CHAPTER 23 _IN THE PRESSROOM_
"You have made a mistake," the man mumbled. "I am not Mr. Rhett. My nameis Brown--Edgar Brown."
Penny, none too certain of the identification, gazed at the man's hands.They were soft and white as if unaccustomed to hard work, but he wore noserpent ring on any of his fingers. She felt certain this was the man shehad met at the steamship office.
The stranger pulled gently away from her grasp, ready to start out intothe howling wind once more.
"You'll be swept off your feet if you try to battle that storm!" Pennyprotested. "You must stay here until the worst of it is over!"
"But I am not Mr. Rhett."
"Never mind about that," said Penny. "I mistook you for someone else.Just come inside and I'll close the doors."
The man peered outside once more, and noting the intensity of the storm,lost all desire to leave the shelter. He moved away from the entrance,and Penny closed the big, heavy door.
"Come along with me into the pressroom where it is warm," she invited.
Without comment, the man followed her across the cement toward theloading docks. At the other end of the drive, someone opened the doorsfor a moment to allow a truck to roll inside. A great gust of wind torethrough the passage, and sent the stranger's hat careening into a corner.
He darted to recapture it. As he stooped to pick it up, an object on astring which he wore about his neck, swung from beneath his sport shirt.Quickly he pushed it out of sight again, but not before Penny had seenthe ring and recognized the serpent design.
"He _is_ Mr. Rhett!" she thought, her pulse pounding.
Wisely, she pretended to have observed nothing, and invited him into thepressroom where Jerry was waiting. Celeste, still locked in the storagecloset, was rattling the door knob and kicking on the panel with all herstrength.
"Jerry," said Penny, dropping her bombshell. "This is Mr. Rhett."
The reporter's mouth dropped agape, while the stranger plainly showed hisannoyance.
"I told you I am not Mr. Rhett."
"Then kindly explain the significance of that ring you wear around yourneck. I saw it only a moment ago."
The stranger became confused. "My ring--" he stammered. "Oh, that! Anheirloom. I have had it for years."
"Please tell us the truth," pleaded Penny.
"I know nothing about this man you call Mr. Rhett," he replied, avoidingher direct gaze. "Evidently you have someone locked up here. Suppose youexplain the meaning."
"Gladly," replied Penny. "We do have someone imprisoned in the storageroom ready to turn over to the police as soon as the storm lets up. It isCeleste."
"Celeste!" The stranger's amazed expression betrayed him. Although headded: "And who is she?" it was unconvincing.
"Mr. Rhett, why pretend?" Penny demanded. "We know who you are."
"Very well," said the man, smiling faintly. "So I am Mr. Rhett! I assumeyou two are reporters for the _Star_."
"Right," agreed Jerry.
"And you want a story. Well, there's no story. Since you have me dead torights as they say, I'll not deny I am Hamilton Rhett. However, myidentity is my own affair. I stepped out of my old life--the bank and myhome--because I was tired of a very boring existence. I never was cut tothe cloth of a banker. I dislike being shut up indoors even for an hour.Probably I shall return to South America."
"You say it is your own affair," Penny remarked pointedly. "I am afraidit isn't. Aren't you forgetting a little matter of $250,000?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"I refer to that sum in negotiable bonds which you had in your possessionat the time you left the bank."
Mr. Rhett did not seem to understand for a moment. Then he exclaimed:"Oh, the bonds! I was to have returned them to the vault, but it slippedmy mind. You will find them in the top desk drawer in my office."
"The desk has been carefully searched. The bonds are not there."
"Not there?" For the first time Mr. Rhett seemed disturbed. "But theymust be, unless they were stolen after I went away!"
"The bonds have not been found, and the bank trustees are pressing yourfamily to make restitution. Furthermore, your wife is dangerously ill."
"My wife sick? What is wrong?"
"The doctors do not know. However, Lorinda burned an effigy doll made inyour wife's image--she found it in the house. Two burned match stickstied together also were found by Mrs. Rhett. For some reason she becameobsessed with the idea she was doomed to a lingering fatal illness. Shebegan to refuse food and since then has gone steadily downhill."
"The work of Celeste!"
"We think so. Tonight she stole the Zudi drum, and Lorinda and I foundher with Anton and other followers celebrating their rites in a cave nearthe beach."
"Then they have reverted to their heathen ways!" the banker exclaimed."My wife always said Celeste hated her, but I, like a blind fool, refusedto see it. Once during the years I spent in the jungle, Celeste saved mylife and I always felt grateful to her. Now I must forget that, for sheis a dangerous woman if she seeks to practice her jungle magic."
"You don't actually believe Celeste could make your wife ill merely bysuggestion?" Jerry inquired in amazement.
"In the jungles I have seen a native die from superficial wounds. If toldthe spear which struck him had been sung over by an enemy, the nativewould simply lie down, refuse food and pine away. My wife is in greatdanger!"
"Can nothing be done?" cried Penny.
Mr. Rhett's face tightened into hard, grim lines. "A great deal can bedone," he said. "But Celeste must be fought with her own jungle weapons.To turn her over to the police will not be sufficient. She is inside thecloset you say--let me talk to her."
"Okay," agreed Jerry, "but Celeste in her present mood is a pretty briskcustomer. To make sure she doesn't get away, I'll lock the pressroom doorbefore letting her out of her cage."
As the reporter went to the exit, Penny heard the pressmen at the otherend of the room shout that the storm had abated.
"The hurricane has not passed," corrected Mr. Rhett quietly. "This lullmerely marks the end of the first phase. The wind will return harder thanever in a few minutes from another quarter."
Jerry returned, and taking the key to the storage room from his pocket,cautiously unlocked the door. Celeste, blinking like an owl as shestaggered out under the electric lights, gasped as she saw Mr. Rhett.
"Master!" she exclaimed worshipfully. "You come back!"
Mr. Rhett's face showed no trace of the affection he had felt for hisservant. "Celeste," he said, "you've been dabbling in magic again! What'sthis nonsense about my wife being ill and going to die?"
"The truth, Master. Anton and I try hard to save her, but no use. She dienext month. Maybe sooner."
"Get this through your head, Celeste. My wife will not die. She will beas well as you are within two days. All your incantations over the dollwere wasted. You plotted to no avail. I am home now, and if you persistin your wickedness, I will meet your so-called magic with stronger magicof my own!"
"Celeste sorry," the old woman whimpered. "Do it only to get money formaster."
"I need no money and want none. You have been very wicked, Celeste, andmust be turned over to the police for safe keeping."
"Oh, no, Master! Not the police!"
"Yes, and now is the time to take you there during this lull in thestorm."
Celeste's wild eyes darted about the room, searching for a means ofescape. With a savage lunge, she reached the door only to find it locked.
As Jerry and Mr. Rhett bore down upon her, she scurried frantically alongthe outer room wall, coming to the metal paper chute through whichpackages of freshly-printed papers were tossed for delivery.
Quick as a cat, Celeste scrambled into the chute, crawling through on allfours. At the chute's exit on the sheltered cement drive, stood thewaiting paper truck, its rear door ajar. Already loaded, the driveraw
aited only this lull in the storm before setting off to deliver hiscargo.
Even as Celeste crawled through the chute, the man started the truckengine. The woman did not hesitate. Leaping into the rear of the vehicle,she slammed the door.
Hearing it close, the driver assumed another workman had shut it as asignal for him to pull out. Shifting gears, he drove away with his cargoof papers--and Celeste.
Whispering Walls Page 23
