“And what was the attitude of Madame Garcia?” asked Geoffrey eagerly.
“Oh, very agitated and fussy, of course, all of it well assumed. She’s a most wonderful actress. All the women of the South are the same.”
“But does Garcia know?”
“I feel sure he is in complete ignorance. I watch them all every hour—every minute—but I can find no tangible evidence against anyone. The only motive that there can be is Madame Garcia’s jealousy.”
“Then she must be the culprit,” Falconer said. “It is evident that she must somehow doctor her hostess’s food—eh? But surely that must be difficult.”
“No doubt, but it is being accomplished somehow, for how is it that none of us suffer from any ill-effects?” said the girl.
“Because you are not subject to ‘acute indigestion’ as Mrs. Mapleton is,” was his reply as he smiled meaningly. “The attacks are certainly curious. They seem to occur after eating, just as indigestion would occur,” Falconer went on. “But how is it possible that this Spanish woman can tamper with her hostess’s food alone, unless she is in league with the cook, and that is quite inconceivable. The whole history of both Garcia, and his wife, and Mapleton and Mrs. Mapleton certainly points to but one motive—Madame Garcia’s jealousy!”
“But do you think that Mr. Mapleton can have no knowledge of what is in progress?” asked the girl to whom the young wireless engineer was so devoted.
“No; I’m convinced that he has not. His friend the doctor has diagnosed the complaint as indigestion, hence he has no suspicions, and does not seek a further medical opinion.”
“That is so. Mother only yesterday suggested to him in private that he should ask for another doctor to see his wife, but he declared that he had the greatest confidence in Dr. Garcia’s judgment.” Then she added: “It was Dr. Garcia himself who sent into Madrid for another doctor this morning.”