“We think so. Tonight she stole the Zudi drum, and Lorinda and I found her with Antón and other followers celebrating their rites in a cave near the beach.”
“Then they have reverted to their heathen ways!” the banker exclaimed. “My wife always said Celeste hated her, but I, like a blind fool, refused to see it. Once during the years I spent in the jungle, Celeste saved my life and I always felt grateful to her. Now I must forget that, for she is a dangerous woman if she seeks to practice her jungle magic.”
“You don’t actually believe Celeste could make your wife ill merely by suggestion?” Jerry inquired in amazement.
“In the jungles I have seen a native die from superficial wounds. If told the spear which struck him had been sung over by an enemy, the native would simply lie down, refuse food and pine away. My wife is in great danger!”
“Can nothing be done?” cried Penny.
Mr. Rhett’s face tightened into hard, grim lines. “A great deal can be done,” he said. “But Celeste must be fought with her own jungle weapons. To turn her over to the police will not be sufficient. She is inside the closet you say—let me talk to her.”
“Okay,” agreed Jerry, “but Celeste in her present mood is a pretty brisk customer. To make sure she doesn’t get away, I’ll lock the pressroom door before letting her out of her cage.”
As the reporter went to the exit, Penny heard the pressmen at the other end of the room shout that the storm had abated.
“The hurricane has not passed,” corrected Mr. Rhett quietly. “This lull merely marks the end of the first phase. The wind will return harder than ever in a few minutes from another quarter.”
Jerry returned, and taking the key to the storage room from his pocket, cautiously unlocked the door. Celeste, blinking like an owl as she staggered out under the electric lights, gasped as she saw Mr. Rhett.