A BITTER DISCOVERY
Hockley sat up on the bed and stared around him in stupid bewilderment.
For the moment he could realize nothing but that he had a bursting
headache and felt wretched all over.
“It was the drinking and smoking that did it,” he thought and gave a
low groan. “Oh, my head!”
For several minutes he sat almost motionless, trying to collect his
senses. Then he gazed around the room and at last realized that he was
in the apartment which Dan Markel had engaged.
“Markel!” he called out. “Markel, where are you?”
Receiving no answer, he dragged himself to his feet. He was all in a
tremble and soon sank down in a chair by the barred window. He saw that
the sun was up and that the street was alive with people.
“It must be pretty late,” he muttered, and felt for his watch to note
the time. “Oh, I forgot. The watch was stolen, and so was my roll of
bills. This is a pretty how-do-you-do, anyway. What will the professor
say when he hears of it? But I don’t care--he ain’t my master, and I’m
going to do as I please.” He put his hand to his forehead. “Oh, how
everything spins!”
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?”
“No _señor_.”
“Did you see him go out?”
“I did not, _señor_.”
“He didn’t leave any word at the office?”
“He did not, _señor_.”
“It’s mighty queer what has become of him. I’ll go out and look for him
myself.”
Leaving the apartment Hockley strolled into the office and took a look
up and down the hot street and then into the wine-room. Of course he
saw nothing of the man from Baltimore, who was now miles away. Much
bewildered but still unsuspicious he went back to the office.
“He must have gone away shortly after you sent for your bag,” said the
hotel keeper, who also spoke English.
“After I sent for my bag?” repeated Hockley. “I sent for no bag.”
“No?” The hotel keeper looked astonished. “He said you wished it, and
we sent a boy after it. He took it to your room.”
“I haven’t seen the bag,” answered Hockley, and then his heart sank
suddenly within him, for he remembered telling Markel of the secret
compartment. What if the man from Baltimore had played him false?
“The bag must be in your room,” went on the hotel man stoutly. “I saw
it carried in myself.”
“I’ll go and look,” returned the lank youth and almost ran back to
the apartment. At first he failed to locate the valise but presently
discovered it under the bed and hauled it forth.
“Robbed! Every cent gone!” The cry came straight from Hockley’s heart,
and trembling from head to foot he sank into a chair, the picture of
misery and despair.
“You are robbed?” asked the hotel keeper, who had followed him to the
door.
“Yes, robbed! That man has taken all of my money.”
“But he was your friend!” ejaculated the other, in bewilderment.
“He pretended to be my friend,” answered the youth, bitterly. “I met
him on the steamer from New York. He was a stranger up to that time.”
“And an American! It is very sad, _señor_. What will you do? Put the
police on his track?”
“I don’t know what to do. I’m strapped--I haven’t a dollar to my name.”
At this the brow of the hotel keeper darkened.
“Who then will pay your bill?” he asked sharply.
“My bill?”
“Yes, _señor_. I am a poor man, for the hotel business is not very good
this year. I cannot afford to lose what is coming to me.”
“You’ll have to lose it!” cried Hockley, angrily. “I’ve been duped,
don’t you understand? Cleaned out. How can I pay you?”
“But you are with another party, at the big hotel. They told me up
there of it.”
“That’s true, but I’m not going to pay Markel’s bill, I can tell you
that,” snorted Hockley.
“If you do not pay I shall tell the police it is a scheme to cheat me
out of my money,” was the sullen answer. “You have some baggage, that
bag, I shall hold it until I am paid. You shall not remove it.”
[Illustration: “You have some baggage in that bag. I shall hold it.”]
At this Hockley was horrified, feeling that he was getting deeper and
deeper into difficulty.
“Haven’t you any pity on a fellow who has been cleaned out?” he pleaded.
“I am a poor man--I must have my money,” returned the hotel keeper,
stoutly.
“All right, you shall have it,” answered Hockley. “But you’ll have to
wait until I get back to the other hotel and get the cash.”
“I will go with you,” answered the hotel keeper, who was unwilling to
trust the youth out of his sight.
Valise in hand Hockley tramped back to the hotel at which our friends
were stopping. He fully expected to find Professor Strong and the
others awaiting him, and wondered what explanation he should make
concerning his plight.
When he learned that all were at the plantation still he did not know
whether to be glad or sorry. He hunted out the hotel clerk and asked
concerning the professor and the others.
“I would like to borrow a little money until they get back,” he said.
“Professor Strong will make it good when he settles up.”
The money was at once forthcoming, and Hockley settled up with the
keeper of the Hotel Ziroda. He would not pay for Markel, and the hotel
man said he would keep whatever had been left behind until the bill was
settled. But the man from Baltimore had left little of value outside of
a newspaper containing some dirty linen.
It was a very crestfallen youth who slipped into the dining room for
breakfast and one who was in a humor to eat but little. As he gulped
down a cup of coffee Hockley meditated on the situation. He wanted to
smooth matters over with Professor Strong but did not see his way clear
to doing it.
“I suppose I’ll have to face the music in the end,” he thought, with a
long sigh. “Oh, what a downright fool I was, to be taken in so easily!
If the other fellows hear of it how they will laugh at me!”
When Professor Strong arrived in the evening he saw at once that
something out of the ordinary had occurred. Hockley sat in his room,
his head tied up in a towel.
“What is the matter, Hockley?” he asked.
“I’ve had bad luck, sir,” whined the youth. “Awfully bad luck.”
“Why, how is that?”
“I fell in with that Dan Markel, sir--after I had left those friends
I mentioned in the note. Markel is a villain. He induced me to go off
with him last night, and then he drugged and robbed me.”
“Is it possible! I did not like the looks of the man when first we met
on the steamer. But I thought we left him behind at Curaçao.”
“He came on after us. He was a sly one, I can tell you, sir. You know
I said I wanted to see the lumber yards, so that I could write to my
father and tell him how business was carried on here. Well, he said he
knew all about them and would show me around. So I went with him after
my friends sailed and instead of showing me around he took me to some
kind of a hotel. I had some cocoa and it was drugged and after that I
didn’t know a thing until I woke up at the Hotel Ziroda and found my
watch and money gone. And what was worse the villain had sent for my
valise and robbed that too.”
This mixture of truth and falsehood was told very adroitly, and
Professor Strong could not but believe the tale. He hurried to the
other hotel and interviewed the proprietor, and then notified the
police of what had occurred. An alarm was sent out and a hunt made for
Dan Markel, but the man from Baltimore could not be found.
Professor Strong wished to know something about the friends Hockley had
met, but the youth pretended to be too sick to talk. He had been clever
enough to look over the sailings in the newspaper and said they had
gone on the _Desdemona_ to Rio Janeiro, and were going from that port
to Philadelphia.
As the youth seemed too sick to journey to the plantation Professor
Strong remained with him all night, and Enrique Morano went back alone
to carry the news to the others.
“Humph! we are having all sorts of excitement,” was Mark’s comment.
“First it was myself, then it was Darry, and now it’s Hockley. I wonder
what will happen next?”