"I can remain in the house indefinitely," Clay suggested.
The Captain shook his head. "That will merely add stimulus to their efforts. I wager that somebody who knows you saw you last night. Isn't there some friend upon whom you can impose temporarily?"
The young man pondered a moment, and presently his face brightened.
"Yes," said he. "I know of the very place—Mr. Nettleton's plantation. It is only about seven miles beyond here, and I can walk it easily."
"Very good." Then, as if the matter had for the first time occurred to him, Converse added:
"By the way, who is the proprietor of the East Side hotel where you wrote your letter to Mr. Nettleton?"
The question seemed of trifling importance.
"Ramon Velasquez. Mr. Nettleton has done some legal work for him."
"Very good. Whatever you do, keep yourself out of sight. You seem to know how, so I'll not offer any suggestions. Good-bye."
But Mr. Converse was still to be much in evidence that night. He found a number of things to detain him, and it was not until the afternoon of the next day, the nineteenth, that he quietly disappeared from his customary haunts.