“The same, señora,” he answered in Spanish, bowing gravely.
“The same whose mare—?” she began, her expressive countenance finishing the query. Conrad bowed again. The woman sank down in her chair, her face in her hands, swaying back and forth as she moaned and sobbed. Lucy knelt by her side to comfort her, while Curtis bent over the girlish figure and spoke in a low, changed tone that the girl barely recognized, so different was it from his usual brisk utterance. It set her nerves vibrating in quick, half-conscious conviction of a depth and quality of feeling in harmony with her own.
“I am afraid I made a mistake by coming in, Miss Bancroft,” he said. “It did not occur to me that she would connect me with her husband’s trouble. Won’t you please tell her, when she is quieter, that I am very sorry about the whole affair, that I have no feeling against him, and that I’ll gladly do for him whatever I can. I think I’d better go now, but I’ll wait outside for you, and if I can be of any use you must call me.”
When Lucy joined him a little later her face showed signs of tears, and as they walked back she was preoccupied and perturbed. She wished to see her father, so Curtis left her at the door of the bank.
“Daddy!” Lucy exclaimed as she rushed to his side, her eyes shining and her face aglow. “Oh, daddy, Señora Melgares has just told me the strangest thing! Mr. Conrad was with me, but he went out because she cried so, and he didn’t hear what she said. I tried to quiet and comfort her, and finally she told me that her husband had been persuaded and paid to steal Mr. Conrad’s horse by a man who said he wanted to get even with him for something. She told me his name—you and Mr. Tillinghurst and Judge Banks were talking about him the other day—Mr. Jenkins—Don Rutherford Jenkins, she called him.”
Anticipation warmed Bancroft’s heart as she spoke. If the story was true it might give him just the hold on Jenkins that he wanted. He made her repeat the details of her conversation with the Mexican woman. “Did you say anything about it to Conrad?” he asked in conclusion.
“No, daddy; I thought I ought to tell you about it first.”
“Quite right, Lucy. You were very prudent. And don’t mention it now, to him or to anybody.”
“No, of course not. But, daddy, won’t that make it better for poor José Maria? Mr. Jenkins is the one that ought to be punished—he and Mr. Baxter; and poor ignorant Melgares ought to be let off very easily. Don’t you think so, daddy?”