The moment the coast was clear, Merle jumped up.
“Quick! Mr. Willoughby. Follow me downstairs. I’ll take you through the kitchen to the rose gardens.”
It was a strange looking duenna that stalked after Merle, with a robe reaching only to the knees. But at the head of the kitchen stairway Dick discarded the now useless garments, flinging them across the balustrade.
“We must trust to our good luck now, Merle,” he said.
“Never fear. It won’t desert us. Hurry on.”
At the clump of oleanders they found Tia Teresa, provided with another shawl. Not a moment was to be wasted in words. Merle just pressed Dick’s hand by way of farewell. As he hastened away down the dark path, she, too, sped from the spot.
Perhaps fifteen minutes later Ben Thurston, going the round of the house, came to the head of the kitchen stairs. He saw the black cloak and mantilla on the balustrade.
“By God!” he cried with swift inspiration of what had happened. “We’ve been properly fooled! Where is that old hag of a duenna?”
Gathering the vestments in his hands he rushed through the house to the verandah. Merle was quietly seated with her mother and Grace. But there was no sign now of Tia Teresa.
Sharkey had followed close on his employer’s heels. Munson came a few paces behind.