The Shores of Spain by J. Kathleen Cheney Page A

Costa’s—emptied out some of the clothes, and placed them in his original hiding place.”
    “That means the child had an accomplice,” Oriana said.
    “Who would have been a passenger on the ferry with the advance guard,” Benites added.
    “Yes, or one of the crew,” Duilio said. “It would help if we could question the crew of the ferry to see if any of them noticed anything.”
    Oriana crossed her arms over her chest. “It should be back to Quitos by this time of day. We can try tomorrow.”
    That was the best he could hope for. “Could we see the hallway where the bags were left? Then I’d like to look at Costa’s bag.”
    “I’ll take you there, sir,” Benites said.
    They followed the lieutenant out of the sunny courtyard and along the white-plastered hallways of the house. Small tapestries hung at intervals, most depicting scenes of a hunt, old enough to show bows and arrows rather than guns. Not too different from other fine tapestries he’d seen, save that the colors were brighter and, of course, the hunters were sereia—females in pursuit rather than males. At the intersection between the front half of the house and the back half, Oriana caught the eye of a passing servant and asked her to fetch the luggage in question from Costa’s quarters. Then they proceeded to the wide entryway of the house with its stone flags. A heavy bronze lamp hung from a chain above their heads, but a rectangular stained-glass window above the dark doors let in enough light that the lamp wasn’t needed during daylight hours. Benites opened a door to one side, letting them into a large anteroom that was bare save for a series of shelves that wrapped around its sides.
    “So the servants carried the baggage in here first,” Duilio said, “and then later to the appropriate rooms?”
    “Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said.
    “And how long did the luggage sit here?”
    Benites’ lips pursed as she mulled that over. “Two hours at most, sir. The head of staff walked through the assigned quarters with the captain, and then we spoke with Lady Monteiro about the expectations for the males.”
    That would have taken a while . Duilio went to the threshold ofthe room and peered along the hallway down which they’d come. He didn’t see any servants coming or going in either direction at the moment. He crossed to the main doors, a massive pair made out of a dark wood and bearing carvings that depicted ibexes—the local mountain goats. He’d seen the theme throughout the house, part of the Monteiro family crest. The doors’ brass lock could easily be defeated, but the heavy metal bar that swung down to barricade the door provided more security. He glanced toward Oriana, who waited at the anteroom’s threshold. “Would your grandmother’s servants have locked this?”
    “Probably,” she said. “I’ll ask the head of staff. What are you thinking?”
    “The boy would have stayed in the bag until he didn’t hear any movement, then climbed out, and hid somewhere in the house. He could have gone outside, but it would have been broad daylight and this side of the house can been seen from the road. Why go outside anyway, when he was already here? I suspect he hid in one of the courtyards or on the roof until the house was quiet, and then slipped to the shore side of the house and broke back in through our window.”
    “You keep assuming it was a boy,” Oriana noted dryly.
    “It likely was, madam,” Captain Vas Neves interjected. The captain had come along a different hallway from the back of the house. “A member of the household at the other end of the beach—the first house encountered when coming from the harbor, I mean—reported seeing a woman waiting at the edge of the road late last night. Early this morning, she saw a young boy walk along the road and the woman met him there. They went toward the harbor together.”
    “And you think that was our thief?” Duilio asked.
    “For a young boy to walk alone is