The name on the register was “Anton Mescal, Fair Play, Col.”
“Fair Play!” muttered Hodge, who was looking over Frank’s shoulder. “What does a scoundrel like that know of fair play?”
Frank asked the clerk if he could give a description of Mescal.
“He is slender, looks like a Spaniard, and has a small, pointed, black mustache,” was the answer. “I do not remember how he was dressed, so his clothes must have been fairly within the style.”
“That’s the man!” exclaimed Hodge. “I saw his face, and the description fits.”
Frank nodded.
“I believe Mescal is the man,” he said. “I will give one thousand dollars for his capture and the restoration to me of the document which he snatched from my hands.”
The clerk looked at Merry, as if doubting his ability to pay such a sum; but the young Yale graduate was taking a small roll of bills from his pocket. From the roll he drew off two five-hundred-dollar bills, which he handed to the cashier, who stood near the clerk.
“The money is to be paid to the person or persons who capture or cause to be captured the thief who stole the document from me, in case it is restored to my hands,” said Merriwell quietly. “You are to enlist the services of the regular police and do everything in your power.”
“The police have been called already,” said the clerk. “I telephoned the nearest station immediately, and two officers appeared very shortly. They have been guarding the entrances to the hotel, while the regular house detectives have been searching. I suspected this Mescal and gave an accurate description of him to the policemen. They have not stopped him as yet.”