We found Whitney in the cafe, sitting alone in a leather-cushioned
booth, and smoking furiously. I observed him narrowly. His eyes
had even more than before that peculiar, staring look. By the
manner in which his veins stood out I could see that his heart
action must be very rapid.
"Well," he remarked, as we seated ourselves, "how did you come out
in your tete-a-tete?"
"About as I expected," answered Kennedy nonchalantly. "I let it go
on merely because I wanted Senorita Mendoza to hear certain
things, and I thought that the Senora could tell them best. One of
them related to the history of that dagger."
I thought Whitney's eyes would pop out of his head. "What about
it?" he asked.
"Well," replied Kennedy briefly, "there was the story of how her
brother had it and was driven crazy until he gave it up to
somebody, then committed suicide by throwing himself into
Titicaca. The other was the tradition that in the days after
Pizarro a Mendoza was murdered by it, just as her father has now
been murdered."
Whitney was listening intently, and seemed to be thinking deeply
of something.
"Do you know," he said finally, with a nod to indicate that he
knew what it was that Kennedy referred to, "I've been thinking of
that de Moche woman a good deal since I left you with her.
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