The fiery animosity of her dark eyes boded ill, I felt, for the senora.  But it flashed over me that perhaps, after all, the senora was not a traitress, but had simply been scheming to win the heart and hence the hacienda of the great land-owner, when he came into possession of his estate if the revolution proved successful.

“And finally,” she concluded, keeping back the tears by an heroic effort, “last night he left our apartment, promising to return early in the evening.  It is now twenty-four hours, and I have heard not a word from him.  It is the first time in my life that we have ever been separated so long.”

“And you have no idea where he could have gone?” asked Craig.

“Only what I have learned from Senor Torreon, another member of the junta.  Senor Torreon said this morning that he left the home of Senora Mendez last night about ten o’clock in company with my father.  He says they parted at the subway, as they lived on different branches of the road.  Professor Kennedy,” she added, springing up and clasping her hands tightly in an appeal that was irresistible, “you know what steps to take to find him.  I trust all to you—­even the calling on the police, though I think it would be best if we could get along without them.  Find my father, senores, and when we come into our own again you shall not regret that you befriended a lonely girl in a strange city, surrounded by intrigue and danger.”  There were tears in her eyes as she stood swaying before us.

The tenseness of the appeal was broken by the sharp ringing of the telephone bell.  Kennedy quickly took down the receiver.

“Your maid wishes to speak to you,” he said, handing the telephone to her.

Her face brightened with that nervous hope that springs in the human breast even in the blackest moments.  “I told her if any message came for me she might find me here,” explained Miss Guerrero.  “Yes, Juanita, what is it—­a message for me?”

My Spanish was not quite good enough to catch more than a word here and there in the low conversation, but I could guess from the haggard look which overspread her delicate face that the news was not encouraging.

“Oh!” she cried, “this is terrible—­terrible!  What shall I do?  Why did I come here?  I don’t believe it.  I don’t believe it.”

“Don’t believe what, Miss Guerrero?” asked Kennedy reassuringly.  “Trust me.”

“That he stole the money—­oh, what am I saying?  You must not look for him—­you must forget that I have been here.  No, I don’t believe it.”

“What money?” asked Kennedy, disregarding her appeal to drop the case.  “Remember, it may be better that we should know it now than the police later.  We will respect your confidence.”