storm of still shaky laughter and interjections was the best medicine for her malady.
"It's all a bad dream," she said. "That is how we must take it."
Don Christobal took up the cue.
"Exactly. I have had a long talk with Veintemilla, and that is the way he asks us to treat it, for patriotic reasons. In exchange, he has promised to help me wind up the business here and sell our concessions. Dick and Maria-Teresa will be married in England, if nobody objects."
Natividad alone had objections to make, and waved his arms disconsolately above his head.
"The same old story!" he groaned. "If I had my way, we should soon get to the bottom of those Corridor of Night mysteries…. But no!… the same old game of shut your eyes and see nothing…. Here's Veintemilla now, instead of settling with those Indians once and for all, asking us to call it a bad dream!… Bad dream indeed!"
"My dear Natividad," said the Marquis. "I fear you are a troublous spirit. By the way, I have sad news for you. You are no longer inspector superior of Callao."
Natividad fell into a chair, his mouth wide open, struggling for words to qualify the airy attitude of this man, for whom he had risked
