Half an hour later, Kennedy was preparing to continue his studies with the microscope when Doctor Bernardo entered.  He seemed most solicitous to know what progress was being made on the case, and, although Kennedy did not tell much, still he did not discourage conversation on the subject.

When we came in the night before, Craig had unwrapped and tossed down the Japanese sword and the Ainu bow and arrow on a table, and it was not long before they attracted Bernardo’s attention.

“I see you are a collector yourself,” he ventured, picking them up.

“Yes,” answered Craig, offhand; “I picked them up yesterday at Sato’s.  You know the place?”

“Oh, yes, I know Sato,” answered the curator, seemingly without the slightest hesitation.  “He has been in Mexico—­is quite a student.”

“And the other man, Otaka?”

“Other man—­Otaka?  You mean his wife?”

I saw Kennedy check a motion of surprise and came to the rescue with the natural question:  “His wife—­with a beard and mustache?”

It was Bernardo’s turn to be surprised.  He looked at me a moment, then saw that I meant it, and suddenly his face lighted up.

“Oh,” he exclaimed, “that must have been on account of the immigration laws or something of the sort.  Otaka is his wife.  The Ainus are much sought after by the Japanese as wives.  The women, you know, have a custom of tattooing mustaches on themselves.  It is hideous, but they think it is beautiful.”

“I know,” I pursued, watching Kennedy’s interest in our conversation, “but this was not tattooed.”

“Well, then, it must have been false,” insisted Bernardo.

The curator chatted a few moments, during which I expected Kennedy to lead the conversation around to Senora Herreria.  But he did not, evidently fearing to show his hand.

“What did you make of it?” I asked, when he had gone.  “Is he trying to hide something?”

“I think he has simplified the case,” remarked Craig, leaning back, his hands behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling.  “Hello, here’s Leslie!  What did you find, Doctor?” The coroner had entered with a look of awe on his face, as if Kennedy had directed him by some sort of necromancy.

“It was Senora Herreria!” he exclaimed.  “She has been missing from the hotel ever since late yesterday afternoon.  What do you think of it?”

“I think,” replied Kennedy, speaking slowly and deliberately, “that it is very much like the Northrop case.  You haven’t taken that up yet?”

“Only superficially.  What do you make of it?” asked the coroner.

“I had an idea that it might be aconitin poisoning,” he said.

Leslie glanced at him keenly for a moment.  “Then you’ll never prove anything in the laboratory,” he said.

“There are more ways of catching a criminal, Leslie,” put in Craig, “than are set down in the medico-legal text-books.  I shall depend on you and Jameson to gather together a rather cosmopolitan crowd here to-night.”