“There has been absolutely nothing suspicious since this morning?” reiterated Kennedy, hoping that she might recall something, no matter how trivial, that might point the way further ahead.
“Nothing,” she repeated. “I didn’t come down from my room until pretty late. Everybody had left for the city by that time. I did see that gentleman who brought us back in his car, though.”
“Oh, Sanchez?” interrogated Craig, his attention aroused in an instant. “What of him? Did he do or say anything?”
“Nothing except that he inquired very particularly how I was and whether I had found out anything—nothing more than common politeness might suggest.”
As for me, I felt sure, now, that there was something much deeper than courtesy in the inquiry of Sanchez.
“I don’t suppose you noticed anything about him?” asked Craig.
“Nothing except that he avoided Irene Maddox when he saw her coming toward me. I think I can guess why.”
She nodded knowingly to Kennedy.
“Did he seem to be interested in Paquita’s absence?” pursued Kennedy.
“I can’t say,” strove Winifred to remember. “I did see him talking to some of the boys about the hotel—that is all.”