It was a letter in her own handwriting, a letter so cleverly inscribed that she could hardly believe that she had not indeed written it.

She read in amazement,

“Dear Captain Maclean,

I have had the good fortune to meet some friends and they have asked me to stay with them. I feel this is a great opportunity to see the interior of the country and I would be grateful, therefore, if you would have packed and sent by the bearers of this letter a sufficient amount of my clothes to last me two or three weeks. Evans will know what I require and ask him also to include my evening dresses.

I hope you and the crew will enjoy your stay in Jācara.

One of my host’s servants will call every few days in case there are any letters for me that require attention.

With best wishes.

Yours sincerely,

Skye Standish.”

Skye-stared at her own signature and then exclaimed,

“But how – where? – I can’t believe it!”

“I’m afraid a letter to your aunt in England has been delayed for a day,” El Diablo said, smiling at her bewilderment.

For a moment Skye did not understand what he meant.

Then she remembered the letter that she had written early yesterday morning and handed to a man on the quay to post. He must have been one of El Diablo’s men and her letter had provided the bandit with a specimen of her handwriting.

In what she hoped was a stinging manner, Skye said scornfully,

“So you are a forger as well as a murderer!”

“Unfortunately I cannot claim such an outstanding talent as that,” El Diablo replied, “but there is a man in the camp here who is undoubtedly an artist in such matters. I think, if we knew the truth about him, we would find that he had left Argentina for some very good reason, connected with his genius for being able to copy other people’s signatures! But here we ask very few questions about a man’s past. We are more concerned with his future.”

“As I am concerned with mine,” Skye said. “You cannot seriously mean that you intend to keep me here for – for so long.”

“It may be long, it may be short,” El Diablo said. “I have told you what governs the time factor of your visit.”

“You insult me.”

“So you have told me that several times already. It begins to be wearisome.”

“Good. If I weary you, perhaps you will let me go.”

El Diablo smiled.

“Not when you look like that,” he said. “Come here.”

He was standing with his back to the fireplace, to which he had moved as Skye read the letter. She was some paces from him and now instinctively she took a step further back.