“But what has Professor Dobbs to do with the board?” I interrupted.
“The professor was scientific and geological adviser to the board, and it was upon some report or suggestion of his that Enriquez took issue, against the sentiment of the board. It was a principle affecting Enriquez's Spanish sense of honor.”
“Do tell me all about it,” I said eagerly; “I am very anxious to know the truth.”
“As I was not present at the time,” said Mrs. Saltillo, rebuking my eagerness with a gentle frigidity, “I am unable to do so. Anything else would be mere hearsay, and more or less ex parte. I do not approve of gossip.”
“But what did Enriquez tell you? You surely know that.”
“THAT, being purely confidential, as between husband and wife,—perhaps I should say partner and partner,—of course you do not expect me to disclose. Enough that I was satisfied with it. I should not have spoken to you about it at all, but that, through myself and Enriquez, you are an acquaintance of the professor's, and I might save you the awkwardness of presenting yourself with him. Otherwise, although you are a friend of Enriquez, it need not affect your acquaintance with the professor.”
“Hang the professor!” I ejaculated. “I don't care a rap for HIM.”
“Then I differ with you,” said Mrs. Saltillo, with precision. “He is distinctly an able man, and one cannot but miss the contact of his original mind and his liberal teachings.”
Here she was joined by one of the ladies, and I lounged away. I dare say it was very mean and very illogical, but the unsatisfactory character of this interview made me revert again to the singular revelation I had seen a few hours before. I looked anxiously for Professor Dobbs; but when I did meet him, with an indifferent nod of recognition, I found I could by no means identify him with the figure of her mysterious companion. And why should I suspect him at all, in the face of Mrs. Saltillo's confessed avoidance of him? Who, then, could it have been? I had seen them but an instant, in the opening and the shutting of a door. It was merely the shadowy bulk of a man that flitted past my door, after all. Could I have imagined the whole thing? Were my perceptive faculties—just aroused from slumber, too insufficiently clear to be relied upon? Would I not have laughed had Urania, or even Enriquez himself, told me such a story?
As I reentered the hotel the clerk handed me a telegram. “There's been a pretty big shake all over the country,” he said eagerly. “Everybody is getting news and inquiries from their friends. Anything fresh?” He paused interrogatively as I tore open the envelope. The dispatch had been redirected from the office of the “Daily Excelsior.” It was dated, “Salvatierra Rancho,” and contained a single line: “Come and see your old uncle 'Ennery.”