“It is a great pity he is so stubborn!” Coravel Tio gestured in despair as he turned to his visitor. “I owe you thanks, Mr. Mackintavers, for getting my wholesale department that order from the St. Louis dealer. I am in your debt, and I shall be grateful if I can repay the obligation. In this case, alas, I am powerless!”
“Well, let it go.” Mackintavers waved a large, square hand. He produced cigars, set one between his square white teeth, and handed the other to Coravel Tio. “You can repay me here and now. A man at Albuquerque sent a telegram to that Crump woman in your care. Where is she?”
“What is all this?” Coravel Tio was obviously astonished. “Señor, I am a curio dealer, no more! You surely do not refer to the kind-hearted Mrs. Crump?”
Mackintavers eyed him, chewing on his cigar. Then he nodded grimly.
“I do! Is she a particular friend of yours?”
“Certainly! Have I not known her these twenty years? I buy much from her—bits of turquoise, queer Indian things, odd relics. Her mail often comes here, remaining until she calls for it. I am a curio dealer, señor, and in other matters I take no interest.”
“Hm!” grunted Mackintavers. “Has she been here lately?”
“No, señor, not for three months—no, more than that! Mail comes, also telegrams.”
“D’you know where she is?” demanded the other, savagely.
Dreamily reflective, Coravel Tio fastened his eyes upon the right ear of Mackintavers. That ear bore a half-healed scar, like a bullet-nick. Beneath that silent scrutiny the other man reddened uneasily.