Señor Henry stopped short, stared from one to another, biting his lip, then turned, and rushed from the room as violently as he had entered. They heard the front door slam behind him.
Amy covered her face with her hands. "I'm so ashamed!" she murmured. "To think that I could ever have thought—even for a moment—that!"
"Forget the mannikin," said Greg calmly. "He means nothing in your life."
Greg heard Estuban's voice in the kitchen and hastened down-stairs. Their eyes brightened at the sight of each other like old friends. Estuban quickly explained that he had been carried as far as Philadelphia by the express on which he had expected to find de Socotra, and had been obliged to wait there several hours for a returning train.
"What has happened here?" he asked eagerly.
"Quite a bit," said Greg dryly. "We've got both the girl and the book out of de Socotra's hands. That is to say, we got a book."
"The little black book!" cried Estuban, his black eyes gleaming. "Let me see it!"
Greg handed it over, watching for Estuban's verdict with more anxiety than he cared to show. Estuban hastily turned the pages. What Greg read in his face confirmed his worst fears; amazement, incredulity, anger.
"This is not it!" he cried. "He has fooled you! This is an impudent substitute manufactured out of whole cloth!"
"I was half prepared for that," said Greg gloomily.