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. And
although the door was closed too soon for us actually to see him,
we are convinced that he is the person we seek."

"I think you are mistaken," said Zahara coolly. "But what do you
want him for?"

As she uttered the words she realized that even the memory of
Grantham was sufficient to cause her to betray herself. She had
betrayed her interest to the man himself, and now she had
betrayed it to this dark-faced stranger whose manner was so
mysterious. The Spaniard recognized the fact, and, unlike
Grantham, acted upon it promptly.

"He has taken away the wife of another, Senorita," he said
simply, and watched her as he spoke the lie.

She listened in silence, wide-eyed. Her lower lip twitched, and
she bit it fiercely.