A suspicion had startled him just after the men finished eating, but he had dismissed it as a fantasy of his excited imagination. Sebastian, carrying out the dishes, had dropped a spoon and left it lying beside the bed. Dick contrived, after he had wakened, to roll close to the edge and look down. The spoon was still there. Two letters were engraved upon the handle. They were A.V. If these stood for Alvaro Valdés, then this must be the town house of Valencia, and she was probably a party to his abduction.
He could not without distress of heart accept such a conclusion. She was his enemy, but she had seemed to him so frank and generous a one that complicity in a plot of this nature had no part in the picture of her his mind had drawn. He wrestled with the thought of this until he could stand it no longer.
"Did Miss Valdés come to town herself, or is she letting you run this abduction, Menendez?" he asked suddenly.
Pablo repeated stupidly, "Miss Valdés—the señorita?"
The keen, hard eyes of Gordon did not lift for an instant from those of the other man. "That's what I said."
It occurred to the Mexican that this was a chance to do a stroke of business for his mistress. He would show the confident Americano what place he held in her regard.
His shoulders lifted in a shrug. "You are clevair, Señor. How do you know the señorita knows?"
"This is her house. She told you to bring me here."
Pablo was surprised. "So? You know it is her house?"
"Surest thing you know."