It was unnecessary.
His eyes finished it for him.
Alfonso de Moche was, I thought, a very handsome fellow, though
not of the Spanish type at all. His forehead was high, with a
shock of straight black hair, his skin rather copper-coloured,
nose slightly aquiline, chin and mouth firm; in fact, the whole
face was refined and intellectual, though tinged with melancholy.
"Thank you," she murmured, then turned to us. "I believe you are
acquainted with Mr. de Moche, Professor Norton?" she asked. "You
know he is taking post-graduate work at the University."
"Slightly," returned Norton, gazing at the young man in a manner
that plainly disconcerted him. "I believe I have met his mother in
Peru."
Senorita Mendoza seemed to colour at the mention of Senora de
Moche. It flashed over me that, in his greeting Alfonso had said
nothing of his mother. I wondered if there might be a reason for
it. Could it be that Senorita Mendoza had some antipathy which did
not include the son? Though we did not seem to be making much
progress in this way in solving the mystery, still I felt that
before we could go ahead we must know the little group about which
it centred. There seemed to be currents and cross-currents here
which we did not understand, but which must be charted if we were
to steer a straight course.
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