For when
people get fighting among themselves the truth comes out.
"Very well," remarked Craig, rising, with a hurried glance at
Whitney's apoplectic face, "go as far as you like. I think we
understand each other better, now."
Whitney said nothing, but, rising also, turned on his heel and
walked deliberately out of the cafe into the corridor of the
Prince Edward Albert, leaving us standing there.
Kennedy leaned over and swept up the ashes of Whitney's cigarettes
which lay in the ash-tray, placing them, stubs and all, in an
envelope, as he had done before.
"We have one sample, already," he said. "Another won't hurt. You
can never have too much material to work with. Let us see where he
is going."
Slowly we followed in the direction which Whitney had taken from
the cafe. There was Whitney standing by the cigar-stand, gazing
intently down the corridor.
Kennedy and I moved over so that we could see what he was gazing
at. Just then he started to walk hurriedly in the direction in
which he was looking.
"Senora de Moche!" exclaimed Craig, drawing me toward a palm.
It was indeed she. She had left the tea room and gone to her own
room. Now she was alighting from the elevator, and had started
toward the main dining-room, when her eyes had rested on Whitney.
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