Amy very quietly started to pull a handsome ring from her finger. It was tight; it did not come easily. Both men watched the action with a fascinated gaze. She finally held out the ring towards Señor Henry. He refused it with a passionate gesture. She let it drop on the floor. "Go!" she said. He burst out in desperate appeals, reproaches, excuses, all in Spanish. Amy turned wearily away. Greg stood up. "You've had your answer," he said harshly. "Go, before you're helped out." Señor Henry stopped short, stared from one to another, biting his lip, then turned, and rushed from the room as violently as he had entered. They heard the front door slam behind him. Amy covered her face with her hands. "I'm so ashamed!" she murmured. "To think that I could ever have thought--even for a moment--that!" "Forget the mannikin," said Greg calmly. "He means nothing in your life." Greg heard Estuban's voice in the kitchen and hastened down-stairs. Their eyes brightened at the sight of each other like old friends. Estuban quickly explained that he had been carried as far as Philadelphia by the express on which he had expected to find de Socotra, and had been obliged to wait there several hours for a returning train. "What has happened here?" he asked eagerly. "Quite a bit," said Greg dryly. "We've got both the girl and the book out of de Socotra's hands. That is to say, we got a book." "The little black book!" cried Estuban, his black eyes gleaming. "Let me see it!" Greg handed it over, watching for Estuban's verdict with more anxiety than he cared to show. Estuban hastily turned the pages. What Greg read in his face confirmed his worst fears; amazement, incredulity, anger. "This is not it!" he cried. "He has fooled you! This is an impudent substitute manufactured out of whole cloth!" "I was half prepared for that," said Greg gloomily. Estuban went on: "This is what de Socotra meant to carry to the President. Look! testimonials of respect to His Excellency; addresses of felicitation from public bodies of every class in Managuay; the Santiago Chamber of Commerce; the Planters' Association; The Rubber-Gatherers' Union! The last is a masterpiece; listen! 'The Rubber-Gatherers' Union of Managuay, happy in their situation on a fertile soil under a liberal government, desires to express to his Excellency, the President of the United States,' etc., etc. My God! what sublime impudence!" "Then our work is still to do," said Greg grimly. "Do you know where de Socotra is at this moment?" asked Estuban with a dangerous glitter in his eyes. "At a house on East Seventeenth Street, the headquarters of his gang. He got that book there earlier in the day." "It was made there under his direction, no doubt, and the original is presumably there." "If they have not destroyed it."