False clews in abundance were brought to Davis and Pesquiera. Good citizens came in with theories that lacked entirely the backing of any evidence. One of these was that a flying machine had descended in the darkness and that Gordon had been carried away by a friend to avoid the payment of debts he was alleged to owe. The author of this explanation was a stout old lady of militant appearance who carried a cotton umbrella large enough to cover a family. She was extraordinarily persistent and left in great indignation to see a lawyer because Davis would not pay her the reward.
That day and the next passed with the mystery still unsolved. Valencia continued to stay at the hotel instead of opening the family town house, probably because she had brought no servants with her from the valley and did not know how long she would remain in the city. She and Manuel called upon the Underwoods to hear Kate's story, but from it they gathered nothing new. Mrs. Underwood welcomed them with the gentle kindness that characterized her, but Kate was formal and distant.
"She doesn't like me," Valencia told her cousin as soon as they had left. "I wonder why. We were good enough friends as children."
Manuel said nothing. He stroked his little black mustache with the foreign manner he had inherited. If he had cared to do so perhaps he could have explained Kate Underwood's stiffness. Partly it was embarrassment and partly shyness. He knew that there had been a time--before Valencia's return from college--when Kate lacked very little of being in love with him. He had but to say the word to have become engaged--and he had not said it. For, while on a visit to the East, he had called upon his beautiful cousin and she had won his love at once. This had nipped in the bud any embryonic romance that might otherwise have been possible with Kate.
A little old Mexican woman with a face like wrinkled leather was waiting to see them in front of the hotel.
"Señor Pesquiera?" she asked, with a little bob of the body meant to be a bow.
"Yes."
"And Señorita Valdés?"
"That is my name," answered Valencia.
"Will the señor and the señorita take a walk? The night is fine."
"Where?" demanded Manuel curtly.
"Into old-town, señor."
"You have something to tell us."
"To show you, señor--for a hundred dollars."
"Sebastian--or is it Pablo?" cried Valencia, in a low voice.
"I say nothing, señorita" whined the old woman. "I show you; then you pay. Is it not so?"