“Perhaps not—­right away.  But I supposed she would come to you—­as I see she has, for you know about it.  After that, it was only a question of time.  It may have been a heroic remedy, but the disease was critical.”

“Suppose,” suggested Craig, “that, after all, he told her that he was there in the Museum, but that he did not get the dagger.  And suppose that she believed it.  What then?”

Norton looked up quickly.  “Did he tell her that?”

“I am supposing that he did,” repeated Craig, declining to place himself in a position which might lead to disclosing how he found out.

“Then I should say that he was a great deal cleverer than I gave him credit for being,” returned Norton.

“Well, it’s done now, and can’t be undone.  Have you found out anything about the de Moches?”

“Not very much, I must admit.  Of course, you know I’m not on the best of terms with them, for some reason or other.  But I’ve been around the Prince Edward Albert a good deal, and I don’t think they’ve been able to do much that I haven’t some kind of line on.  Alfonso seems to be moping.  His professors here tell me that he has been neglecting his work sadly for the past few days.  The Senora and Whitney seem to be as friendly as ever.  I should say that they were going the pace fast, and it shows on him.”

I glanced significantly at Kennedy, but he betrayed nothing that might lead one to suppose he had discovered the cause.  Evidently he was not ready yet to come out into the open and expected further developments on the poisoned cigarette clue.

The telephone rang and Craig took down the receiver.

“Yes, this is Kennedy,” he answered.  “Oh, hello, Lockwood.  What’s that?  You’ve been trying to get me all day?  I just came in.  Why, yes, I can see you in about half an hour.”

“I guess I’d better clear out,” said Norton with a bitter laugh, as Kennedy hung up the receiver.  “There have been enough crimes committed without adding another murder to the list.”

“Keep on watching the de Moches,” requested Kennedy as Norton made his way to the door.

“Yes,” agreed Norton.  “They will bear it—­particularly Alfonso.  They are hot-blooded.  You never know what they are going to do, and they keep their own counsel.  I might hope that Lockwood would forget; but a de Moche—­never.”

I cannot say that I envied him very much, for doubtless what he said was true, though his danger might be mitigated by the fact that the dagger was no longer in his Museum.  Still, it would never have left Peru, I reflected, if it had not been for him, and there is, even in the best of us, a smouldering desire for revenge.

Lockwood was more than prompt.  I had expected that he would burst into the laboratory prepared to clean things out.  Instead he came in as though nothing at all had happened.

“There’s no use mincing words, Kennedy,” he began.  “You know that I know what has happened.  That scoundrel, Norton, has told Inez that you had shoe-prints of some one who was in the Museum the night of the robbery and that those shoe-prints correspond with mine.  As a matter of fact, Kennedy, I was there.  I was there to get the dagger.  But before I could get it, some one else must have done so.  It was gone.”