“No, of course not,” he replied, nettled by my smile,—as, indeed, I intended he should be. “He believed that you had come on a very different person’s account.”
Why did he fight shy of mentioning Miralda by name? And why was he himself so interested in forcing Sampayo to marry her, when the man himself had offered to take any oath I wished that he would not? “I don’t care a rap what he believed,” I said, after a moment’s pause.
“But we care, Mr. Donnington?”
I paused and then asked sharply: “What is Miralda Dominguez to you, Dr. Barosa?”
The question took him by surprise, and the sudden light which gleamed in his eyes answered my question.
“She is nothing to me, personally, of course,” he protested.
“You misunderstand my question. What is she to you and your friends?” It was not prudent yet to show him that I believed I had guessed his secret of secrets.
“She is one of us, Mr. Donnington. She is in a position to render our cause valuable help, as she has already done. It is more to the point to ask what she is to you.”
I had another shaft ready, but to prepare the way for the surprise I paused, gave a shrug and a smile of indifference, and then said quickly: “I hope to make her my wife.”
Once more the sudden flame in his eyes confirmed my former diagnosis.