“I don’t know. I’ll find out, if you like.”
“Do. Hustle down, and come right back. I’ll get dressed.”
Nick Carter could make his toilet about as quickly as anybody. But, by the time he had been under the shower and rubbed himself off, and got into his clothes, a good twenty minutes had elapsed.
“Wonder why Patsy did not come back. I’ll have to go down and see what Douglas wants.”
Nick Carter had not much hope that it was a matter which would concern him, for he had worked so hard on the case of the jewels without success, that he did not believe anybody else could help him.
“I didn’t ask where Paul Clayton was,” he said to himself, as he went down the stairs. “Perhaps he is with Chick and Patsy. I suppose he is.”
This supposition turned out to be correct. As the detective stepped away from the stairs—there was no elevator at the Hotel Ionic—he saw Clayton listening interestedly to a narration by Captain Douglas.
The chief of police turned as soon as he perceived Nick. Obviously, he had been merely filling in his time by talking to Clayton until the detective should come down.
Captain Douglas, head of the police force of San Juan, was a tall, lean man, with a keen face—lighted up by a pair of steel-blue eyes—and a short manner.
He had the reputation of being a splendid policeman, and it was not often that he would confess himself at a loss on any case.