"I see the name of Vargas—er—ah—inscribed on these. Are you Mr. Vargas?"
The other remained unmoved, replying simply, "I am Juan de Vargas."
"What connection have you with the deceased gentleman?" continued the Coroner, without relaxing in the least the sternness of his look. "Can you tell us anything of this affair?"
Señor de Vargas shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing, señores; I lament that I cannot. The contents of the envelopes should tell you about the extent of our connection; they contain but a deed, some shares of stock, no more. Señor de Sanchez would have delivered them to me to-night. Open them by all means."
The man's eyes, dull and unmoving, continued to regard Mr. Merkel. Had he been discussing the weather his tones could have been no more dispassionate.
The Coroner tore open the envelopes, and, as the man had said, one contained a deed, conveying certain land to Juan Sebastian de Vargas y Escolado, the notary's certificate showing it had been signed and acknowledged that very day before Clay Fairchild. Alberto de Sanchez had made the transfer. The other envelope disclosed a certificate for one thousand shares of stock in the Paquita Gold Mining and Milling Company, also made over to Señor Vargas in due form. The papers told no more.
"Good!" exclaimed Señor de Vargas. "We agreed yesterday, and I have made the first payment of ten thousand dollars for myself and associates. I was but awaiting the deed and the stock."
At this juncture Doctor Westbrook interposed:
"I happen to know that this gentleman is Señor de Vargas," said he. "He called here with—with Señor de Sanchez last evening. I have heard something of this deal between the two, and I believe it represents the occasion of this gentleman's presence in the city at this time."
Señor de Vargas acknowledged this speech with a grave "Gracias, señor." Turning to Mr. Merkel again, "I hope there will not be much delay?" he queried, mildly, with a certain precision of enunciation that alone marked him of an un-English-speaking race.