The drinking-room is filled with Spanish caballeria, who glance curiously at the American; after procuring a glass of wine and a cigar, Ashley mounts and rides leisurely up the road. A quarter of a mile from the hotel he finds Barker waiting, and he remarks, with a grin: “Barker, you’re a fashion plate. Where on earth did you get those togs?”
“Hang it! Will you be serious ten minutes,” growls Barker. “Let me tell you that the commanding officer of the gang at the hotel is Capt. Julio Alvarez, who is none other than our old friend Ralph Felton.”
“So? And to trail him you turned trooper, eh?”
“Exactly. Through him I expect to find the other Felton, his father.”
“I can tell you a quicker way.”
“Ah!”
“Push along to Jibana, ten miles east of here. I left Cyrus Felton, Phillip Van Zandt and Louise Hathaway there this morning.”
“Quick! Tell me all you know,” demands the detective, aroused by the information imparted to him by his co-worker.
Ashley supplies the needed details, and Barker asks: “You are reasonably sure that Felton and Van Zandt will remain in Santiago for a fortnight?”
“I think you can depend on that.”