“Las Golondrinas covers much ground. I know a little; not much,” was the evasive answer.
“I am sure you must know something of the queer old woman who lives in a little cottage outside the estate, and just beyond the orange groves,” Patsy coolly challenged. “Who is she and how long has she lived there?”
“Ah, yes, I know.”
Carlos blew a cloud of cigarette smoke into the air and indifferently watched it drift away.
“She is Rosita,” he shrugged. “Always she has lived there. As children she and old Manuel played together. Her father was the servant of his father, Enrico Fereda. Rosita is the widow for many years.”
Three pairs of alert ears avidly picked up the name “Enrico.” Here it seemed was still another member of the Fereda family.
“Is she crazy?”
It was Mabel who now tactlessly interposed with this blunt question.
It had an electrical effect upon Carlos. His attitude of bored indifference left him. His lax shoulders straightened with an angry jerk. His black eyes narrowed in sinister fashion.