The Secret of the Haunted Mirror - M. V. Carey [21]
Mrs. Darnley, exasperated, came in from the hall. “I can’t call the police. That storm must have blown down the telephone lines too.”
“Well, there’s no hurry, is there, Grandma?” asked Jean. “The spook is gone, whoever he is, and at least we know it wasn’t Señor Santora or the skinny guy who broke in here. The ghost who went out the front door was much too tall to be either of them.”
“When … how did the ghost go out the front door?” asked Pete. “Didn’t you try to stop him?”
“About twenty minutes ago,” said Jeff Parkinson. “We wanted to stop him, Jupe and I. I had this mallet, you see, and I was going to bop him a good one only … only he came out of that trunk down in the cellar like some kind of a screaming nightmare and I … I panicked.”
“It was real spooky,” Jean put in. “I knew something weird might come busting out of that room and I thought I was ready for it, but I screamed. Jupe’s the only one who managed to do anything. He grabbed a hunk of the robe the man was wearing, and tomorrow he’s going to try to find out where it came from.”
“It’s a very unusual material,” Jupe told the others as he pulled the piece of cloth from his pocket. “Heavy black wool with a lot of silver threads. Very theatrical. It may turn out to be a most valuable clue to the identity of our mysterious ghost. And what have you to report?”
“Santora’s in the hospital,” said Pete, “and that little guy we thought might have been hired by him to burgle this place and swipe the mirror is not his confederate.”
Pete then reported, as briefly as possible, what had happened at the Beverly Sunset Hotel. “After the burglar whopped Santora on the head, he went down the stairs and probably out the service entrance. Worthington and Bob were watching out in front and they didn’t see him leave. We waited and watched until an ambulance came and took Santora away.”
“I could kick myself,” said Bob bitterly. “I should have been at that service entrance. Worthington could have kept an eye on the front door. We might have been able to trail that guy, or at least get his licence number.”
“It was exceedingly remiss of us,” said Worthington. “However, both Master Robert and I assumed that the man planned to meet Señor Santora. We felt no need to watch for his departure from the hotel, especially after we saw Señor Santora return.”
“You’re not the only one to have a clue, though,” Pete told Jupiter. He took a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. “The burglar dropped this in the hallway. I can’t read it. It’s not in English. But if that guy wanted it, it must be important. It’s a letter, and, Mrs. Darnley, your name is mentioned.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Darnley sat down. The lights suddenly went on. “Well, thank goodness for that,” said Mrs. Darnley. “Jean, put out these candles before we burn the place down and let’s see what’s in that paper Pete picked up.” She glanced at it, then looked around. “Does anybody here read Spanish or Portuguese?”
“I know a little Spanish, Mrs. Darnley,” said Jupiter. He took the paper and read it through, frowning and pulling at his lower lip as he customarily did when he was concentrating intensely.
“It’s dated five days ago,” he announced at last, “and it’s addressed to ‘My dear Rafael.’”
“I believe that Señor Santora’s Christian name is Rafael,” said Mrs. Darnley. “He mentioned it the first time he came here. What else?”
“It’s signed only with initials,” said Jupiter. “A.F.G. I can’t translate it exactly, but it goes something like this:
My dear Rafael,
I do not think you have made a mistake in telling Señora Darnley the history of the Chiavo glass, but it will take time to obtain the documents. If you can purchase the mirror without them, and very quickly, so much the better. I am very fearful of Juan Gómez. He is