“You could know nothing of me. How could you know?” she persisted. “How can I help you?”
“Ah, Narva is very old,” she replied, her long bony fingers passing through the masses of snow-white hair that fell to her shoulders, “and with the old there is knowledge. Long time I lived with your people, far from here. All the years I keep the secret of this Kingdom of the Condor. No one knows—if they know they do not dare to come. Only one—he knows, he has come. And now, you have come. Why?”
The abrupt question was confusing. Una wondered how much she knew, how much she dared tell her. The inscrutable eyes fixed upon her revealed nothing. Was it to learn her secret Narva had lured her away from the others? The narrow gloomy passage where they stood was remote from the inhabited portion of the cave; the door to Narva’s dwelling, now that it was closed, was not distinguishable from the rest of the wall into which it fitted so admirably. Had Una tried, she could not have found her way back. She was completely at Narva’s mercy—but the old Indian had shown only friendliness hitherto, it was reasonable to suppose that her proffer of assistance was genuine, since motive for treachery was lacking. Impulsively reaching this conclusion, Una answered Narva’s question without reserve.
“I have come,” she said, “because I am looking for one who is dear to me. I think he is lost in this cave.”
“Why?” asked Narva, showing neither surprise nor incredulity.
“Once before he disappeared, and then he was lost here.”
“When?”
“Three years ago. A man who was with him told me. But—he is not his friend. Perhaps it is not true.”
“It is true.”
“How do you know that?” asked Una eagerly.