THE DISAPPEARANCE OF HOCKLEY
“What a truly magnificent place!”
Such was Frank’s comment when they entered the opera house and took
the seats Professor Strong had purchased. Frank had been to the
Metropolitan Opera House in New York city, yet the present place
struck him even more favorably, with its immense size, its gorgeous
decorations and its many and varied lights.
“It’s all right,” returned Mark. “But I can’t say as much for the
crowd. It’s quite a mixture.”
And it certainly was, for to-day Havana has a sprinkling of nearly
every nation under the sun. As Darry put it, there were white folks
there and black folks, and a good many who weren’t one or the other.
But all were well dressed, and in the assemblage were a number of
ladies who were truly beautiful.
The Shakespearian play was well produced, and all followed it with
interest, although the boys understood but little of what was said.
Between the acts they strolled around and looked into the various
smoking and lounging rooms, and had some soda water at the refreshment
place. Nearly everybody was smoking and the atmosphere was decidedly
“hazy” in consequence.
“They used to have a curious custom here,” said the professor. “By
paying a little extra you could go behind the scenes and see how the
play looked from the actor’s standpoint.”
“Well, I’d like to see it that way, once,” answered Sam. “Especially
when they were playing something with great mechanical effects, like a
snow-storm, a landslide, a waterfall, or a smash-up on a railroad.”
At last the play was over, and they walked out to where their carriage
was in waiting. A good part of the crowd lingered, and some went for a
stroll in the cool night air.
“They don’t believe in going to bed early,” was Mark’s comment. “Well,
I don’t blame them, it’s so nice and cool now and so hot during the
middle of the day.”
It had been arranged that all the boys should occupy two large rooms,
while the professor had a smaller room adjoining. As they went in
Amos Strong cautioned them not to disturb Hockley should the latter be
asleep.
“Why, he isn’t here!” exclaimed Mark, who was the first to look around
and make the discovery.
“Isn’t here?” came from the professor.
“No, sir, and the bed hasn’t been disturbed either.”
At once the professor’s face grew grave, and his mind went back to a
certain night in Caracas when Hockley had gone off with Dan Markel
and lost all his money. Had the youth been equally misguided on this
occasion?
“I will go below and make inquiries concerning him,” he said, and left
them.
“I’ll wager Glummy has gone and done it again,” said Frank in a low
voice.
“More than likely,” answered Sam. “How foolish for him if he has! He
might have had a very pleasant evening with us.”
“Oh, Glummy has a big head and thinks he knows it all,” came from
Darry. “Some time he’ll catch it worse than he did when he went out
with that Markel.”
So the comments of the boys ran on. In the meantime Professor Strong
had followed up Hockley from the hotel proper to the café and here
learned that the lad had come in early in the evening for a package of
cigarettes and then gone out on the street.
“Did he have any liquor?” asked Professor Strong, sharply.
“I do not think so, señor,” was the reply. This was a deliberate
falsehood, but the proprietor of the drinking resort did not wish to
get himself into any trouble.
More mystified than ever the professor went out on the street and
looked up and down. He could see nothing of Hockley, and now the
thoroughfares were becoming gradually deserted.
It must be confessed that Amos Strong was in a quandary. What had
become of his charge he could not imagine, although he strongly feared
that Hockley had gone off to see the sights and gotten into some sort
of trouble.
“I can learn nothing of him,” said he, on returning to the rooms
assigned the party. “All of you had better go to bed.”
“And what will you do, Professor?” asked Mark.
“I shall try to hunt him up. I cannot go to rest until I know something
about him.”
“Don’t you think it would be better for one of us to go with you?”
“No, I think I can get along alone.”
Such was Amos Strong’s decision, and he told them they had better go to
bed without delay. Mark and Frank were willing enough and were soon in
the land of dreams. But Darry and Sam sat by an open window discussing
the situation.
“After his experience with Dan Markel in Caracas you would think
Hockley would turn over a new leaf,” said Darry. “But he seems bound to
be wild, no matter what the cost.”
“We mustn’t judge too hastily, Darry. It is barely possible that
everything is all right.”
“Or that Glummy has gotten into trouble through no fault of his own.
If he is in trouble, he will certainly try to put it off on somebody
else--he always does.”
“It must be his nature. He can’t seem to help it.”
“He doesn’t try to help it. He wants to be smart, and when he fails he
isn’t man enough to shoulder the blame.”
For nearly an hour the boys remained at the window discussing the
strange disappearance. Then they followed Mark and Frank to bed, and
were soon sleeping with equal soundness.
The disappearance of Hockley, coupled with the fact that Professor
Strong did not return, awoke the lads early, and by seven o’clock Darry
and Sam were downstairs.
“Let us see if the professor is anywhere about,” suggested Darry, and
they were on the point of moving off when a hotel attendant came up to
them, a man from Florida who spoke English.
“Are you Samuel Winthrop?” he asked.
“I am,” answered Sam.
“I have a private note for you,” went on the attendant.
“A note? What can it mean?”
“Perhaps it’s from the professor?” suggested Darry.
Sam lost no time in tearing open the communication, which ran as
follows:
“DEAR SAM: I have got myself in a tight hole and don’t know how to
get myself out of it. I am afraid the professor will give me rats for
getting into it. I think you can help me a good deal--in fact, I
know you can, if you will. Please come to me at the Fairfax House--an
English hotel. If you bring anybody along let it be Darry. I don’t
want the professor to know of it, and please don’t tell Mark or
Frank, for they would only have the laugh on me. If the professor
wants to know, tell him you want to go on a little private errand. Do
this much for me and I will always be,
“Yours gratefully,
“J. HOCKLEY.”
“Well, what do you make of that?” asked Sam, as he passed the note over
to his companion.
“Glummy is in some sort of fix, that’s certain,” answered Darry, after
reading the communication twice.
“He doesn’t say anything about money. I wonder what the fix can be?”
Neither could imagine, but Sam determined to go to the Fairfax House
without delay, and inside of two minutes both were on the way, without
leaving word of their destination.
It was an easy matter to find the hostelry named, although to walk
there took longer than they had expected, for the Fairfax House was
situated in a new section of Havana and well toward the outskirts.
It was a modest, well-kept hotel, and on seeing this the boys felt
relieved.
“Looks all right,” was Sam’s comment. “Glad it isn’t the other kind.”
There was an old Cuban _volante_ driver standing in front of the hotel,
and as they came up he accosted them in broken English.
“Pardon, señors,” he said. “Be you de gen’men by de name Winthrop or de
name Carane?”
“Yes, my name is Winthrop,” answered Sam. “And this is Mr. Crane.”
“Dat is verra fortunate, señors. You come to see Señor Hockley, not so?”
“We did? Is he here?”
“He no here now. He had to go to udder house. He send me here to drive
you dare, señors,” and the Cuban bowed low.
“To drive to another house?” queried Darry.
“Yes, Señor Carane. Dare is my volante. Please to step in, señors.”
“Wait.” Sam caught Darry by the arm. “Is it far?” he questioned.
“Not verra far, señor--verra nice drive dis a-morning.”
“What is the matter with our friend, Mr. Hockley?”
At this the Cuban shrugged his shoulders. “Cannot tell, señor. He is
hurt in de back, I t’ink.”
“Hurt in the back!” came from both Sam and Darry.
“That looks bad,” continued the former. “Let us go to him by all
means.” And he followed the Cuban to the _volante_.
“It’s a wonder Hockley didn’t come straight to our hotel if he was
hurt,” said Darry. “But it’s just like him. He is as stubborn as an ox
when he wants to be.”
In Cuba the _volante_, or “flyer” is the national carriage. It is a
two-seated vehicle, slung on leathern straps between two very high
wheels. The shafts are fifteen feet long, and the horses are harnessed
tandem, the leader being for the postillion, or driver. It makes a very
comfortable turnout and, because of the width from wheel to wheel, such
a thing as a volante turning over is unknown.
They were soon moving over the highway at a good rate of speed. The
Cuban offered no more explanations and merely shrugged his shoulders
when questioned.
“Either he is very dumb or he doesn’t wish to explain,” whispered Darry.
“I don’t suppose Glummy told him everything, Darry. Perhaps the poor
fellow is hurt too much for that.”
“He can’t be so badly off, or he wouldn’t have been able to write that
letter. By the way, what did you do with it?”
“Tore it up.”
They were now passing several private residences and a moment later
turned into a road which seemed almost deserted. Here the trees grew so
low down that they frequently brushed the boys’ heads.
“How much further?” demanded Sam.
“We come dare soon,” shouted back the Cuban, and whipped up his horses
harder than ever.
There was a small brook to cross and then they turned into another side
road. Here they beheld an old stone building, which looked somewhat
like a deserted convent. The windows were barred, but the doorway stood
open.
“He in dare, señors,” said the _volante_ driver. “He have a fall not
far from here.”
The Cuban pointed to the old stone building.
“I don’t understand this,” muttered Sam. “First he said that Hockley
had to go to ‘udder house.’ Now he said he had a fall here.”
“Come on, I’m not afraid, Sam.”
So speaking Darry walked through the open doorway into the stone
building. There being nothing else to do, Sam followed, and the
_volante_ driver came after the pair.