The question came with startling suddenness as Merle started up with another ray of illumination in her mind. “I haven’t seen her since morning,” replied Mrs. Darlington. “Nor have I,” said Merle, standing erect, wiping away the traces of her tears, and with a few pats adjusting her rumpled hair. “That is very strange.” “No. I happen to know that this day, the eleventh of October, is always a sad anniversary for Tia Teresa—the death of some dear friend who lies buried in the little Mexican cemetery on the hill. She has always refused to tell me the story. But early this morning she went, as usual, to place flowers upon the grave.” “Flowers—for a grave!” exclaimed Merle. She was thinking of the roses she had gathered that afternoon for Mr. Robles—for her father—because he specially wanted the most beautiful blooms. But she did not give her thought to Mrs. Darlington. “It is all so strange,” continued Merle. Then her air of decisiveness returned. “I’ll go and see if Tia Teresa is in her room.” Mrs. Darlington was gravely perturbed at this persistency. Oh, if only the mysteries of the past could be left alone, the joys of the present accepted for themselves! Probing into trouble cannot but lead to further trouble—that, for her, had been the secret of contentment. But she was powerless to intervene. Merle had already departed on her mission of enquiry. CHAPTER XXXVIII—Exit Leach Sharkey THE ponies were jogging down the trail, Leach Sharkey uncomfortably lurching in his saddle when some sudden bend or dip was encountered, Dick Willoughby good-humoredly holding him on when such emergencies rendered the service advisable if an ignominious fall were to be avoided. There was a song of joy in Dick’s heart—liberty was at hand; he was riding down from the hills to join his loved one again. But there was sullen brooding in the soul of the outwitted sleuth—growing more sullen with every mile traversed, with every kindness rendered, with the very realization of his own ridiculous predicament and the contrast of his companion’s light-hearted happiness. At last they reached the foot of the trail, leading on to the road that crossed the plain. At the distance of a few miles the Rancho San Antonio showed amid its clustering shade and orchard trees. “Let us dismount for a bit,” suggested Sharkey. “I feel all in—dead beat and tired.” “But how will I get you on to your horse again?” replied Dick, a trifle dubiously. “Oh, we’ll manage that. Please help me down.” Dick sprang to the ground, dropped the reins over his pony’s head, and soon had Leach Sharkey on terra firma. “You’re no light weight to handle,” he laughed. “By the way, Sharkey, I forgot to ask: Where’s your boss this afternoon?” Sharkey eyed Dick curiously. “You don’t know?” “Why should I know? It’s quite a time since I met the gentleman.” “You are aware who Pierre Luzon is?”