“When the two return,” said Julio, “we will get some more information; then we will start.”
“You say we will start. Will something prevent us from reaching the place, Julio?” quietly asked the Governor.
“We will reach the tomb, but not for several hours yet,” he replied; “and now I must have the motorman return to his seat. We must be prepared to follow wherever they go.”
The exquisite notes of a bird close by, went out upon the air. People passing stopped and looked for the bird in every direction. Failing to see it they hurried on. At the first sound the motorman came out of the store carrying a large package, which he handed to Julio, and without a word climbed to his seat on the top of the cab.
“That was your secret signal, was it not, Julio, which you told me you had invented?” asked Señor Guillermo Gonzales.
“It was, my friend, and it works to perfection. I will explain the principle of it later. See! the trio are coming from the bar,” replied Julio.
Once more they were intent in their thoughts and looks upon the three strange people in disguise.
Leo Leander said, evidently continuing a sentence she had begun at the bar: “Oh, yes, I know quite well the way to the Motuble tomb. After her tragic death was noised about, I met a friend of hers to whom I expressed a desire to see the old tomb and to know its strange history. He told me the story of the Marriet Motuble who lived in a life gone by, also the pathetic tale of the child, Catalina Martinet, for whom the tomb was built. I expressed a desire to see it. He gave me this key, which was presented to him by the deceased señorita, who begged him, if it fell to her lot to pass away first, to visit the tomb often, and grant the same privilege to his friends. Curious to see the tomb, I hurried out to the city of the dead, and had just arrived, when two men clothed in black, and carrying a large, heavy metallic coffin, entered the tomb, deposited their burden and hastened away. No one was present but myself, and they evidently took me for an officer of law. For they had not gone very far when one of the miserable cowards came running back; he handed me a paper and requested me to sign it. At first I refused; but the poor devil insisted that I was the proper person to sign it, and if I refused they would be imprisoned on their return without my name. So intent were they, that I was worked up to the belief that I was the person who should sign it, and I mustered up courage and wrote the first name that came to me, other than my own.”
“And what name was it?” asked Mr. Martinez.
“Julio Murillo,” calmly replied Leo Leander.