“The _Blenheim_,” came the prompt answer. Her eyes were searching his face intently; even the thick veil could not hide the fact that they were big, dark, and lustrous. “That was the ship, was it not?” “It was,” answered Kenyon, and the puzzled look grew deeper. “He is very low,” the girl continued, “and he is very anxious to see you.” A number of people stood about. Those who overheard were beginning to stare; and as this could not be endured, Kenyon entered the hansom. Instantly the driver called to his horse; the vehicle went rattling along Thirty-sixth Street, heading east, and Kenyon settled back by the girl’s side, smiling his astonishment into the darkness. II THE DARK HOUSE IN SELDEN’S SQUARE “When strange eyes peer through the veiling dark, Take care, my friend, take care!” --_From the Doggerels of Balmacenso._ IT was Kenyon’s idea, upon entering the cab, to afford himself an opportunity, out of earshot of the idlers, of bringing this bizarre situation to an end. But as before the girl gave him no chance. “When you left Rio,” she began, in a rather hesitating way, “you had but little money, I understand.” “That,” smiled Kenyon, “is very true.” And, for all the smile, he gazed at her searchingly. For it was a very odd thing that she should know so much about him. Within fifteen minutes she had told him that he had arrived on the _Blenheim_, that he had sailed from Rio, and that he had been hard put for money when he left there. But the thick veil hid her face from him, and he turned his gaze away, baffled. In a few moments she spoke again; and once more he detected the slight note of hesitancy in her voice. “Have you seen Moritze & Co.?” “Moritze & Co.?” he repeated wonderingly. “Oh!” suddenly. “I had forgotten. Of course you have not yet heard of them in connection with this matter.” Kenyon laughed. “Why, no,” he admitted; “I must confess that I have not heard of them in connection with this matter; nor of anyone or anything else having to do with it. It’s all a mystery to me.” “Could you expect anything more, under the circumstances?” She was fumbling in a small handbag as she spoke. He watched her, amazed at how the thing drifted on. “It does not do to speak freely of some things before all is ready,” she continued, with a return of the cold manner of a few moments before. “You should have learned that while you were with Nunez.” He caught his breath. Nunez! She knew about that! And he had not thought that any person north of Panama knew of the part that he had played in that ill-fated expedition in Uruguay. He was still confusedly groping amid the mental haze which her words had produced, when she spoke again. “I was entrusted with this and asked to give it to you.” She placed a slip of crackling paper in his hand; the cab lamps were too dim for him to discern the figures, but a glance showed the young man that it was a check.