On their way through the water-front portion of the town the three passed a small shop in which post-cards were displayed for sale.
“Let’s go in and get some,” suggested Ned.
“All right,” laughed Herc, “I see your money’s burning a hole in your pocket.”
“Well, it’s only the interest on what we’ve got in the navy bank at four per cent.,” Ned reminded him.
They all bought several post-cards, and were leaving the store when Herc’s eye was attracted by something. It was a picture post-card, adorned by a colored view of the Villa Espenza, the place they had just left.
“Might as well take that, too,” said Herc, taking it from the rack. “Zan-go!” he cried suddenly, “look here—no, here down in this corner—what does that printing say?”
“‘The Villa Espenza, Bernardo Guzman, Proprietor,’” read Ned. “Wow!”
“And he overheard that whole talk of ours, I’ll bet a lemon!” cried Herc.
“Right you are,” responded Stanley gloomily. “And his name’s Guzman—no wonder he was interested.”