the middle of the room as she saw us and eyed us tremulously, as
though to ask us why we had intruded. It was a rather awkward
situation.

Quickly Norton came to the rescue. "I hope you will pardon me,
Senorita," he bowed in perfect Spanish, "but--"

"Oh, Professor Norton, it is you!" she cried in English,
recognizing him. "I'm so nervous that I didn't see you at first."

She glanced from him to us, inquiringly. I recollected that my
editor had mentioned a daughter who might prove to be an
interesting and important figure in the mystery. She spoke in an
overwrought, agitated tone. I studied her furtively.

Inez de Mendoza was unmistakably beautiful, of the dark Spanish
type, with soft brown eyes that appealed to one when she talked,
and a figure which at any less tragic moment one might have been
pardoned for admiring. Her soft olive skin, masses of dark hair,
and lustrous, almost voluptuous, eyes contrasted wonderfully with
the finely chiselled lines of her nose, the firm chin, and
graceful throat and neck. Here one recognized a girl of character
and family in the depths of whose soul smouldered all the passion
of a fiery race.

"I hope you will pardon me for intruding," Norton repeated.
"Believe me, it is not with mere idle curiosity. Let me introduce
my friend, Professor Kennedy, the scientific detective, of whom
you have heard, no doubt. This is his assistant, Mr. Jameson, of
the Star. I thought perhaps they might stand between you and that