“No,” we heard her say finally, in a quiet tone, “I cannot believe it, Alfonso.  Mr. Whitney is Mr. Lockwood’s associate now.  My father and Mr. Lockwood approved of him.  Why should I do otherwise?”

De Moche was talking earnestly but in a very muffled voice.  We could not make out anything except a few scattered phrases which told us nothing.  Once I fancied he mentioned his mother.  Whatever it was that he was urging, Inez was firm.

“No, Alfonso,” she repeated, her voice a little higher and excited.  “It cannot be.  You must be mistaken.”

She had risen, and now moved toward the hall door, evidently forgetting that the folding doors behind the portieres were open.  “Professor Kennedy and Mr. Jameson are here,” she said.  “Would you care to meet them?”

He replied in the negative.  Yet as he passed the reception room he could not help seeing us.

As Inez greeted us, I saw that Alfonso was making a desperate effort to control his expression.  He seemed to be concealing a bitter disappointment.  Seeing us, he bowed stiffly, and, with just the murmur of a greeting, excused himself.

He had no sooner closed the door to run the gauntlet of the sharp eyes in the hall than the Senorita faced us fully.  She was pale and nervous.  Evidently something that he had said to her had greatly agitated her.  Yet with all her woman’s skill she managed to hide all outward traces of emotion that might indicate what it was that racked her mind.

“You have something to report?” she asked, a trifle anxiously.

“Nothing of any great importance,” admitted Craig.

Was it actually a look of relief that crossed her face?  Try as I could, it seemed to me to be an anomalous situation.  She wanted the murderer of her father caught, naturally.  Yet she did not seem to be offering us the natural assistance that was to be expected.  Could it be that she suspected some one perhaps near and dear to her of having some knowledge, which, now that the deed was done, would do more harm than good if revealed?  It was the only conclusion to which I could come.  I was surprised at Kennedy’s next question.  Was the same idea in his mind, also?

“We have seen Mr. Whitney,” he ventured.  “Just what are Mr. Lockwood’s relations with him—­and yours?”

“Merely that Mr. Lockwood and my father were partners,” she answered hastily.  “They had decided that their interests would be more valuable by some arrangement with Mr. Whitney, who controls so much down in Peru.”

“Do you think that Senora de Moche exercises a very great influence on Mr. Whitney?” asked Craig, purposely introducing the name of the Indian woman to see what effect it might have on her.

“Oh,” she cried, with a little exclamation of alarm, “I hope not.”

Yet it was evident that she feared so.

“Why is it that you fear it?” insisted Kennedy.  “What has she done to make you fear it?”