There was a wash basin and some water handy and the lad bathed himself, after which he felt slightly better. As he was re-arranging his collar and tie he began to wonder what had become of his friend.
“Perhaps he has gone to hunt up my watch and money,” he thought. “Hope he gets them. Dad will be awful mad over that watch, I know. He cautioned me to be careful of it when he gave it to me.”
Hockley waited for quarter of an hour longer and then, out of patience, rang for an attendant.
“Where is Mr. Markel?” he asked. “See if you can find him.”
“Si, señor,” said the servant, who understood a little English and was kept to wait on Americans.
After the man was gone Hockley sat down by the window again and gave himself up to his reflections. They were far from pleasant.
“That cock fight was a fizzle,” he muttered. “Markel must take me for a fool to cart me off to such a place. I’ve a good mind to tell him so, too, when he comes. If he can’t take me to better places than that I’ll cut him.”
Hockley’s head continued to ache, and the quarter of an hour he had to wait ere the servant returned seemed an age to him.
“Mr. Markel cannot be found, señor,” was the report. “I have searched all over the place, but it is of no use.”
“He isn’t in the dining room?”