All this happened in a breath of course. The party passed to the sidewalk, and Greg went into the hotel.
He went to the desk. To the clerk he said with an offhand air: "I just passed a young lady on the way out who recognized me, and I can't place her. A little lady with dark red hair; she was with two other ladies who looked Spanish."
Greg's appearance was a sufficient warranty to the clerk. "Oh yes, Señorita Amèlie de Socotra," he said.
Greg's heart went down. "De Socotra," he repeated like a man trying to remember. "And who were the other two ladies?"
"Señora de Socotra, her mother, and Señorita Bianca Guiterrez, a relative, a cousin I believe."
"Ah yes, now I remember," said Greg. "Are they of the family of Señor Francisco de Socotra?"
"Why yes, his wife and daughter."
Greg's brain whirled a little. He couldn't reconcile this with what the girl herself had told him. He suddenly became aware that the clerk was staring at him.
"Of course," he said, "I met them in Havana. Are they leaving?"
"Yes. Señor de Socotra was called to Peru last night."