“Where are we going?” asked Casper.
“You’ll see,” replied Shirley. “Dandy little car, isn’t it? Mr. Uhler told me last night, that I could use it. It’s the runabout that goes to the station.”
Casper settled back. They had reached the gates; the girl was taking a road to the right. Casper decided that the trip would not last long. His own plans could wait until later.
SHIRLEY was picking rambling roads. They were lost in a maze of woods. Apparently, the girl was following some course that had been explained to her. The car passed an open space on the right.
Casper caught a glimpse of Uhler’s house, less than a mile away. He realized that the course had brought them in a circle.
“This must be it!” Shirley exclaimed, a minute later, as a clearing appeared. “Now you’ll see where we’re going. One of the servants told me about the place this morning. The gypsy camp!”
Before Casper could utter a word, the car was out of the woods. Shirley applied the brakes and came to a stop directly in front of a cluster of tents and wagons.
“All out,” decided the girl, shoving Casper ahead of her. “Come on — we’re going to see the gypsies.”
“Don’t disturb them,” protested Casper. “They are odd folk. They do not like strangers—”
“Look!” Shirley grasped her companion’s arms. “In front of that tent. It’s Madame Lorenna! Come — we’re going to speak to her.”
The girl hurried forward. Casper, chewing his lips, saw her approach a gypsy woman. Shirley was right.
It was Lorenna. Words passed; the girl entered the tent with the fortune teller.
A stooping man looked up. He beckoned with his hand, as he pointed to a tent beside Lorenna’s. Casper nodded. It was Valdo. This was the destination that Casper had really chosen for his stroll. His mention of the river had been merely a ruse to deceive Shirley Laustin.
Casper knew that he must talk to Valdo now. They must plan to keep Shirley quiet. He had promised to see Valdo before the coming night. This would have to be the opportunity, while Shirley was talking with Lorenna.
Valdo had entered his tent. Casper, easing his pace, strolled in that direction. He noted the faces of gypsies as he passed. Men — women — children — even the mules that traveled with this assorted company seemed to notice the well-dressed gajo, but with a single glance only.
There was one exception. A tall gypsy, standing at the next tent to Valdo’s, gazed steadily in Casper’s direction as the visitor passed. Rodney Casper did not observe the keen face of the silent Rom who watched him.
The gypsy’s face was most unusual. A chiseled profile; a hawklike nose; steady, motionless expression — it was the visage of a living, burnished statue. Most remarkable of all, however, were the eyes that peered from that dark-stained countenance.
Gypsy in garb, gypsy in color, none would have taken this silent watcher as other than a member of the nomad tribe — not even the members of the band themselves.
But those eyes — to those who knew — would have given a different identity. The eyes of the tall gypsy were the eyes of The Shadow!
CHAPTER XVII. CASPER PREPARES
“Los hombres, senor. They have come. I have seen them near the house to-day.”
Valdo was speaking in Spanish. Rodney Casper nodded with approval as he stood within the little gypsy tent.
“Speak thus, Valdo,” he replied, in the same language. “None can understand us. Some of your tribe may know English.”
“But not Spanish, senor.” Valdo shook his head and showed his teeth in a gleaming smile. “All are Rom; but I am the only one who has lived with los Gitanos.”
“About the men,” queried Casper. “When did they get here?”
“Last night, perhaps. But you were wise, senor. They would not strike while many people were at the house. Tonight—”
“Where are they located?”
“On the side below.”
“How many?”
“I can only guess, senor.” Valdo, as he raised his fingers, reverted to gypsy dialect: “okhto, enea, desh” then, in Spanish — “ocho, nueve, diez.”
Rodney Casper nodded. Eight, nine, or ten. A formidable band should the crooks gain entry to the house, with Uhler’s servants not suspecting a gang attack.
“How many can you muster?” quizzed Casper.
“Bish—” Valdo spread both hands twice.
“Veinte?” asked Casper, not sure of the Romany term for twenty. Valdo nodded.
“I shall move about,” assured Valdo. “I have two men — they are Czigany — who will watch from beyond that porch. In the woods, senor, will be the others. When I come to my two, they will go to bring the rest.”
“Good. We must work early, by ten o’clock if possible. There will be no guests tonight — except Laustin — who will be back at nine, I feel sure. Half past nine — that is the time, Valdo, unless I signal from the upstairs window. The flash of light will mean—”
“That we must wait?”
“Yes. One half hour.”
“Until ten.”
There was a pause. Valdo broke in with a serious question:
“The girl, senor. Why did you bring her here?”
“She brought me,” returned Casper, with a wry smile. “Worse than that, she recognized Lorenna. This girl is Laustin’s daughter.”
“She must not speak—”
“Do not worry. She likes Lorenna. I shall caution her to say nothing.”
“All is well, then, senor. If she is a friend to Lorenna, you may be sure that Lorenna has also spoken to her.”
CASPER stepped from the tent. Shirley Laustin was not in sight. The young man beckoned Valdo to follow. As he turned, Casper noticed the tall gypsy standing by the next tent. He wondered if the fellow could have been listening.
Next, he noted the man’s profile, as the gypsy stared across the camp. The features seemed oddly familiar; yet Casper, keen though his observation was, never thought of connecting the gypsy with Lamont Cranston.
“Who is that fellow?” he queried in Spanish, as Valdo stepped in view.
“When I brought our band here, from in New Jersey,” explained Valdo, “he joined us. That was yesterday. He is going on to find his own tribe, farther north.”
“You are sure he is not un Gitano?”
“He is of the Ziegeuner. From Germany. He speaks different from the rest. This tribe has Czigany, Zingaro and the rest are from England.”
“Ordinary gypsies?”
“Si, senor. They do not speak Romany well. Tacho romani jib — the old language — they have lost it in England.”
Casper was nodding; his head toward the ground. Another idea occurred to him. He pushed the gypsy back into the tent. Drawing a telegraph blank from his pocket, Casper began to print a message.
“Give this to one of your men, Valdo,” ordered Casper. “Here” — he drew coins from his pocket — “is the exact amount. Have your man take it to the station. The office closes at half past eight. The agent will be busy.
“Your man will push this through the window. He will say ‘Telegram’ — that is all. Then he must go before the agent sees him.”
“I understand.” replied Valdo. “So the agent will think that my man is gajo.”
“Yes.”
Casper peered from the tent. He made a quick parting gesture to Valdo; then stepped through the flaps.
Shirley Laustin had come from Lorenna’s tent. The girl appeared solemn as she saw Rodney Casper.
Together, they walked back to the roadster. Shirley took the wheel and drove slowly away.
“You talked with Lorenna,” remarked Casper, in an easy tone.
“Yes,” replied Shirley.
“What did she tell you?” questioned the man.