar. A reverent
silence lay over the entire building. With her finger to her lips
Florence motioned Jo Ann and Peggy to a bench. They sat down quietly,
careful lest they disturb the peacefulness of the place.
As their eyes became accustomed to the dim interior, they noticed several
figures with black shawls about their heads and shoulders, kneeling at
the altar. A woman with a baby in her arms and a tiny, half-naked tot
beside her was kneeling before the statue of Mary, Mother of Jesus, her
lips moving in silent prayer. Direst poverty was evident among all the
worshipers.
Many minor details that had escaped Peggy’s eyes caught and held Jo Ann’s
attention. The benches, altar rail, and pedestals, she noticed, were hand
hewn and decorated with exquisite carving; the statues were different
from any that she had ever seen; and even the candles were
unusual—probably, hand dipped, she decided.
For almost an hour they sat there silent, Jo Ann intent in absorbing the
atmosphere of this ancient building.
“I feel as if I’d actually stepped back through the centuries into the
Mexico of ages past,” she thought dreamily.
By this time Peggy had begun to get restless. To her the place seemed
close and stuffy, the odor and fumes of the candles suffocating. Without
saying a word she rose and went outside. Leaning against the wall in the
shadow of the stone arch, she waited for the girls and amused herself by
gazing idly at the rear of Florence’s home across the street.
“Florence, I don’t like to make remarks about your house,” she said, half
smiling as Florence and Jo Ann drew near, “but from the rear it looks
more like a fort or a prison than a home.”
“It reminds me of an old castle with its high stone walls and heavy iron
bars at the windows,” added Jo Ann, gazing over at the house.
Florence smiled good-naturedly. “It doesn’t look very homelike, I’ll
admit. I don’t believe I’ve ever noticed it before from this viewpoint. I
never come to this old church—at least, I haven’t been here for several
years. As I said before, only people of the lowest classes attend this
church.”
“I didn’t see a window in your hall,” Jo Ann suddenly remarked to
Florence. “I thought I noticed a shaded light burning on that little
table at the end of the hall.”
“There isn’t a window in the hall—it’s dark as pitch there, and we have
to keep a light burning day and night.”
“Then how do you account for that little narrow, crosswise opening up
there in the wall? There it is on a level with the top of the kitchen and
back bedroom windows.”
“I don’t know.” Florence gazed puzzledly at the small opening. “I’ve
never seen a window like that on the inside of the house, and I know I’ve
seen every inch of the walls inside.”
“Well, there it is—a tiny window, just as plain as the nose on your
face.”
In silent amazement Florence stared at this narrow opening high up in the
bleak stone wall.
“That certainly is strange!” she said finally, her brows drawn together
in a thoughtful frown.
“It certainly is,” agreed Jo Ann and Peggy, equally mystified.
Everything was forgotten now except this queer window. Why was it there?
Into what did it open?