〃It's true； there were numerous traces of blooddyed paw prints and even drippings found near by。 None led very far away； however。 The dirt and dust of the pavements must have quickly dried and coated the brute's pads。 And then so many people quickly milled about； obliterating everything before we could get there。〃
〃For every objection of mine； you have an answer ready。 But still and all； you haven't been able to remove that dissatisfied feeling of mine。 What we call in my language a hunch。 Something isn't right。 There's a basic implausibility to this whole thing that I can't accept as easily as you people。〃
The inspector smiled bleakly； tapped him knowingly on the shoulder。 〃Tell the truth； Manning。 Isn't it your own guilty conscience； about being the indirect cause of this four…legged demon's depredations； that makes you keep trying to raise vague objections； cast shadowy doubts； on what is glaringly self…evident？ Of course it is！ You would like to believe that it is not the jaguar which did this； for the sake of your own peace of mind。 I'm afraid I cannot acmodate you。 Our test tubes； our high…powered glasses； our reagents and analyses； have been brought into play； their evidence has been given and found irrefutable。 Our report has been made out accordingly； and can be substantiated by the scientific investigation which it is based on。 We are not guessing when we say such…and…such and so…and…so。 All these things that have occurred to you； they have occurred to us ourselves； and been weighed； never fear； and…discarded。 Our findings are： that Teresa Delgado was attacked and clawed to death by a jaguar outside the door of her house in the alley known as Pasaje del Diablo； at 1：15 o'clock Thursday night； May fourteenth。 And there is nothing further to be added。〃
〃Except by the jaguar；〃 said Manning grimly。
III。 Conchita Con treras
The Seсora Viuda de Contreras raised her pillowed head alertly。 The footfall that had attracted her； in the tiled corridor outside her open room door； had had a hesitant quality about it； as though undecided whether to e down full weight or tiptoe。
〃Is that you； my daughter？〃 she called out。
The Seсora Viuda was stretched out on a chaise longue； in a state of infirmity that was being more and more frequent of late。 She was a handsome stately woman； with unplucked brows as thick and black as charcoal smudges； giving her face the look of habitual serenity that straight； horizontal lines are always apt to produce。 Her head of thick black hair； only white as yet in one plume streaking off from her temple； was as glossy as a cockerel's tail feathers and； like them； crisply curling in little bunches。 A handkerchief soaked in cologne and placed in a narrowed band across her forehead was the only concession to her affliction。 She was not one of your whining hypochondriacs。 Pain was a thing between oneself and one's God。
At her interrogation the footfall had made up its mind to e down full force。 Or rather the succeeding one did； that one having already been made。 A couple more followed； rather reluctantly； and then a young girl appeared in the doorway。 It is hard not to be beautiful at eighteen； and for her it would have been a physical impossibility。 Even the dimming devotional mourning that encased her from head to foot； plete even to smoky veil； couldn't obscure that fact。 She stood looking in submissively at the benevolent despot on the chaise； who was aware of one's lightest footfall； almost of one's innermost thoughts； it sometimes seemed。
〃Did you wake up from your nap； mamacita？ Do you feel better now？〃
The Seсora Viuda reached out to the night stand beside her； flicked open a small jet…sticked fan； began to use it。 This had nothing to do with room temperature； but was the outward symptom of approaching interrogation。 Lengthy； exhaustive interrogation。 The deceptive brow line remained ruler straight。 〃Sit down a minute； Conchita mia。 Here； by me。〃
The girl came forward； shifted a chair； sank primly down on the very edge of it。
〃There； that's it。〃 The fan continued to move； taking its time。 The girl shifted both insteps far in underneath the chair。
〃Tell me； hija。〃 There was a pause while the fanning went on。 〃You were on your way to All Saints Cemetery； to pay your respects at your father's resting place？〃 The examination was under way。
The girl looked up from the finger she had been wrangling with。 〃It is his saint's day。 It should not be allowed to pass unnoted。 And as you were ill； I thought perhaps I'd…〃
The Seсora Viuda nodded with benevolent approval。 〃A good daughter doesn't forget her departed father。 She keeps the flowers fresh on his grave； doesn't forget to visit it。 That's as it should be。〃 The fan whirred blandly on。 〃When was the last time you were there？〃
〃Last week； I think…I don't know exactly。 Why do you ask me； mamacita？ 〃
〃I was just wondering； that is all。 Why this sudden intense fervor； this devotional passion； this locura almost。〃 The fan closed； pointed upward； descended again； reopened； went on fluttering。 〃I don't like it。 It isn't good at your age。 It isn't natural。 It is not that your papa passed from us yesterday。 It is five years ago； now； may he rest in peace。 You were thirteen then。 You loved him； you were desolated。 Bueno。 Then it passed； as it should with the young。 You were like other girls your age； you enjoyed the cine on a Sunday afternoon； having an helado in a sweetshop now and then； those things。 Now all at once this frenzy of tragic grief descends on you； excluding every other interest。 It is almost feverish； I have seen you brooding by the hour。 You cannot go often enough； nor remain long enough； at All Saints Cemetery。 You are unable to eat or sleep； unable to think of anything but the departed。 It's morbid； it's melancholy。〃
The fan never stopped a moment。 The monologue ran on； with a sort of velvety firmness that didn't raise its voice； threaten； mand。 That just stated facts。 〃It is to stop now。 No more of these visits to a burial ground。 They're not normal。 I don't understand them。 At your age one shouldn't think of the other world so constantly。〃
The girl gave her a look of almost tearful supplication。 〃Just one more time； madrecita。 Just today； and then I won't go any more…if you say so。〃
〃Very well； one more time。 Tomorrow。 Tomorrow I will feel better； I will take you myself； if you insist on going。〃
The girl looked harassed； almost terrified at the alternative。 〃But today's his saint day！ Just this once。 Look； I'm all ready to leave。 It's after halfpast four already。 I can be there and back before you know it。〃
The Seсora Viuda wagged her head darkly； in acpaniment to her fanning。 〃Always there is one time too many； daughter of my blood。 Who knows； this may be it？ Don't go； listen to your mother。 I had a dream I didn't like when I was napping just now。〃
The girl showed a momentary interest。 〃About me？ What was it about？〃
〃Only that I could hear your voice calling to me from some dark place； and I could not reach you。〃
The girl chuckled indulgently。 〃Is that all？ In school the sisters used to tell us we mustn't believe in anything like that。〃
The Seсora Viuda； who was anything but irreligious； muttered something that sounded suspiciously like； 〃Are the sisters mothers？〃
She fanned awhile longer； still withholding consent。 〃Stay here；〃 she urged。 〃Here； within the walls of your home； where you should be。 Read； sew at something； sit by the bars of the window； looking out； dreaming the dreams a young girl does。 Or go into the patio at the back； bask there in the late sun； looking at yourself in the water； doing your hair some foolish new way。 What is the worst that can happen to you here？ Only that time may drag a little。 Better that time should pass too slowly than too quick。 Tomorrow we will go out； buy you something at one of the stores； have a refresco； take in the crowd at the tables around us。〃
She sighed。 She could see it was no use； even before the answer came。 〃Go then； if you must；〃 she gave in grudgingly。 〃But today is the last time。〃 Then as the girl half started up from her chair in unl