For a moment the two women looked at each other. Not a word was said, but each understood. Whatever differences had kept them apart seemed to have been swept aside by the emotions of the moment. Frances whispered something in Winifred’s ear as she flung her arms about the girl, then turned to her brother and bent over him.
Man-like, Johnson Walcott stood awkwardly. His wife saw it.
“Congratulate them, Johnson,” she cried. “Don’t you understand?”
Before he could reply there came another tap on the door. It was Burke again, escorting Irene Maddox, reluctant and suspicious.
Surprised, she glanced from the Walcotts to Shelby, then at us.
“Congratulate whom?” she asked, quickly. “What is it all about?”
There was a moment of embarrassment, when Kennedy came to the rescue, stepping forward and looking at his watch.
“I’m waiting word from Señorita Paquita and Mr. Sanchez,” he interrupted, “but that is no reason why I should not at least begin to tell you what I have discovered.”
We watched him as he slowly drew from his pocket the crumpled note which Burke had discovered that morning, and the apparently blank sheet of paper we had picked up in Paquita’s room.
It seemed as if Kennedy’s words had recalled them all to their former selves. In an instant each seemed to be on guard, even Shelby.