“As I figure it,” he said, “your son’s two friends had this all mapped out beforehand for him. One went west direct. He was the imbecile who stopped in Cincinnati and mailed you the bloody shirt to throw you off the scent. Meantime the colonel took Roderick around by a sea route, probably New York and New Orleans.” “That’d explain the steamer rug and the seasickness,” admitted Doctor Hoff; “but I don’t know what he’d want to go that long way for.” “Simple enough, when you reckon with this colonel person as having brains in his head. He would foresee a hue and cry as soon as the young man disappeared. So he cooks up this trip to keep his prey out of touch with the newspapers for the few days when the news of the disappearance would be fresh enough to be spread abroad in the Associated Press dispatches. From New Orleans they’d go on west by train.” “What I don’t see is how they caught Roddy on such an old game. He’s easy, but I didn’t s’pose he was that easy.” “To do him justice, he isn’t—quite. They put it up on him rather cleverly. In the period of waiting to hear from the geographical expert I’ve put in some fairly hard work, going over your son’s effects. And, in the room over Silent Charley’s bar, I found a newspaper with this in it.” He handed to Doctor Hoff a thin clipping, marked “_Daily Saw_, March 29”: LOST—Spanish letter and map. Of no value except to owner. Return to No. 16, this office, and receive heartfelt thanks. “Well,” said Doctor Hoff, after reading it over twice, “that don’t tell me nothing.” “No? Yet it’s pretty plain. The two crooks ‘planted’ the letter and map on your son. Probably slipped them into a pocket of his coat while he was drunk. Then they inserted their little ad, waited until he had time to find the letter, and casually called the advertisement to his attention. The rest would be easy. But I’ll have something to say to my clerk, who failed to clip that ad.” “You’re workin’ for _me_, now,” half blustered, half whined the old quack. “Whatche goin’ to do next?” “Pack for the night train.” “Where to?” “Yuma or Calexico. Don’t know which till I get a reply to two telegrams. I’ll need five hundred dollars expense money.” “Say, you don’t want much, do ye?” snarled the quack, his avaricious soul in revolt at the prospect of immediate outlay. “When I hire a man I expect him to pay his own expenses and send me the bill.” “Quite so,” agreed the other blandly. “But, you see, you aren’t hiring me. I’m doing this on spec. And I don’t propose to invest anything in a dubious proposition, myself. It isn’t too late to call it off, you know.” “No, I do’ wanta do that,” said the other with contorted face. “I’ll get the five hundred here for’ you in an hour.” “And about the five thousand dollars reward? I think I’d better have a word of writing on that.” “You mean you don’t trust me?” snapped the other. “I’m good for five million dollars to-morrow in this town.”