Carmen Ariza
Chapter 139 : On Wednesday night Harris arrived from Denver. His arrival was instantly made known to

On Wednesday night Harris arrived from Denver. His arrival was instantly made known to J. Wilton Ames, who, on the morning following, summoned both him and Philip O. Ketchim to his private office. There were present, also, Monsignor Lafelle and Alonzo Hood. Harris and Ketchim came together. The latter was observed to change color as he timidly entered the room and faced the waiting audience.

"Be seated, gentlemen," said Ames genially, after cordially shaking hands with them and introducing the churchman. Then, turning to Harris, "You are on your way to Colombia, I learn. Going down to inaugurate work on the Simiti holdings, I suppose?"

Harris threw a quick glance at Ketchim. The latter sat blank, wondering if there were any portions of the earth to which Ames's long arms did not reach.

"As a matter of fact," Ames continued, leaning back in his chair and pressing the tips of his fingers together before him, "a hitch seems to have developed in Simiti proceedings. I am interested, Mr.

Ketchim," turning suddenly and sharply upon that gentleman, "because my brokers have picked up for me several thousand shares of the stock."

Ketchim's hair began to rise.

"But," proceeded Ames calmly, "now that I have put money into it, I learn that the Simiti Company has no property whatever in Colombia."

A haze slowly gathered before Ketchim's eyes. His ears hummed. His heart throbbed violently. "How do you make that out, Mr. Ames?" he heard Harris say in a voice that seemed to come from an infinite distance. "I myself saw the t.i.tle papers which old Rosendo had, and saw them transferred to Mr. Ketchim for the Simiti Company. Moreover, I personally visited the mine in question."

"La Libertad? Quite so," returned Ames. "But, here's the rub. The property was relocated by this Rosendo, and he secured t.i.tle to it under the name of the Chicago mine. It was that name which deceived the clerks in the Department of Mines in Cartagena, and caused them to issue t.i.tle, not knowing that it really was the famous old La Libertad."

"Well, I don't see that there is any ground for confusion."

"Simply this," returned Ames evenly: "La Libertad mine, since the death of its former owner, Don Ignacio de Rincon, has belonged to the Church."

"What!" Harris was on his feet. "By what right does it belong to the Church?"

"By the ancient law of _'en manos muertas'_, my friend," replied Ames, unperturbed.

"Good Lord! what's that?"

"Our friend, Monsignor Lafelle, representing the Church, will explain," said Ames, waving a hand toward that gentleman.

Lafelle cleared his throat. "I deeply regret this unfortunate situation, gentlemen," he began. "But, as Mr. Ames has pointed out, the confusion came about through issuing t.i.tle to the mine under the name Chicago. Don Ignacio de Rincon, long before his departure from Colombia after the War of Independence, drew up his last will, and, following the established custom among wealthy South Americans of that day, bequeathed this mine, La Libertad, and other property, to the Church, invoking the old law of _'en manos muertas'_ which, being translated, means, 'in dead hands.' Pious Catholics of many lands have done the same throughout the centuries. Such a bequest places property in the custody of the Church; and it may never be sold or disposed of in any way, but all revenue from it must be devoted to the purchase of Ma.s.ses for the souls in purgatory. It was through the merest chance, I a.s.sure you, that your mistake was brought to light. Knowing that our friend, Mr. Ames, had purchased stock in your company, I took the pains to investigate while in Cartagena recently, and made the discovery which unfortunately renders your claim to the mine quite null."

"G.o.d a'mighty!" exploded Harris. "Did you know this?" turning savagely upon the paralyzed Ketchim.

"That," interposed Ames with cruel significance, "is a matter which he will explain in court."

Fleeting visions of the large blocks of stock which he had sold; of the widows, orphans, and indigent clergymen whom he had involved; of the notes which the banks held against him; of his questionable deals with Mrs. Hawley-Crowles; and of the promiscuous peddling of his own holdings in the now ruined company, rushed over the clouded mind of this young genius of high finance. His tongue froze, though his trembling body dripped with perspiration. Somehow he got to his feet.

Somehow he found the door, and groped his way to a descending elevator. And somehow he lived through that terror-haunted day and night.

But very early next morning, while his blurred eyes were drinking in the startling report of the Simiti Company's collapse, as set forth in the newspaper which he clutched in his shaking hand, the maid led in a soft-stepping gentleman, who laid a hand upon his quaking shoulder and read to him from a familiar-looking doc.u.ment an irresistible invitation to take up lodgings in the city jail.

There were other events forward at the same time, which came to light that fateful next day. It was noon when Mrs. Hawley-Crowles, after a night of mingled worry and anger over the deliberate or unintentional exclusion of herself and Carmen from the Ames reception the preceding night, descended to her combined breakfast and luncheon. At her plate lay the morning mail, including a letter from France. She tore it open, hastily scanned it, then dropped with a gasp into her chair.

"Father--married to--a French--adventuress! Oh!"

The long-cherished hope of a speedy inheritance of his snug fortune lay blasted at her feet.

The telephone bell rang sharply, and she rose dully to answer it. The call came from the city editor of one of the great dailies. "It is reported," said the voice, "that your ward, Miss Carmen Ariza, is the illegitimate daughter of a negro priest, now in South America. We would like your denial, for we learn that it was for this reason that you and the young lady were not included among the guests at the Ames reception last evening."

Mrs. Hawley-Crowles's legs tottered under her, as she blindly wandered from the telephone without replying. Carmen--the daughter of a priest!

Her father a negro--her mother, what? She, a mulatto, illegitimate--!

The stunned woman mechanically took up the morning paper which lay on the table. Her glance was at once attracted to the great headlines announcing the complete exposure of the Simiti bubble. Her eyes nearly burst from her head as she grasped its fatal meaning to her. With a low, inarticulate sound issuing from her throat, she turned and groped her way back to her boudoir.

Meanwhile, the automobile in which Carmen was speeding to the Beaubien mansion was approached by a bright, smiling young woman, as it halted for a moment at a street corner. Carmen recognized her as a reporter for one of the evening papers, who had called often at the Hawley-Crowles mansion that season for society items.

"Isn't it fortunate!" exclaimed the young reporter. "I was on my way to see you. Our office received a report this morning from some source that your father--you know, there has been some mystery about your parentage--that he was really a priest, of South America. His name--let me think--what did they say it was?"

"Jose?" laughed the innocent girl, utterly unsuspecting. The problem of her descent had really become a source of amus.e.m.e.nt to her.

"It began with a D, if I am not mistaken. I'm not up on Spanish names," the young woman returned pleasantly.

"Oh, perhaps you mean Diego."

"That's it! Was that your father's name? We're very much interested to know."

"Well, I'm sure I can't say. It might have been."

"Then you don't deny it?"

"No; how can I?" she said, smiling. "I never knew him."

"But--you think it was, don't you?"

"Well, I don't believe it was Padre Diego--he wasn't a good man."

"Then you knew him?"

"Oh, very well! I was in his house, in Banco. He used to insist that I was his child."

"I see. By the way, you knew a woman named Jude, didn't you? Here in the city."

"Yes, indeed!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Do you know where she is?"

"No. But she took you out of a house down on--"

"Yes. And I've tried to find her ever since."

"You know Father Waite, too, the ex-priest?"

"Oh, yes, very well. We're good friends."

"You and he going to work together, I suppose?"

"Why, I'm sure I don't know. He's very unsettled."