“Unless you volunteered the information, I could hardly ask for it,” smiled the detective.
“I am Claudia Solado, and——”
“Solado was the name of one of the Indian princes whom I found myself treating rather roughly, I am afraid, and——”
“You did right,” she interrupted. “Don Solado is my—my uncle. I am sorry to say that he is a scoundrel.”
She made this statement coolly, as if it were an incontrovertible fact, although regrettable.
“If I had known he was a relative of yours, I might have been a little more gentle, nevertheless,” declared Nick.
“I am glad you were not. He cares nothing for anybody else, and he would sacrifice anybody or anything to further his own schemes. But I need not trouble you about that. What is worrying me is that I am afraid the enemies of Prince Marcos——”
“The person you think I resemble?” asked Nick, with a smile.
“The same,” she answered. “You are very much alike. You will see it yourself if ever you meet Marcos. I know he was all right on the night of the ball.”
“Afterward or before?” asked the detective.