It seemed to Carlita that the dawn of morning would never come. As well have undertaken any other impossible feat as to sleep, and so she sat beside the window watching eagerly, first for the cold, gray break of light in the heavens, and next for some movement in the other world to tell her that mankind was astir again.

She was up, had had her bath, and dressed herself when her maid arrived, pale, but with a fierce burning in the dark eyes that made one forget the circles round them.

"All dressed, Miss de Barryos!" exclaimed her maid in some surprise. "You did not ring for me?"

"No, Ahbel," she returned, feverishly. "I couldn't sleep, and there was no necessity of disturbing you."

"But it is nine, and I have been up since seven. You are too thoughtful for others and too little so for yourself always, Miss de Barryos. And you were ill last night? There was bad news?"

"Yes, from Mr. Winthrop."

"I know. Miss Chalmers' maid told me. We are all so sorry, Miss de Barryos, sorry for you as well as that misfortune should have befallen the young gentleman."

"It is very kind of you, Ahbel," returned Carlita, choking back a tearless sob which the tone of sympathy in the voice evoked.

"And such a dreadful thing!" continued the girl. "You can bear those things so much better when one dies of a fever, or of something in one's bed. It is so much more natural like. But to be—murdered!"

The girl interrupted herself with a little shiver, but Carlita neither shrank from the word nor moved. She stood stonily, gazing with those burning eyes into the street.

"It was very dreadful!" she said, dully.

"And do they know who did it?" continued the girl.

"No."

"But there must be some way of finding out. I have heard such a lot of those people, Mexicans, you know—worse than brigands. They don't want to find out who did it; but a good smart Yankee detective would ferret it all out quickly enough."

For the first time Carlita started.

"A detective!" she repeated.

"Yes'm. A good detective could go down there and get at the bottom of facts in no time."

"Do you know a good detective, Ahbel?"

"Indeed I do, ma'am."

"You are quite sure he is a thoroughly reliable man?"

"Quite sure, ma'am. He is considered one of the very best in New York, and his word goes further with the superintendent than any of them."

"Do you know where to find him?"

"Yes'm. He is my uncle. I was at his house last night to see his daughter, my cousin. I came to ask your permission, but Miss Chalmers said you were not to be disturbed, and that if you required anything, her maid could attend you."

But Carlita seemed not to have heard the latter part of the speech.

"Would he be at home now?"

"Yes'm. He finished a case only yesterday, and said he would take a few days' rest; but I know he would do this for you, Miss de Barryos. He is like an old war-horse, anyway. The mention of a new mystery to solve is like the sound of a trumpet to a horse. He gets restless in a moment."

"And you think he would be willing to risk the danger of that country?"

"A good detective don't know the meaning of danger, miss, any more than a good soldier does. He won't stop to think of that."

"How soon can you fetch him here?"

"In an hour—perhaps less."

"Let it be less, if possible, and go at once."

"Yes'm."

"And you may bring him here upon your return. Unless it should be necessary, you need say nothing to any one of his presence here."

"I understand, miss. Shall I wait to bring your breakfast?"

"No; tell Jawkins to serve it in the breakfast-room."

At least, it was something with which to occupy the time until Ahbel's return. But a very poor occupation it proved. Mental excitement and a sleepless night are not conducive to excellence of appetite, so that she did poor justice to the delicious meal that was served her.

She returned to her own room when she could bear the over-decoration of the breakfast-room no longer, and waited restlessly, counting the apparently endless moments as they passed. And then, at last, she heard a quick step in the hall, a light tap upon her door, and Ahbel stepped inside, followed by a man, before Carlita had time to bid them enter.

It was such a curious sensation that oppressed her as she glanced from her maid to her maid's uncle—a breathless excitement, subdued by a sort of repulsion which was indefinable in her present mood.

Ahbel's cheeks were crimson, her eyes sparkling, under the excitement and an unusually brisk walk; but it was toward the man that Carlita's most inquiring glances were bent.

He was rather small of stature—small and wiry—with a smoothly shaved face, through which the incipient black beard showed, making the skin look blue. The hair was thick and very black, contrasting oddly with the half-sunken cheeks. But it was the eyes that gave him his extraordinary appearance. They were deep set and small, gray as to color, but so piercing, so penetrating, as to make a comparatively innocent man tremble as he looked into them.

He bowed profoundly as Ahbel introduced him to her mistress.

"Miss de Barryos, this is my uncle, Edmond Stolliker."

"Won't you sit down, Mr. Stolliker?" asked Carlita, pointing toward a chair, and speaking to her maid's uncle as if he were "to the manner born"—well, perhaps, because a something about him, unnamed but still apparent, compelled it.

He bowed again and took the chair she indicated quietly and without any apparent awkwardness.

She seated herself opposite him, a table between them, and nervously handled some of the ivory and silver toilet articles that littered it.

"I have sent for you to—"

"Pardon me, Miss de Barryos," he interrupted, speaking for the first time in a low voice which had a curiously distinctive carrying power. "Is it your desire that your maid should be present during this interview?"

Carlita started slightly; but after the faintest possible hesitation, turned to Ahbel, of whom the detective had spoken as if she were the most absolute stranger to him.

"You may go," she said, gently. "If I should need you I will ring."

"Yes, miss."

She left the room without even a backward glance, and when the door closed, Carlita began again:

"I suppose your niece told you of why I have sent for you, and—"

"She said something of the death of your fiancÉ, which was thought to be murder; but I never like to accept even the most apparently trifling detail from one so little interested as a maid. If I am to be retained in this case, Miss de Barryos, I must receive all my data from you personally until I can discover for myself."

"You understand, then, that this case will necessitate a visit to Mexico?"

"Your maid told me as much."

"To the wildest and most uncivilized parts?"

Edmond Stolliker smiled. It warmed and genialized his face wonderfully.

"Fortunately, I speak several patois of Spanish," he returned, by way of reply.

"Then you are willing to undertake it?"

"Quite."

"Then I will tell you the story, though the details are meager enough—merely bald facts, I am afraid. My fiancÉ, Mr. Olney Winthrop, was summoned to Mexico concerning some mines in which he was interested. He went, accompanied by a friend of his, Mr. Leith Pierrepont. At first his letters to me were filled with courage and hope; then suddenly they ceased. Five or six weeks later—yesterday, in fact—Mr. Pierrepont returned and announced his death."

"From what?"

"Shot through the heart."

"Ah! Under what circumstances?"

"I don't know. I fainted when Mr. Pierrepont told me, and on my recovery he had gone. The few facts I have learned were through Miss Chalmers, daughter of my guardian."

"But there is some one whom you suspect of this murder?"

Carlita did not reply at once. Her dark eyes blazed, her lips were scorched and parted, and through them her hot breath came in little gasps; yet when she could control herself sufficiently to speak, she cried out passionately:

"Have I the right to speak suspicion?"

The detective leaned forward, almost touching the small table between them, holding her spell-bound by the strange gleam of his piercing eyes, which seemed to be searching her very soul.

"Shall I tell you whom it is that you accuse in your own heart, Miss de Barryos?" he asked, in a tense half-whisper. "It is Leith Pierrepont! But why? That is the question which I am most anxious to have answered."

A crimson flush overspread her face from throat to brow. She shrank backward in her seat, but the detective leaned even further forward, touching the table now with his long, slender fingers.

"Miss de Barryos," he continued, after a brief pause, "if I am to do anything for you, you must not begin by blindfolding me and then telling me to see. A detective occupies much the same position toward his client that a lawyer or doctor does. He must be trusted all in all, or not at all. I am not here through curiosity, but at your desire."

"You are right, and I all wrong," she cried out; "but the subject is so hateful a one that I must needs shrink from it. There is a reason why I suspect—the man whom you have mentioned. He has dared to speak to me of love, knowing that I was the betrothed wife of the friend who trusted him as a brother. He swore in my presence that, let what would happen, I should be his wife. He is a man whom I have never trusted—whom I despise; and I believe he has done this cowardly thing in order to carry out the vile oath that he swore."

The detective was watching her narrowly. She had arisen, her face grown white again with passion, her fingers clinched, a fierce gleam in the dark eyes, which even he, with all his long experience in the art of reading men, could not fathom.

"And so—he loves you!" Edmond Stolliker said, musingly.

"If you would so desecrate the holy name."

"And when Mr. Winthrop was summoned to Mexico this man went with him?"

"Yes."

"Why? Were his mining interests also jeopardized?"

"He had none there."

"Ah! That is a significant fact, certainly. Did Mr. Winthrop write you anything of the condition in which he found his affairs there?"

"His last letter stated that he had not yet discovered why he had been summoned at all, as matters seemed to him in a more prosperous condition than they had ever been."

"Umph! Will you let me see that letter?"

She hesitated a moment, unwilling to trust so sacred a thing to other hands; then remembering her oath, she went feverishly to her escritoire. As she was selecting it, a knock sounded upon the door, and Ahbel entered.

"Mr. Pierrepont, Miss de Barryos," she exclaimed, striving to calm the excitement of her tone.

Carlita turned like a tigress, the precious letters dropping from her hands to the floor about her.

"Tell him," she cried, passionately, "that Miss de Barryos is not at home to him, neither now nor ever!"

Edmond Stolliker was upon his feet in a moment.

"Wait!" he exclaimed, in command, to the maid; then crossed the room suddenly and stood facing Miss de Barryos. "If we are to discover the murderer of your fiancÉ, Miss de Barryos," he said, earnestly, "you must be my unfailing ally. You must obey me absolutely. This man must suspect nothing whatever of your intentions. He must suppose that you believe every word that he speaks. He must even believe there might come a time when you would not be unfavorable to his suit. You must see him whenever he calls; keep him near you at whatever cost. If you would discover the murderer of your fiancÉ, you must be an actress as strong and subtle as Bernhardt herself, forgetting your own inclinations and hatreds, and thinking only of Olney Winthrop dead, and needing an avenger. You feel yourself capable of this?"

"Of anything that will insure justice to the dead and to the living!"

"Ahbel, say to Mr. Pierrepont that Miss de Barryos will be down at once," the detective said, quietly. "Is there any convenient cover from which I could hear a conversation between you?"

"Yes; the conservatory."

"Good! Let no detail escape. Ask him every question that you can put with safety, without allowing him to suspect that it is for greater cause than your natural interest. You can do this?"

"For Olney's sake."

Her eyes were lifted, her hands pressed upon her bosom as if she were communing with her dead lover. Her lips moved for a moment, and then she left the room.

Edmond Stolliker gathered up the letters she had dropped, thrust them into his pocket, and followed.

In the hall he met Ahbel.

"Take me to the conservatory, quick!" he commanded, briefly.