“I thought of something like that,” he acquiesced, “and I have already taken some precautions.”

Norton waved his hand at the windows, which I had not noticed before.  Though they were some distance above the ground, I saw now that he had closed and barred them at the expense of ventilation.  The warnings seemed to have made more of an impression on him than on any of the rest of us.

“One never can tell where or when a blow will fall with these people,” he explained.  “You see, I’ve lived among them.  They are a hot-blooded race.  Besides, as you perhaps have read, they have some queer poisons down in South America.  I mean to run no unnecessary chances.”

“I suppose you suspected all along that the dagger had something to do with the Gold of the Gods, did you not?” I hinted.

Norton paused before answering, as though to weigh his words.  “Suspected—­yes,” he replied.  “But, as I told you, I have had no chance to read the inscription on it.  I can’t say that I took it very seriously—­until now.”

“It’s not possible that Stuart Whitney, who, I understand, is deeply interested in South America, may have had some inkling of the value of the dagger, is it?” I asked thoughtfully.

For a full minute Norton gazed at me.  “I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted at length.  “That’s a new idea to me.”

Yet somehow I knew that Norton had thought of it, though he had not yet spoken about it.  Was it through loyalty to the man who had contributed to financing his expeditions to South America?

“Do you know Senora de Moche well?” I ventured, a moment later.

“Fairly well,” he replied.  “Why?”

“What do you think of her?”

“Rather a clever woman,” he replied noncommittally.

“I suppose all the people in New York who were interested in Peru knew her,” I pursued, adding, “Mr. Whitney, Mendoza, Lockwood.”

Norton hesitated, as though he was afraid of saying too much.  While I could not help admiring his caution, I found that it was most exasperating.  Still, I was determined to get at his point of view, if possible.

“Alfonso seems to be a worthy son, then,” I remarked.  “I can’t quite make out, though, why the Senorita should have such an obvious prejudice against her.  It doesn’t seem to extend to him.”

“I believe,” replied Norton reluctantly, “that Mendoza had been on rather intimate terms with her.  At least, I think you’ll find the woman very ambitious for her son.  I don’t think she would have stopped at much to advance his interests.  You must have noticed how much Alfonso thinks of the Senorita.  But I don’t think there was anything that could have overcome the old Castilian’s prejudice.  You know they pride themselves on never intermarrying.  With Lockwood it would have been different.”

I thought I began to get some glimmering of how things were.

“Whitney knows her pretty well now, doesn’t he?” I shot out.