“Humph!” Webster pursed up his lips and blew a long, thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “That seems conclusive enough.[64] We’ll never get at anything from that direction, that’s sure. But let us come to yourself now. You’ll know more about that subject.”

[64]

Kenyon smiled.

“I’ll be sure to,” said he.

“Who were your intimates while in Montevideo?”

“I knew no one intimately save Nunez and his secretary, Balmacenso.”

“And Nunez was killed at the taking of the town by the forces of the dictator.”

“He was.”

“And Balmacenso? What sort of a fellow was he?”

“Not a bad sort of a chap. I think he was a Spaniard. He saved my life after the fight, packed me on a mule, I being unable to walk because of a wrenched leg. If you fancy he had anything to do with this thing you are on the wrong scent. These people expected me on the Blenheim. Balmacenso died weeks before the Blenheim entered port and at a time when I had no notion of coming North in her. I’ve gone over all that, but there is no explanation of the mystery in it.”

Webster looked baffled.

“Now, look here,” complained he, “don’t throw cold water upon my investigation like this. It’s discouraging. Here I’m sweating like a sheep, trying to get to the bottom of[65] this thing, and you take a sort of delight in stumping me. It’s not friendly and it’s not right.”

[65]

“I beg your pardon,” laughed Kenyon. “I’m only tickled to see how similar your own point of view is to my own, that’s all.”

“They don’t seem as widely separated as I expected them to be, that’s a fact,” admitted Garry. “It proves to me that it is possible for a man, newly impressed by a most beautiful woman, to see as clearly as the most cold-blooded of his friends. And that is a thing worth knowing.”

He smiled genially across the table at Kenyon and smoked his cigarette contentedly.

“There remains only one other thing which I can think of,” said he. “And that is the possibility of there 

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