Helena stepped behind the desk and put her lips close to his ear. "I am Colonel Jack Belmont's daughter," she whispered. "Send me home, quick, and he'll make it all right with you to-morrow."
"A chip of the old block," muttered the sergeant, with a smile. "I see. And who is your companion?"
Helena hesitated. "Do—do I need to tell you?" she asked.
"You must," firmly.
"She's—you'll never breathe it?"
"You must leave that to my discretion. I shall do what is best."
"She is the daughter of Don Roberto Yorba."
"O Lord! O Lord!" He threw back his head and gave a prolonged chuckle.
The young man edged up to the desk.
"Who is that man?" demanded Helena, haughtily. She felt quite mistress of the situation.