It was the first time I had ever heard her use Lockwood's first name, and I knew that something had stirred her emotions more deeply than at any time since the death of her father.
"Yes," prompted Kennedy. "Go on."
"I have heard that you found foot-prints, shoe-prints, in the dust in the Museum after the dagger was stolen," she said, speaking rapidly, suppressing her feelings heroically. "Since then you have been collecting prints of shoes—and I've heard that the shoe-prints that were found are those of—of Mr. Lockwood. Oh, Professor Kennedy, it cannot be—there must be some mistake."
For a moment Kennedy did not say anything. He was evidently seeking some way in which to lead up to the revelation of the truth without too much shock.
"You remember that time in the tea room when we were sitting with
Senora de Moche?" he asked finally.
"Yes," she said shortly, as though the very recollection were disagreeable to her.
Kennedy, however, had a disagreeable task, and he felt that it must be performed in the kindest manner.
"You remember then that she said she had one thing more to say, that it was about Mr. Whitney and Mr. Lockwood."
She was about to interrupt, but he hurried on, giving her no chance to do so. "She asked you to think it over. Suppose they did not have the dagger, she said. Then were their chances of finding the treasure any better than any one else had? And if they did have it, she asked what that meant. It is a dilemma, my dear Senorita, which you must meet some time. Why not meet it now?"
Her face was set. "You will remember, also, Professor Kennedy," she said, with a great effort controlling her voice, "that I said that Mr. Lockwood was not there to defend himself and I would not have him attacked by innuendo. I meant it to the Senora—I mean it to you!"