"Curious! I call it sinful--positively wicked," said the old gentleman wrathfully."Just fancy two hundred thousand dollars hanging on the accident of finding a parchment in such a place as that.""How did you happen to find it?" asked Gerald."I should never have thought of looking for it there.""No; nor any other sane man," sputtered the lawyer, irritated, as he recalled the anxiety the missing deed had caused him."It was found by accident, I tell you.Some blundering, awkward, heaven-guided servant knocked the picture down and broke the frame.The Madonna was removed, and the missing paper came to light.""And that was the turning-point of the case.Very interesting indeed," said Gerald, who saw in the working out of this legal romance a bit of detective writing such as his soul loved."Isuppose they'll have sense enough to put it in a safer place next time?""I will, you may bet your life.I've taken charge of all the family documents; and if they get away from me, they'll do something that nothing's ever done before;" and the old lawyer chuckled with renewed satisfaction as he pointed to the massive safe in a corner of the office.
"So the deed is there, is it?" asked Gerald, following Mr.Hall's eyes.
"Yes, it's there.A curious old document too; one of the oldest grants I have ever come across.Would you like to see it?" and the lawyer rose and opened the safe.
It was a curious old document drawn up in curious old Spanish, on an old discolored piece of parchment.The body of the instrument was unintelligible to Ffrench, but down in one corner was something that riveted his attention in a moment and seemed to make his heart stand still.
There was a signature in old-fashioned angular handwriting, Rodriguez Costello y Ugarte, and opposite to it a large, spreading seal.The impression showed a knight's head and shoulders in full armor, below it the motto, Nemo me impune lacessit, and a shield of arms, party per fess, azure below, argent above, counter-vair on the argent.Point for point the identical blazonry which Ffrench had received from the Heralds' College in England--the shield that he had first seen embroidered on the dead girl's handkerchief at Drim.
"What's the matter with you? Didn't you ever see an old Spanish deed before, or has it any of the properties of Medusa's head?"inquired Mr.Hall, noticing Gerald's start of amazement and intent scrutiny of the seal.
"I've seen these arms before," said the young man slowly."But the name--" He placed his finger on the signature."Of course, I knew Vincenza's name must be different from his half-sister's; but is that hers?""Ugarte? Yes," said the lawyer, glancing at the parchment.
"I mean the whole name," and Gerald pointed again.
"Costello!" Mr.Hall gave the word its Spanish pronunciation, "Costelyo," and it sounded strange and foreign in the young man's ears."Costello, yes, I suppose so; but I don't try to keep track of more of these Spaniards' titles than is absolutely necessary.""But Costello is an Irish name," said Gerald.
"Is it? You ought to know.Well Costelyo is Spanish; and now, my dear boy, I must positively turn you out."Gerald went straight home without returning to the office.
He unlocked his desk, and took from it the two results of his first essay in detective craft.Silently he laid them side by side and scrutinized each closely in turn.The pale, set face of the beautiful dead, as reproduced by the photographer's art, told him nothing.He strove to trace some resemblance, to awaken some memory, by long gazing at the passionless features, but it was in vain.Then he turned to the illuminated shield.Every line was familiar to him, and a glance sufficed.It was identical in all respects with the arms on the seal.Of this he had been already convinced, and his recollection had not betrayed him.Then he placed the two--the piteous photograph and the proud blazonry--in his pocket-book, and left the room.The same evening he took his place on the Sacramento train en route for Marysville.
When Gerald reached San Luis, the postoffice address of the Ugarte ranch, a disappointment awaited him.Evening was falling, and inquiry elicited the fact that Don Vincenza's residence was still twelve miles distant.Ffrench, after his drive of eighteen miles over the dusty road from Marysville, was little inclined to go further, so he put up his horse at a livery stable, resolved to make the best of such accommodations as San Luis afforded.
The face of the man who took the reins when Ffrench alighted seemed familiar.The young fellow looked closer at him, and it was evident the recognition was mutual, for the stableman accosted him by name, and in the broad, familiar dialect of western Leinster.
"May I niver ate another bit if it isn't Masther Gerald Ffrench!"he said."Well, well, well, but it's good for sore eyes to see ye.
Come out here, Steve, an' take the team.Jump down, Masther Gerald, an' stretch yer legs a bit.It's kilt ye are entirely."A swarthy little Mexican appeared, and led the tired horses into the stable.Then the young journalist took a good look at the man who seemed to know him so well, and endeavored, as the phrase goes, to "place him.""Ye don't mind me, yer honor, an' how wud ye? But I mind yersilf well.Sure it's often I've druv ye and Mr.Edward too.I used to wurruk for Mr.Ross of Mullinger.I was Denny the postboy--Denis Driscoll, yer honor; sure ye must know me?""Oh yes, to be sure--I remember," said Gerald, as recollection slowly dawned upon him."But who'd have thought of finding you in a place like this? I didn't even know you'd left Ross's stables.""Six or siven months ago, yer honor."
"And have you been here ever since? I hope you are doing well,"said Gerald.
