musical voice that was far more
pleasing to the ear than that of the usual Spanish-American. I had heard
that the women of Lima were famed for their beauty and melodious voices.
Senorita Mendoza surely upheld their reputation.

There was an appealing look in her soft brown eyes and her thin,
delicate lips trembled as she hurried on with her strange story.

"I never saw my father in such a state before," she murmured. "All he
talks about is the 'big fish'--whatever that may mean--and the curse of
Mansiche. At times his eyes are staring wide open. Sometimes I think he
has a violent fever. He is excited--and seems to be wasting away. He
seems to see strange visions and hear voices. Yet I think he is worse
when he is quiet in a dark room alone than when he is down in the lobby
of the hotel in the midst of the crowd."

A sudden flash of fire seemed to light up her dark eyes. "There is a
woman at the hotel, too," she went on, "a woman from Truxillo, Senora de
Moche. Ever since she has been there my father has been growing worse
and worse."

"Who is this Senora de Moche?" asked Kennedy, studying the Senorita as
if she were under a lens.

"A Peruvian of an old Indian family," she replied. "She has come to New
York with her son, Alfonso, who is studying at the University here. I
knew him in Peru," she added, as if by way of confession, "when he was a
student at the University of Lima."

There was something in both her tone and her manner that would lead one
to believe that she bore no enmity toward the son--indeed quite the
contrary--whatever might be her feelings toward the mother of de Moche.

Kennedy reached for our university catalogue and found the name, Alfonso
de Moche, a post-graduate student in the School of Engineering, and
therefore not in any of Kennedy's own courses. I could see that Craig
was growing more and more interested.

"And you think," he queried, "that in some way this woman is connected
with the strange change that has taken place in your father?"

"I don't know," she temporized, but the tone of her answer was
sufficient to convey the impression that in her heart she did suspect
something, she knew not what.

"It's not a long run to Atlantic Beach," considered Kennedy. "I have one
or two things that I must finish up first, however."

"Then you will come down tonight?" she asked, as Kennedy rose and took
the little white silk gloved hand which she extended.

"Tonight surely," answered Craig,