"To say nothing of Mr. Lockwood," suggested Craig.
Whitney looked at him quizzically, as though in doubt just how much this man knew.
"Senora de Moche puzzles me," went on Kennedy. "I often wonder whether superst.i.tion or greed would rule her if it came to the point in this matter of the Gold of the G.o.ds, as they all seem to call the buried treasure at Truxillo. She"s a fascinating woman, but I can"t help feeling that with her one is always playing with fire."
Whitney eyed us knowingly. I had long ago taken his measure as a man quite susceptible to a pretty face, especially if accompanied by a well-turned ankle.
"I never discuss politics during business hours," he laughed, with a self-satisfied air. "You will excuse me? I have some rather important letters that I must get off."
Kennedy rose, and Whitney walked to the door with us, to call his stenographer.
We had scarcely said good-bye and were about to open the outer door when it was pushed open from outside, and Lockwood bustled in.
"No more anonymous letters, I hope?" he queried, in a tone which I could not determine whether serious or sarcastic.
Kennedy answered in the negative. "Not unless you have one."
"I? I rather think the ready letter-writers know better than to waste time on me. That little billet doux seems to have quite upset the Senorita, though. I don"t know how many times she has called me up to see if I was all right. I begin to think that whoever wrote it has done me a good turn, after all."
Lockwood did not say it in a boastful way, but one could see that he was greatly pleased at the solicitude of Inez.
"She thinks it referred to you, then?" asked Kennedy.
"Evidently," he replied; then added, "I won"t say but that I have taken it seriously, too."
He slapped his hip pocket. Under the tail of his coat bulged a blue-steel automatic.
"You still have no idea who could have sent it, or why?"
Lockwood shook his head. "Whoever he is, I"m ready," he replied grimly, bowing us out.
XI
THE SHOE-PRINTS
"I"m afraid we"ve neglected the Senorita a bit, in our efforts to follow up what clues we have in the case," remarked Kennedy, as we rode uptown again. "She needs all the protection we can give her. I think we"d better drop around there, now that she is pretty likely to be left alone."
Accordingly, instead of going back to the laboratory, we dropped off near the apartment of the Mendozas and walked over from the subway.
As we turned the corner, far down the long block I could see the entrance to the apartment.
"There she is now," I said to Kennedy, catching sight of her familiar figure, clad in sombre black, as she came down the steps. "I wonder where she can be going."
She turned at the foot of the steps and, as chance would have it, started in the opposite direction from us.
"Let us see," answered Kennedy, quickening his pace.
She had not gone very far before a man seemed to spring up from nowhere and meet her. He bowed, and walked along beside her.
"De Moche," recognized Kennedy.
Alfonso had evidently been waiting in the shadow of an entrance down the street, perhaps hoping to see her, perhaps as our newspaper friend had seen before, to watch whether Lockwood was among her callers. As we walked along, we could see the little drama with practically no fear of being seen, so earnestly were they talking.
Even during the few minutes that the Senorita was talking with him no one would have needed to be told that she really had a great deal of regard for him, whatever might be her feelings toward Lockwood.
"I should say that she wants to see him, yet does not want to see him,"
observed Kennedy, as we came closer.
She seemed now to have become restive and impatient, eager to cut the conversation short.
It was quite evident at the same time that Alfonso was deeply in love with her, that though she tried to put him off he was persistent. I wondered whether, after all, some of the trouble had not been that during his lifetime the proud old Castilian Don Luis could never have consented to the marriage of his daughter to one of Indian blood. Had he left a legacy of fear of a love forbidden by race prejudice?
In any event, the manner of Alfonso"s actions about the Mendoza apartment was such that one could easily imagine his feelings toward Lockwood, whom he saw carrying off the prize under his very eyes.
As for his mother, the Senora, we had already seen that Peruvians of her caste were also a proud old race. Her son was the apple of her eye.
Might not some of her feelings be readily accounted for? Who were these to scorn her race, her family?
We had walked along at a pace that finally brought us up with them. As Kennedy and I bowed, Alfonso seemed at first to resent our intrusion, while Inez seemed rather to welcome it as a diversion.
"Can we not expect you?" the young man repeated. "It will be only for a few minutes this afternoon, and my mother has something of very great importance to tell."
He was half pleading, half apologizing. Inez glanced hastily around at Kennedy, uncertain what to say, and hoping that he might indicate some course. Surrept.i.tiously, Kennedy nodded an affirmative.
"Very well, then," she replied reluctantly, not to seem to change what had been her past refusal too suddenly. "I may ask Professor Kennedy, too?"
He could scarcely refuse before us. "Of course," he agreed, quickly turning to us. "We were speaking about meeting this afternoon at four in the tea room of the Prince Edward. You can come?"
Though the invitation was not over-gracious, Kennedy replied, "We should be delighted to accompany Miss Inez, I am sure. We happened to be pa.s.sing this way and thought we would stop in to see if anything new had happened. Just as we turned the corner we saw you disappearing down the street, and followed. I trust everything is all right?"
"Nothing more has happened since this morning," she returned, with a look that indicated she understood that Kennedy referred to the anonymous letter. "I had a little shopping to do. If you will excuse me, I think I will take a car. This afternoon--at four."
She nodded brightly as we a.s.sisted her into a taxicab and left us three standing there on the curb. For a moment it was rather awkward. To Alfonso her leaving was somewhat as though the sun had pa.s.sed under a cloud.
"Are you going up toward the University?" inquired Kennedy.
"Yes," responded the young man reluctantly.
"Then suppose we walk. It would take only a few more minutes,"
suggested Kennedy.
Alfonso could not very well refuse, but started off at a brisk pace.
"I suppose these troubles interfere seriously with your work," pursued Craig, as we fell into his stride.
"Yes," he admitted, "although much of my work just now is only polishing off what I have already learned--getting your American point of view and methods. You see, I have had an idea that the ca.n.a.l will bring both countries into much closer relations than before. And if you will not learn of us, we must learn of you."