“Had your father any enemies who might desire his death?” shot out Kennedy, almost without warning.

“No,” she answered slowly, still watching him carefully, then adding hastily:  “Of course, you know, no one who tries to do anything is absolutely without enemies, though.”

“I mean,” repeated Craig, carefully noting a certain hesitation in her tone, “was there any one who, for reasons best known to himself, might have murdered him in a way peculiarly likely under the circumstances, say, with a dagger?”

Inez flashed a quick glance at Kennedy, as if to inquire just how much or how little he really knew.  I got the impression from it, at least, that she was holding back some suspicion for a reason that perhaps she would not even have admitted to herself.

I saw that Norton was also following the line of Kennedy’s questioning keenly, though he said nothing.

Before Kennedy could take up the lead again, her maid, Juanita, a very pretty girl of Spanish and Indian descent, entered softly.

“Mr. Lockwood,” she whispered, but not so low that we could not hear.

“Won’t you ask him to come in, Nita?” she replied.

A moment later a young man pushed open the door—­a tall, clean-cut young fellow, whose face bore the tan of a sun much stronger than any about New York.  As I took his appraisal, I found him unmistakably of the type of American soldier of fortune who has been carried by the wander-spirit down among the romantic republics to the south of our own.

“Professor Kennedy,” began Senorita Mendoza, presenting us all in turn, “let me introduce Mr. Lockwood, my father’s partner in several ventures which brought us to New York.”

As we shook hands I could not help feeling that the young mining engineer, for such he proved to be by ostensible profession, was something more to her than a mere partner in her father’s schemes.

“I believe I’ve met Professor Norton,” he remarked, as they shook hands.  “Perhaps he remembers when we were in Lima.”

“Perfectly,” replied Norton, returning the penetrating glance in kind.  “Also in New York,” he added.

Lockwood turned abruptly.  “Are you quite sure you are able to stand the strain of this interview?” he asked Inez in a low tone.

Norton glanced at Kennedy and raised his eyebrows just the fraction of an inch, as if to call attention to the neat manner in which Lockwood had turned the subject.

Inez smiled sadly.  “I must,” she said, in a forced tone.

I fancied that Lockwood noted and did not relish an air of restraint in her words.

“It was you, I believe, Mr. Lockwood, who found Senor Mendoza last night?” queried Kennedy, as if to read the answer into the record, although he already knew it.

“Yes,” replied Lockwood, without hesitation, though with a glance at the averted head of Inez, and choosing his words very carefully, as if trying hard not to say more than she could bear.  “Yes.  I came up here to report on some financial matters which interested both of us, very late, perhaps after midnight.  I was about to press the buzzer on the door when I saw that the door was slightly ajar.  I opened it and found lights still burning.  The rest I think you must already know.”