“Just one of Frank’s cards introducing me to his friend,” he said. “I think I shall do my best to present it. From the way Frank writes about him, Randolph must be a good sort of a chap, and I’d like to meet him for other reasons.”
Buckhart laughed.
“A chap that can make diamonds must be a very good sort,” he observed. “I’d sure like to put my blinkers on him. Mebbe he’d present us with a bushel or two. You hear me softly warble!”
“That’s all nonsense, of course,” Dick smiled. “We must have misunderstood those men last night. You know we only heard a few words. But, all the same, I’d like to meet this Randolph. Now we’ve seen Tucker and Bigelow off for Colorado Springs, we haven’t a thing on hand for the rest of the day, and we might as well start on a still hunt for this friend of Frank’s. I’ll run in and see if Fred knows anything about where he can be found.”
He stepped out of the car and reëntered the hotel lobby, walking up to the desk. The clerk was not busy and turned to him at once.
“Say, Fred,” Merriwell began, “I’m looking for a man by the name of Scott Randolph, who is supposed to live in or around Denver. Ever heard of him? That’s a pretty big order, I know, but you seem to be wise to the life history of about every one in town.”
The hotel clerk laughed.
“You’ve got me this time,” he said. “Scott Randolph? I don’t think I ever heard of him. What does he do? In business here at all?”
“I don’t think so,” Dick answered. “I believe he spends most of his time experimenting with chemicals, or something like that.”
There was a puzzled look on the clerk’s face as he looked meditatively across the lobby. All at once his eyes brightened.