That night was a terrible one for the three men. They made another vain attempt to reach Garcia, and then wandered through the streets until dawn. Don Christobal was beginning to talk incoherently, and showed all the signs of approaching dementia. Again and again Dick led them back to the adobe house and wandered through the empty rooms. The half-breed had taken to his heels.
Natividad was not in a much better condition than his companions, and when the first morning train started, it carried three specters in one compartment. Other travelers, hesitating at the door, literally bolted when they saw their wild eyes.
The train went as far as Sicuani, but they did not reach it the same day, being obliged to pass a night at Juliaca, nearly ten thousand feet above sea-level, where they again found the trace of the Red Ponchos. It was intensely cold, and all three were taken with mountain sickness, which made them so weak that they were forced to take some rest. They only partially recovered next day, at Sicuani. There was a motor service between Sicuani and Cuzco, which was working despite the revolution, but the Marquis, unwilling to trust anybody or anything, bought a car for himself at a fabulous price. He was also moved by the thought that it might prove useful later on.
Just as they were leaving the station road in their motor, they met Uncle Francis, cool, unperturbed, and fresh as a daisy. An avalanche of questions did not ruffle his calm.
“Well, I lost you at Arequipa and did not know what to do. Then I said to myself; ‘They are sure to be somewhere near the Red Ponchos.’ We are following them, are we not? So when I saw one, I stuck to him like a leech. I followed him to a little house near the river, which was guarded by soldiers. That, said I to myself, must be where these dear children are being kept prisoners. You did not appear, and I thought you had gone ahead. Everybody knows where these ceremonies take place, I suppose. But I did not, so I stuck to my Red Poncho. When they went to the station, I followed. Somebody told me it was a special train and I couldn’t get in, but I gave the guard two soles and slept in his van. When we arrived, I couldn’t see you anywhere. I went on to Cuzco, but you were not there either. So I came back to meet this morning’s train. And here I am!”
Uncle Francis does not realize to this day how near he came to being strangled by his dutiful nephew, or stabbed by the Marquis. His superb calm nearly drove them frantic.
“Where did they take Maria-Teresa?” demanded Dick, roughly, though he owed the unconscious tracker more thanks than blame.
“You know well enough! To the House of the Serpent.”
“The House of the Serpent!” Dick turned, to Natividad, gripping his sleeve. “I have heard you say something about that place. What does it mean?”
“It means that they are in the Antechamber of Death.”