"I have made diligent inquiry, Senor Hamilton," spoke the Spanish advocate, "and your Valdez family is not in this vicinity. They did live here, but they left about the time this island was acquired by the United States. There was much confusion of records at that time, and the best I can learn is that the family now consists of father and son, the Senors Miguel and Raphael Valdez."
"But where are they now?" asked Dick, impatiently.
"Ah, now we are coming to it," spoke the Spaniard, with his usual course of motions. Dick thought he might have "come to it" some time ago. "I learn," the lawyer went on, "that they were last heard of in Santiago de Cuba. If Senor Hamilton is pleased to go there next week, or the week after——"
"Next week?" cried Dick. "I'll start to-night!"
"Ah, such haste!" murmured the Spaniard, as he looked at his watch. "Very well. It is now the hour for the band to play, and for me to sip my chocolate, but if you will come in to-morrow I will be pleased to give you a letter to a lawyer friend of mine in Santiago. Come to-morrow——"
"Can't you give me the letter now?" interrupted Dick.
"Ah, Senor Hamilton, such haste! Already the band is playing, and I——"
"If I can't get the letter now, I'll have to leave without it, Senor Hondora. I'm in a hurry!"
"Ah, Santa Maria!" The lawyer's head nearly disappeared amid his shoulders, so high did he lift them, and his eyebrows were a half-circle, but he sat down, and slowly wrote out a letter by hand, giving it to Dick.
"Don't you use a typewriter?" asked the young millionaire.