“One more request, Carter. You noticed, perhaps, among your guests a rather short, thick-set party, with a dark, closely cropped mustache.”
“Smokes a short, black pipe and looks like an Englishman?”
“That’s the chap. Send him up, but don’t attract the attention of his companions.”
Carter nods and disappears, and a few minutes later the good-natured countenance of John Barker is thrust into the room.
“Buenas tardes, Senor Parker,” is Ashley’s salutation. “Come in and shut the door.”
“Where the devil did you come from?” demands the detective, dropping into a chair.
“Up the road a piece. I got tired of journeying through the desert, and concluded to take the back track. Fill up your pipe and make yourself sociable.”
“Can’t stop. It is nearly 9 o’clock and we start at that hour.”
“Oh, yes; on the business you were telling me of this noon. You haven’t changed your plans, then?”
“No; there was no occasion to.”