“I been going through his papers like you told me. He’s been outfitting for a trip. Bought lots of truck the last few days and I found the duplicate sale-checks that come in the packages. There’s stubs for a steamer rug and for a dope for seasickness and for a compass,” he concluded triumphantly. “Compass, eh?” observed Average Jones thoughtfully. “Ship’s compass is good enough for most of us going to Europe. Anything else?” “Lot of clothes.” “What kind of clothes?” “Cheap stuff mostly. Khaki riding-pants, neglyjee shirts and such-like.” “Not much suggestion of Europe there. What more?” Doctor Hoff consulted a list. “Colored glasses.” “That looks like desert travel.” “Aneroid barometer.” “Mountain climbing.” “Permanganate of potash outfit.” “Snake country,” commented the other. “Patent water-still.” Average Jones leaned forward. “How big?” “Don’t know. Cost twenty dollars.” “Little one, then. That means about three people. Taken with the compass, it means a small-boat trip on salt water.” “Small boat nothin’!” retorted the other. “His doctor met me this morning an’ told me Roddy had sent for him and ast him a lot of questions about eatin’ aboard ship and which way to have his berth made up, and all that.” “A small-boat trip following a sea trip, then. What else have you found?” “Nothin’ much. Mosquito nettin’, pills, surgeon’s plaster and odds and ends of drugs.” “Let me see the drug list.” He ran his eye down the paper. Then he looked at Doctor Hoff with a half smile. “You didn’t notice anything peculiar about this list?” “Don’t know as I did.” “Not the—er—nitric acid, for instance?” “Nope. What of it?” “Mr. Hoff, your son has been caught by one of the oldest tricks in the whole bunco list—the lost Spanish mine swindle. That acid, together with the rest of the outfit, means a gold-hunt as plain as if it were spelled out. And the Spanish professor was sent for, not to give lessons, but to translate the fake letter. Where does your son bank?” “Fifth National.” “Telephone there and find out how much he drew.” Doctor Hoff sat down at the ’phone. “Five hundred dollars,” he said presently. “Is that all?” asked the other, disappointed. “Yes. Wait. He had six checks certified aggregating ten thousand dollars.” “Then it isn’t South America or the West Indies. He’d want, a letter of credit there. Must be some part of the United States, or just across the border. Well, we’ve done a good day’s work, and I’ve got a hard evening’s thinking before me. We might be able to head off the colonel’s personally conducted expedition yet, if we could locate it.”