Gypsy Vengeance

CHAPTER XVI. THE GYPSY CAMP

SUNDAY noon. Rodney Casper, seated alone at a mammoth dining room table, was enjoying a breakfast of bacon and eggs. A solemn-faced servant appeared, bringing a cup of steaming coffee.

Casper reached for cream and sugar. He heard footsteps beyond the table. He looked up to see Shirley Laustin at the doorway. The girl was smiling.

“Hello, sleepy,” she laughed. “Or was it the effects of Mr. Uhler’s beverages that kept you in bed so late?”

“Lack of sleep,” returned Casper, as the girl seated herself opposite to him. “I stayed up until dawn, helping helpless guests to start their antique motors.”

“I arose at nine,” said Shirley. “I had breakfast with father. He and the chauffeur left for New York. They will not be back until late tonight.”

Casper nodded.

“The party, last night,” observed Shirley, resting her chin upon her hands, as she placed elbows on the table, “was quite boring. So far as the local talent was concerned, I mean. You were really wonderful, Rodney.”

“How so?”

“Don’t you remember?” Shirley’s tone showed disappointment. “It was after father had turned in early. One of those rowdy guests behaved quite rudely—”

“And I pitched the bounder off the veranda.” Casper sipped at his coffee. “That was nothing. He landed in a flower bed.”

“But he didn’t come back to start another row, did he? You’re a great chap, Rodney.”

“I was appointed to look out for you, I did. That was all.”

Shirley Laustin smiled. She had come to like this young man who was her father’s friend. She waited, expecting Casper to make some further comment. When none came, Shirley made another remark.

“It was like you, Rodney,” she said, “to help those befuddled guests on their way home. Father was right — Mr. Uhler throws heavy parties. What happened to that fellow who went to sleep in the shrubbery?”

“Where?” Casper seemed puzzled.

“In back of the veranda. I heard you talking to him. Rodney. Don’t you remember? It was before father went to bed. You were sitting on the stone rail at the back of the veranda, smoking. I could see you from the living room. Suddenly, you dropped down from the rail. I went out to see what was the matter.”

Casper was sipping at his coffee. Shirley nodded solemnly, then said:

“I heard you talking, Rodney. Some man was mumbling replies. You called him by a name, I thought. What was it? Ah! I remember! It was a name that sounded like Valdo.”

“Valdo?” Rodney Casper set down his cup. He leaned back in his chair and laughed. “What an imagination you have, Shirley! That was some poor chap who tumbled off the veranda and couldn’t find his way back. I dropped down to help him. I was saying: ‘Come on, old fellow, old fellow’ — and he was still trying to find his way out of the shrubbery.”

“So that was it,” laughed Shirley. “‘Old fellow.’ Of course. That’s what you would have said. But to me it sounded like a name — ‘Valdo’ — an odd name.”

“Where is our host?” questioned Casper, changing the subject. “I haven’t seen him since I came down stairs.”

“Still asleep, I suppose,” replied Shirley. “We are alone down here — except for the servants — and what a lot of them there are!

“I think they must work in shifts. They’re like goldfish in a bowl. Every time you try to count them, the total is different.”

Rodney Casper smiled. The girl’s description amused him. Rising, he glanced at the window. His smile increased.

“A wonderful day,” he remarked. “I think I shall go out on the veranda and take a look at the river. I’ll be a bit more agreeable after I really wake up, Shirley.”

CASPER strolled from the dining room. He crossed a broad hall, passed through the living room and stepped out on the veranda. This was on the higher side of the house. The slope was gentle below the porch.

Lighting one of his favorite cigarettes, Rodney Casper stared at a clump of shrubbery at the back of the veranda. He scowled.

Last night, Casper had chosen this rail to make himself conspicuous. He had expected a visit from Valdo — it had been announced by a low whistle from the shrubbery.

Casper had congratulated himself upon dropping, unseen, from the rail. To-day, he had learned that Shirley Laustin had seen him. More than that, the girl had overheard his calling the gypsy by name.

Casper’s scowl ended. The man shrugged his shoulders. After all, he had passed over the event with credit. Shirley had accepted his simple explanation.

“Looking at the shrubbery?”

The question came at Casper’s elbow. The young man turned to see Shirley Laustin standing beside him.

A smile appeared beneath Casper’s mustache.

“I was studying the river,” remarked Casper. “Noting its resemblance to the fjords that one sees in Norway. I believe, Shirley, that I shall take a stroll down one of those precipitous paths toward the Hudson.

“I would invite you” — Casper paused to eye the girl’s light, high-heeled shoes — “but I am afraid that you would require heavy boots. I am a great believer in morning exercise. So, if you will excuse me—”

“I won’t,” interposed Shirley. “I have a better plan. You can take your walk later. Come out to the front of the house.”

Reluctantly, Casper followed. Shirley pointed to a trim roadster. The top was down. She urged the man to enter the car. Casper obeyed. Immediately, the girl scrambled to the wheel, pressed the starter and put the car in gear. They shot along the road away from the house.

“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!