Greg was taken aback for the moment. He had made a bad start. But he looked up as if an idea had occurred to him. "Perhaps an assumed name was given--to spare the family, you know. I'm sure she was brought here, a young Spanish-American lady. She is here, isn't she?" But the doctor had taken alarm. A wary look appeared in his moist blue eyes. Greg guessed that de Socotra's picturesque personality, not to speak of de Socotra's pocket-book, had won his allegiance. He did not answer Greg directly but said suggestively: "Spanish-American and your cousin?" "Half Spanish-American I should have said. Her father was an American." "Ah," said Doctor Emslie, and Greg saw that he had only damaged his own case further. "The gentleman who brought her here was not her real but her adopted father," he explained. The doctor smiled politely. Greg saw that he did not believe a word of it. "Without saying whether or not there is any such person here," he said smoothly, "may I ask what your purpose is in asking?" "I want to see her." The doctor shrugged expressively. "My dear sir! Under no circumstances could I allow that without the express authorization of her own physician, or of her nearest relative. We have to be especially careful with the kind of cases that we treat. Visits are apt to be so exciting." Greg saw that it was hopeless to try to persuade him, but he sparred for time a little. The ledger or case-record was still open on the desk, and Greg was trying to read the latest entry upside down. "Just for a moment!" he begged. "You could be present. My poor little cousin! I merely want to see if there is anything she needs!" Dr. Emslie stood up as a gentle hint. "You may rest assured that everything possible is being done for her," he said,--"I mean if she is here," he added, seeing that he had made a slip. "Go to her father, or her step-father, as the case may be, and if it was here that he brought her, he will of course authorize me to let you see her." By this time Greg had succeeded in reading at least part of the entry. The name was Clelie Mendizabal. This odd name had stuck fast in Greg's memory. It was the name Bianca Guiterrez had given him in the Ninth Street house. "A family pseudonym," Greg thought, "that is made to serve all kinds of purposes." Following the name came various particulars that Greg had not time to decipher. He was chiefly interested in a number written in bold characters: 16. He guessed that to be the number of Amy's room in the house. Meanwhile Doctor Emslie was blandly ushering him towards the door. They parted politely at the threshold of the room; the doctor went back to his desk. As Greg progressed towards the front door, not much wiser than when he had entered, the good-looking maid opened it to admit another visitor. This was a sad-faced woman carrying a little package upright with care, evidently a delicacy for a patient.