“Have you heard anything?” she asked eagerly.
“Not directly,” replied Kennedy. “But I have a clue, at least. I believe that Torreon knows where your father is and will let you know any moment now. It is to his interest to clear himself before this scandal about the money becomes generally known. Would you allow me to search through your father's desk?”
For some moments Kennedy rummaged through the drawers and pigeonholes, silently.
“Where does the junta keep its arms stored—not in the meeting-place on South Street does it?” asked Kennedy at length.
“Not exactly; that would be a little too risky,” she replied. “I believe they have a loft above the office, hired in someone else's name and not connected with the place down-stairs at all. My father and Senor Torreon are the only ones who have the keys. Why do you ask?”
“I ask,” replied Craig, “because I was wondering whether there might not be something that would take him down to South Street last night. It is the only place I can think of his going to at such a late hour, unless he has gone out of town. If we do not hear from Torreon soon I think I will try what. I can find down there. Ah, what is this?”
Kennedy drew forth a little silver box and opened it. Inside reposed a dozen mescal buttons.
We both looked quickly at Miss Guerrero, but it was quite evident that she was unacquainted with them.
She was about to ask what Kennedy had found when the telephone rang and the maid announced that Miss Guerrero was wanted by Senor Torreon.
A smile of gratification flitted over Kennedy's face as he leaned over to me and whispered: “It is evident that Torreon is anxious to clear himself. I'll wager he has done some rapid hustling since we left him.”