“It is that eccentric old uncle of yours,” answered the lieutenant of police.
“Ah, and what of him?” said Teresa. The hand of fear released its strangling clutch.
As through a mist she gazed at the lieutenant, who replied: “I take the liberty of informing you, as his niece, señorita. It may be of interest now that you have found him gone. I had the felicity of seeing you drive to his house yesterday.”
“And you wish to tell me something about his voyage?”
“Yes. On the night he embarked in that wretched steamer of his, I was leaving a party of friends. It was quite late. A carriage came tearing along like the devil. Too fast, I thought. So I stepped out and halted it. Your uncle sat beside that Indian boy of his who was driving. The carriage was filled to the top with bags and valises and blankets. A reproof was all I intended. And it seemed worth looking into, this driving so fast late at night. I recognized your uncle and was about to say something pleasant, but he seemed immensely startled. He nearly tumbled from the seat, like a man stricken with illness. The boy caught hold of him and they went on through the gate. His steamer sailed the next morning, so I suppose it was nothing serious. His health interests you, I have no doubt, Señorita Fernandez. I said to myself that old Ramon Bazán should have stayed in his comfortable house if he was as feeble as that. Have you heard from him?”
“Not yet,” replied Teresa. “It is wonderfully kind of you. What else could be expected of an officer so polite and attractive? Yes, my uncle must have been ill. It was his heart. He is taken like that when excited or frightened.”
“He has my prayers,” exclaimed the lieutenant. “It must be lonely for you. I am at your feet. Any service in the world—”
He bowed himself out, having made an impression, so he flattered himself. It had been a clever excuse to win the favor of a girl who had inspired his passionate ardor. Teresa lingered in the reception room of the bank trying to read the riddle of a doddering uncle who had been driving at furious speed to board his ship late in the night. Why had he almost died with one of his heart attacks when an affable lieutenant of police had merely halted the carriage to question the driver? Uncle Ramon must have been mortally afraid of being detected in some secretive stratagem.
“That lieutenant is a handsome doll with a wooden head!” mused Teresa. “Why didn’t he poke inside the carriage? He might have found something under all that baggage. My trip to Panama looks wiser than ever. I shall never rest until I find out why my uncle was almost scared to death.”
Haste was not urgent, so Teresa walked several blocks at a leisurely gait in search of a carriage. She stopped to look into the dusty window of a pawnshop. It occurred to her that her pilgrimage might lead her into unpleasant places. In the sailors’ haunts of tropical ports a woman ran certain risks. She could not think of carrying another little automatic pistol in her pocket. The very sight of one in the pawnshop window made her shudder.