Zahara drew her robe more closely about her and adopted her most
stately manner.
"My name," continued the other, "does not matter, but my business
is to look into the affairs of other people, you understand?"
Zahara, who understood from this that the man was some kind of
inquiry agent, opened her blue eyes very widely and at the same
time shook her head.
"No," she protested; "what do you mean?"
"A certain gentleman came here a short time ago, came into this
house and must be here now. Don't be afraid. He has done
nothing very dreadful," he added reassuringly.
Zahara retreated a step, and a little wrinkle of disapproval
appeared between her pencilled brows. She no longer liked the
man's eyes, she decided. They were deceitful eyes. His
companion had taken up the heavy stick and was restlessly tapping
the floor.
"There is no one here," said Zahara calmly, "except the people
who live in the house."
"He is here, he is here," muttered the man seated on the divan.
The tapping of his stick had grown more rapid, but as he had
spoken in Spanish, Zahara, who was ignorant of that language, had
no idea what he had said.
"My friend," continued the Spaniard, bowing slightly in the
direction of the slender man who so persistently kept his broad-
brimmed hat on his head, "chanced to hear the voice of this
gentleman as he spoke to your porter on entering the door.
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