“Does the chief know it?”
“Yes. But he can’t show that he knows it. You must not forget that he is Prince Marcos, and princes leave the guarding of their royal persons to their followers,” replied Chick solemnly.
“That’s all right!” observed Patsy. “We can guard this prince. I’d just like to see this Jason start something.”
The bedrooms to which they were shown were on the upper floor. There were three of them, all opening out on a narrow and rather stuffy hall.
Nick Carter, as the guest of honor, in the person of Prince Marcos, was assigned to the room overlooking the dusty road. In the next apartment, which communicated with his own, were bestowed Chick and Patsy. They had separate narrow beds that never were made for a person to run around in.
Phillips was in a smaller chamber at the back.
The door of Nick Carter’s room leading to the hall was locked, and a bolt inside was secured. His window had iron bars across it.
There had been a great many brigands in the mountains in times gone by, and it was not considered wise to leave any house unprotected by bars at the windows and strong fastenings on the doors.
This hotel had at one time been the home of a wealthy miner, when gold and platinum had been plentiful in the neighboring mountains.
The valuable ore had gradually been dug out till there was no more in sight, and when the owner of the mines died, the industry died with him.