CHAPTER IV
Although Hayden proved himself reluctantly regardful of the butterflylady's very evident desire to be left alone, he did not at once leave thehotel. Instead, he strolled into the office and after loitering aboutthere for a few moments, he was just leaving when he encounteredPenfield, Horace Penfield. Ordinarily, Hayden would have avoided him ashe would fire and pestilence; but to-night he rather went out of his wayto secure Penfield's society.
Penfield was a thin man with slightly stooping shoulders and a neck thatcraned forward. He had a long pale face as narrow as a wedge, a nose assharp as a fox's, keen, ferret-like eyes, and white lashes. No longeryoung, he yet managed to achieve this effect and retain the manner ofyouth. His claims to social distinction rested on the solid basis offear. He was a walking bureau of information, a daily newspaper. When theharsh vituperation of those who, having nothing more to lose, had nothingmore to gain, occasionally assailed him, he had been heard callously toassert that he preferred being dangerous to being ineffective, and thathe would infinitely rather be a menace to society than its victim. Inshort, the profession of scandal-mongering he pursued with concentration,finesse, and infinite tact. If for himself he achieved eminence, becamemaster of his craft, it was doubtless sufficient recompense.
"Hello, Hayden," he said in his thin, satirical voice. "How are you andyour affairs?"
"All right, I guess," said Hayden indifferently.
For a season they talked on various subjects, falling gradually into adiscussion of the merits of certain mining propositions, until Haydensaid with premeditated suddenness:
"By the way, Penfield, have you ever heard of the Butterfly mine orestate?"
"The Butterfly!" repeated Penfield slowly. "The Butterfly!" He pinchedhis lower lip meditatively. "Let me see! One of those Mexican mines,isn't it? Or wait a moment," shrewdly. "I may have mines on the brainbecause we've been talking about them. Upon my word, Hayden," his faceflushing with shame, his professional pride sadly wounded, "I'm awfullysorry; but to tell the truth, I can't just put my finger on it. Yetsomewhere, lately, I've heard of it. Did I read of it or hear peoplespeaking of it?" He drew his hand over his brow, looking really worried."Come on and walk down the Avenue with me," he said. "Maybe the night airwill refresh my memory, and I'll be able to think it out as we movealong."
But the night air could hardly be regarded as a potent factor inrestoring Penfield's recollections, for they walked some distance and hehad succeeded in offering no answer to Hayden's question; and although hestrove lightly to discuss the various topics which arose between them, hewas manifestly so perturbed and dismayed that Hayden felt his contemptmitigated by a faint touch of pity.
Finally, when about to cross from one side of the street to the other,they paused to give an oncoming motor the right of way. As it went flyingpast them, a woman leaned forward and bowed and smiled. It was the ladyof the butterflies, and in the white light of the electric lamp Haydensaw seated beside her the same gray, elderly, unobtrusive man with whomshe had entered the Gildersleeve.
"By George! Marcia Oldham!" cried Penfield.
Marcia Oldham! What a coincidence! What luck! Hayden exulted. So Kitty'sFairy princess and his fairy princess were identical. It was surely oneof the most incredible and delightful of happenings. Now Kitty Hamptonshould have an opportunity to prove that cousinly affection of which shewas always assuring him.
"You know her, of course?" asked Penfield.
"I have recently met her," replied Hayden briefly.
"Queer thing about that family," meditated Penfield.
"Queer? How? What do you mean?" exclaimed Hayden involuntarily, althoughhe bitterly reproached himself a moment later, for having, as heexpressed it, so far forgotten himself as to ask any questions ofPenfield.
Penfield chuckled, an arid, biting chuckle it was, too. His facebrightened up, his crestfallen manner merged happily into jauntiness, hisself-respect was restored. He was again the authoritative gossip.
"You know, of course, of old Oldham. One of the millionaires of the lastdecade. Well, with changing times, changing methods of finance, he losthis grip, and about five years ago he died, heavily involved, leaving awidow and one young daughter, Marcia. Mrs. Oldham had been a Southernwoman of the old regime, and was a pretty, absolutely helpless creature,and Marcia was still at school.
"Of course it raised a storm of talk. They had been used to every luxury,all the ease of wealth; they relied on the machinery, you know, to lookafter them, and it never entered into their heads that the wheels couldstop. When they did stop, as you can imagine, every one was discussingthe poor Oldhams. There was the greatest raising of hands and lowering ofvoices and mopping of eyes whenever their names were mentioned." His aridchuckle seemed to strike Hayden like the spatter of hail.
"'What will become of them?' 'What can they do?' 'A helpless woman likeMrs. Oldham and a young daughter!'" He mimicked feminine voices. "Youheard that sort of thing bleated on every side. All the women advancedpositive opinions on just what they ought to do. The consensus, Ibelieve, amounted to this, that it was the part of wisdom for the Oldhamsto sell everything they had left and depart for some obscure German orFrench town where Marcia might perfect herself in the languages and fitherself for a nursery governess or something of that kind.
"But"--again a fit of laughing which almost choked him--"to thedisapproval, even horror and disgust of all kind friends, the eccentricOldhams did nothing of the kind. They went along as they always had, andcertainly they did not then display nor ever have displayed any lack ofmoney. They live simply, entertain very little; but Marcia who isconsidered a beauty goes out constantly. She is seen everywhere, dressesquite as well as her school friends, Kitty Hampton and Bea Habersham,with whom she always appears, and who, as of course you know, have bothmarried enormous amounts of money. Her extravagance is hardly discreet,considering a watchful and censorious world; but when one has suchpowerful and extremely loyal friends, discretion is unnecessary."
"She paints beautifully, I understand," said Hayden indignantly.
Penfield's thin laughter stabbed his ear-drums. "If she sold in a yearall the pretty little pictures she paints it would barely pay for hergowns. No, that won't do. But," and a new note crept into Penfield'svoice, "did you see that old duffer who was with her? That's where sheshows her discretion. He is kept very much in the background. It is onlyoccasionally that she appears with him."
"Who is he?" asked Hayden gruffly, desperately ashamed of himself forstooping to question Penfield.
Penfield elevated his eyebrows and spread his hands. "Let us hope that heis the rich uncle from Australia," he said gently. "Ah, Hayden, Bea andKitty have managed the affair with Wilfred Ames beautifully so far. TheyHave almost succeeded in pulling it off in spite of the reluctant ladyand Wilfred's raving mother; but Wilfred, good, old, thick-wittedWilfred, is becoming daily more uncomfortable. Fido won't lie down and goto sleep on the hearth-rug as Kitty and Bea wish him to. On the contrary,owing to his mother's watchful vigilance, he is sniffing around quitesuspiciously, and," with a series of chuckles, "I believe, although I amnot sure yet, that the fair Marcia has a rival, and a rival to bereckoned with, I assure you."
Hayden felt he had stood all that he could. Penfield really was toooffensive. His first impulse was to turn on his heel and leave hiscompanion without a word; but on second thoughts, he decided to retainPenfield's company, and put into execution a little plan which wasrapidly maturing in his brain, and which appealed to his hazard-lovingfancy. It was a mere chance, one in a million, but he considered it worthtaking. Penfield knew all the world and its affairs. He, more than anyone Hayden could think of, might be of use to him in a certain Argonauticexpedition he was adventuring upon. He decided to put it to the test,anyway.
"So you, too, are interested in mines," he said, with an easy change ofsubject. "Well," with a short laugh, "as far as they are concerned, Ihappen to be in the position of a man who sees a spring of water in thedesert and may not stoop
to drink of it."
"What on earth do you mean?" cried Horace. His head shot forward, hisnose twitched. He scented a fresh piece of news as a dog scents truffles."Have you found a fortune?" His curiosity was as fully aroused as Haydenhoped.
They had reached the latter's apartment by this time and Hayden paused amoment on the step. "Come in," he said, "and I will tell you. You havenot seen my diggings, anyway."
By what he considered a sheer stroke of luck, he, Hayden, had not beentwo days in New York, when an old friend, who was under the necessity oftaking a long journey with the expectation of being absent severalmonths, urged him to take possession of the apartment he and his wifewere temporarily vacating. After a sight of it, Hayden gladly embracedthe opportunity and now, he and his Japanese servant, Tatsu, thecompanion of ten wandering years, were installed in beautiful andluxurious quarters which had come without the lifting of a finger tosecure them.
Here was a fresh field for Penfield's inevitable investigations, andHayden's disclosures of his private affairs, deeply as they interestedhim, could wait a bit. Horace was patient by nature and training. "Onething at a time," was a favorite motto, and it was not until he hadexhausted the possibilities of the apartment and had peered into everynook and corner, that he consented to sit down in the comfortable libraryand express his commendation of the place and envy Hayden's luck.
Robert, on his part, had followed his guest about, replying mechanicallyto his questions and endeavoring to throw off a depression which hadcrept over him.
The night had been cold, and to one with any decency of feeling, Penfieldwas a disagreeable companion; but if noxious he also had his uses, andthe more Hayden pondered the matter, the more he was strengthened in hisdecision to secure Penfield's assistance. The humor for it grew upon himas the reassuring comfort and cheer of his surroundings graduallypermeated his consciousness.
He was, as he felt, really risking very little. As he had said to Horace,he was in the position of a man who has found a spring in the desert, butmay not stoop to drink. No, all the publicity Penfield could give to thefact of his, Hayden's, discovery of the spring might be of incalculablebenefit to him in his search for the owners of a certain property, andcould, under no circumstances work him an injury, so long as he kept thesecret of the situation inviolably locked in his breast, and no matterwhose imagination might be fired by the tale, he felt a reasonablesecurity. Experienced prospectors, experts in their line, hadbeen seeking this symbolic well in the desert for twenty-five years andhe, not by virtue of his skill or knowledge, but by a mere fluke, aglorious accident, had stumbled on it. It was hardly likely that anothershould have a similar experience, within the space of the next few monthsat any rate, and the next few months were all he asked.
The wood-fire on the hearth flickered redly over the walls, the lampswere lighted in anticipation of his arrival; easy chairs were drawn nearthe fire; books, papers and magazines were temptingly displayed on thetable.
"What were we talking about before we came up?" said Hayden, with theeffect of mental effort.
"Mines," Horace replied promptly. "You were about to tell me of a bigfind you've made. Go on."
"Ah, yes. But"--Hayden laughed a little ruefully--"you've put the thingentirely too definitely when you say 'a big find I've made.' The botherof it is that I have and I haven't."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Horace, cocking his head sidewise andlooking at his host speculatively.
"Just what I say," replied the latter. "You see, it happened down inSouth America, several months ago. We were running a railroad through agreat estate, oh, an enormous estate in the mountains. You could getabout any variation of climate and soil you wanted. Well, there was atradition about the place which I heard again and again, and whichgradually grew to haunt my imagination; it was that somewhere on thisestate was a lost mine of stupendous value; and that although no one hadapparently any idea where it might be located, or had succeeded infinding a trace of it, nevertheless, according to current report, it hadbeen worked within the last quarter of a century, that is, worked in aprimitive and intermittent sort of way."
"But," interrupted Penfield, "twenty-five years! That of course is withinthe memory of dozens of people. What on earth--"
"Wait," said Hayden. "Your part of this game is to listen calmly, notinterrupt. Don't you suppose I considered all those points? Now to goback into the history of the thing; this is the story that I gathered,here a little, there a little, and gradually pieced together.
"This vast estate was one of the holdings of a very ancient and nobleSpanish family. It was, as I have said, situated in the mountains, andnaturally comprised great tracts of valueless land, barren and rocky,although there were also fertile valleys and broad cultivated plateaus. Agreat mansion, the home of Don Raimond De Leon, the owner of the estate,was situated on one of these plateaus and commanded one of the mostbeautiful views one could dream of. One gazes down the mountain side onfields of corn and alfalfa, green as emerald, and orchards of bloomingfruit-trees; down, down these terraces fall until at their feet lie thetropical valleys with their orange and pineapple groves, and wild,luxuriant vegetation; and then, one turns and glances upward; above himthe barren mountain sides, the summits austere, remote, covered withperpetual snow.
"Well, here surrounded by every form of natural scenery, there lived, Isay, this old don and his only daughter, Lolita. Of course she had a namea mile long, Maria Annunciata Mercedes Eugenie and all the rest, but theycalled her Lolita for convenience. The traditions of their rank werealways rigidly maintained. They lived in feudal state and splendor,occasionally journeying to Spain; and the daughter, in addition to herbeauty, was possessed of all the graces and accomplishments of a youngwoman of her class.
"But while yet in the flower of her beauty and youth, an Americanadventurer, a soldier of fortune, appeared upon the scene. He had eithercome by design or strayed there by mistake, probably the former; butthat, however, is immaterial. He happened to possess those firstrequisites of the successful soldier of fortune--a charming personality,a pretty wit, and a most ready address. In a very short time, thehacienda and all that it contained were his. He captured not only thedaughter but the old don himself, and to him the latter confided thesource of the family's almost illimitable wealth, the source, but notits location; and this source was a hidden mine, called oddly enough'The Veiled Mariposa.'"
Penfield started as if he had been shot. "What did you say that namewas?" he cried, his ferret-face sharpened with eagerness.
"The Veiled Mariposa," repeated Hayden, watching him keenly, andoverjoyed at the success of his plan. It was evident that Horace knewsomething. "Mariposa is the Spanish name for butterfly, you know."
"By Jove, what a coincidence!" muttered Penfield.
"A coincidence? How? What do you mean?" It was Robert's turn to be eagernow. "Have you heard of it? Have you?"
Penfield shook his head. "Not of it exactly, but--but--"
"But--but--" repeated Hayden impatiently. He felt injured and showed it."You evidently know something, but you won't tell me. Do you think thatis playing quite fair, Horace?"
"Bosh! I'm playing fair all right. I'll tell you fast enough when there'sanything to tell. What I have in mind may be the merest coincidence,probably is. I want to do a bit of thinking first before I say anything.But go on with your story. What has all this to do with you?"
"Where was I? Oh, yes." Hayden took up the thread of his narrative again."Well, the soldier of fortune married the don's lovely daughter with theold father's entire approval. They had a great wedding, the festivitieslasting for days. Don Raimond bestowed bags and bags of gold and silveron them, and they sailed away for France.
"Now, contrary to the customary fate of such unions, the marriagealthough childless turned out happily. For the next ten years or so, theAmerican and his Spanish wife, his name by the way was Willoughby, livedin great magnificence in the various capitals of Europe, maintaining analmost royal state and entertaining consta
ntly on a grand scale.Occasionally, they visited the father in South America, and once or twicehe visited them, and the bags of gold were always punctually forthcoming.
"Then suddenly, a most appalling thing happened. The district in whichthe old don lived was swept by a plague of unusual virulence. De Leonsuccumbed before he had time to make any disposition of his property,even write a line to his daughter. His Yankee overseer in charge of themine was also stricken the same day and followed his employer within afew hours, and the Indian and Spanish laborers on the estate went likesheep. There is a rumor that misfortunes did not cease here, but that theplague was followed by an earthquake of a most devastating nature, andthus the population of that especial district was almost wiped out.
"As soon as the news of these disasters reached the Willoughbys they tookpassage at once for South America to verify the terrible rumors. Theyfound their worst fears confirmed, and to crown their sorrows,Willoughby, after going over De Leon's papers again and again, could findno map of the mine, nor any directions as to its location. There wererecords enough of the ore mined and shipped, all in the old don'shandwriting, but nothing to aid his son-in-law in rediscovering the mine.
"Willoughby immediately put some experienced prospectors to work andsecured the services of several geological experts, but to no avail. Themine, mentioned always in the don's documents as The Veiled Mariposa,seemed to have vanished as completely as if it had never existed, or tohave been sunk by the earthquake into the very bowels of the earth.
"All his efforts to find it having proved useless--efforts extending overseveral years--Willoughby put a young nephew of De Leon's, who hadrecently arrived from Spain, in temporary charge of the estate andreturned with his wife to France. Accustomed now for many years to avast, unconditioned expenditure, he found it impossible to contemplatethe comparative poverty which stared him in the face and he resolved totry to dispose of the whole estate, which a will of De Leon's made at thetime of her marriage conferred intact upon his daughter Lolita.
"He hoped to sell at a magnificent figure. He trusted to his own magneticeloquence and his indisputable proofs of the enormous revenues of themine to inflame the cupidity of the purchaser or purchasers to such adegree that he would find no difficulty in securing a sum which wouldenable him to live in comfort, even luxury, for the remainder of hisdays. He was not successful in arranging the matter abroad and he came tothis country about six years ago hoping to make a better bargain. Heremained here in New York several months and then sailed for France on_The Princess Verona_."
"_The Princess Verona_," interrupted Penfield. "Why, she was lost at sea;went down with a terrible loss of life."
Hayden nodded. "And neither Willoughby nor his wife was among the saved.But just before sailing, he wrote to the Spanish nephew on the oldestate, and also to his lawyers in France, announcing exultantly that hehad been successful in his mission, having sold the property at a greatfigure, and that he would shortly write of all the details of thepurchase. But from that day to this, the nephew has heard nothing furtherof the matter. There has been no effort to claim or to take possession ofthe property. That is, with this exception. Within the last six years,foreign prospectors have twice appeared on the estate, and on beingquestioned as to their business have said they came from the owners ofthe property. In both instances, however, they withheld the names of thepeople they were supposed to represent, and little credence was given totheir story.
"But nevertheless, the French lawyers believe that the estate was sold,for just before sailing Willoughby purchased drafts in New York for alarge sum of money.
"But where are the owners? Why should any one person or group of personsconsider a property sufficiently desirable as to pay such a sum for itand then apparently drop the whole matter? It's unthinkable, incredible."Hayden sprang to his feet and began to walk the floor. "That's thequestion that has been puzzling me for months. What is their game? Whatdoes their waiting mean? But that is what I am here for--to try and traceup those owners. I'm prepared to give time and money to the task, for,Horace"--a passionate exultation rang through his voice--"I--I--havediscovered the mine, the wonderful, lost Veiled Mariposa."
"The deuce you have!" exclaimed Penfield, actually showing something likeexcitement. "And is it really all that tradition says of it?"
"More," affirmed Robert solemnly. "I tell you, Horace, it makes thefabled treasures of the Incas look like thirty cents. Ah, it's--" Hepaused on the hearth-rug and looked down on the gossip in the chair. "Ihave told you the story because you know everybody and everything abouteverybody, and I hoped you might be able to help me in my investigations.Your exclamation a while ago shows that you do know something."
Penfield gazed at the fire through narrowed lids, then he shook his head."No," he said, "truly I know nothing. What I jumped at a while ago issomething that you are bound to run across yourself. I'm not telling allthat I know, but I'm willing to bet that within a very short time youwill hear of The Veiled Mariposa, and that, too, from a most unexpectedsource."
"What are you driving at now?" cried Hayden. "Come, speak up. What's theuse of being mysterious?"
"It amuses me, that's all," grinned Penfield. "But truly, Hayden, if Icould be of any assistance to you I would. As I can not, at present, Ishall just sit tight and look on, occasionally putting my finger just farenough in the pie to stir things up and make them merry." He rose andgetting into his coat and hat sauntered toward the door.
"But, Horace"--Hayden started after him--"what do you mean by predictingthat I shall soon hear of The Veiled Mariposa?"
But Penfield only grinned more inscrutably than ever and closed the doorbehind him.
Hayden glared irritably after his departing guest and then shook his fistin the direction Penfield had taken. Having thus relieved his feelings,he threw himself into a chair and moodily lighted a cigarette. He wassuffering one of the swift reactions of the optimistic and mercurialtemperament, which, if it suns itself upon the slope of Olympus pays forthe privilege by an occasional sojourn in Avernus. He was disgusted withPenfield, with himself, with the world.
But wait, even in Avernus the darkness is sometimes penetrated by a rayof light. His quest, so far, had been fruitless. In the various cities ofEurope where the Willoughbys had lived and where he had made the mostpatient investigations, he had discovered practically nothing; and yet,here in New York, he had seen Penfield, the imperturbable, literally jumpwhen he had mentioned The Veiled Mariposa; and further, he had assuredhim that he would hear some word regarding it within a short time. Come!Hayden cheered visibly. That was something, at any rate. Things were notso bad, after all. He was well out of Avernus and beginning to scaleOlympus, and his mind reverted to the earlier and happier part of theevening.
Then he had met and talked with Marcia Oldham. Marcia! What a charmingname! It was certainly a tremendous piece of luck that he had discoveredit. Of course, he had been disturbed by Penfield's revelations andinnuendoes. No one who took an interest in Miss Oldham could fail to beso. Nevertheless, Penfield's statements should always be thoroughlydiscounted. That was understood.
Robert mechanically lighted another cigarette, still deep in thought.Penfield had spoken of the Oldham family fortunes. "Nothing left," he hadasserted, and yet they continued a manner of life which involved largeexpenditures. How could one account with some show of probability forthese circumstances?
A number of hypotheses flashed through his brain. Could it not bepossible that this strong, self-reliant girl might have been aware ofcertain resources of her father's; or might not some old friend greatlyindebted to the father have come forward in the hour of need? That wasnot so incredible. Only, only, and this question recurred to him with aninsistence diabolical and mocking. Why should a woman, young, beautiful,luxurious to the point of extravagance, preserve these mysteries? Aye,there was the rub.
And as he sat there in the fire-light, alone with his disturbingmeditations, trying to find some solution of this haunting puzzle, hefelt mo
re strongly than ever the spell of her presence. He did not wishto throw it off, he would not have been able to do so if he willed. Itseemed to him that he had but to lift his eyes to see her standing therein her black gown, the butterflies shining in the fire-light. Again helooked into her sweet eyes, and he knew that from his soul he believed inher. That whatever circumstances entangled her they were not of herchoosing, and that whatever mysteries enmeshed her the web was not of herweaving.