Part 5 (2/2)

”Hardly,” smiled Kennedy. ”And I appreciate your reticence--as well as your coming here finally to tell me. Indeed, it is strange. Surely you must have some other suspicions,” he persisted, ”something that you feel, even though you do not know?”

Kennedy was leaning forward, looking deeply into her eyes, as if he would read what was pa.s.sing in her mind. She met his gaze for a moment, then looked away.

”You heard Mr. Lockwood say that he had become a.s.sociated with a Mr.

Whitney, Mr. Stuart Whitney, down in Wall Street?” she ventured.

Kennedy did not take his eyes from her face as he sought to extract the reluctant words from her.

”Mr. Whitney has been largely interested in Peru, in business and in mining,” she went on slowly. ”He has given large sums to scholars down there, to Professor Norton's expeditions from New York. I--I'm afraid of that Mr. Whitney!”

Her quiet tone had risen to a pitch of tremulous excitement. Her face, which had been pale from the strain of the tragedy, was now full of colour, and her breast rose and fell with suppressed emotion.

”Afraid of him--why?” asked Kennedy.

There was no more reticence. Once having said so much, she seemed to feel that she must go on and tell her fears.

”Because,” she went on, ”he--he knows a woman--whom my father knew.” A sudden flash of fire seemed to light up her dark eyes. ”A woman of Truxillo,” she continued, ”Senora de Moche.”

”De Moche,” repeated Kennedy, recalling the name and a still unexplained incident of our first interview. ”Who is this Senora de Moche?” he asked, studying her as if she had been under a lens.

”A Peruvian of an old Indian family,” she replied, in a low tone, as if the words were forced from her. ”She has come to New York with her son, Alfonso. You remember--you met him. He is studying here at the University.”

Again I noted the different manner in which she spoke the two names of mother and son. Evidently there was some feud, some barrier between her and the elder woman, which did not extend to Alfonso.

Kennedy reached for the University catalogue and found the name, ”Alfonso de Moche.” He was, as he had told us, a post-graduate student in the engineering school and, therefore, not in any of Kennedy's own cla.s.ses.

”You say your father knew the Senora?” asked Kennedy.

”Yes,” she replied, in a low voice, ”he had had some dealings with her.

I cannot say just what they were; I do not know. Socially, of course, it was different. They did not belong to the same circle as ours in Lima.”

From her tone I gathered that there existed a race prejudice between those of old Spanish descent and the descendants of the Indians. That, however, could not account for her att.i.tude. At least with her the prejudice did not extend to Alfonso.

”Senora de Moche is a friend of Mr. Whitney?” queried Kennedy.

”Yes, I believe she has placed some of her affairs in his hands. The de Moches live at the Prince Edward Albert Hotel, and Mr. Whitney lives there, too. I suppose they see more or less of each other.”

”H-m,” mused Kennedy. ”You know Mr. Whitney, I suppose?”

”Not very well,” she answered. ”Of course, I have met him. He has been to visit my father, and my father has been down at his office, with Mr.

Lockwood. But I do not know much about him, except that he is what you Americans call a promoter.”

Apparently, Inez was endeavouring to be frank in telling her suspicions, much more so even than Norton had been. But I could not help feeling that she was trying to s.h.i.+eld some one, though not to the extent of consciously putting us on a wrong scent.

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