“A tobacco warehouse,” he murmured, slowly. “Now how did I come here and what makes my head ache so?” He tried to collect his thoughts. “I went out riding with that stranger and we had a big dinner together, and then we played cards----” He stopped short and felt into his pockets. They were empty. Then he clutched his watch pocket and felt of his finger upon which the ring had rested. The full realization of what had occurred now burst upon him, and his breath grew short while heavy beads of perspiration stood out on his brow. “Cleaned out!” he muttered. “Cleaned out, just as I was cleaned out by Dan Market! Oh, what a fool I’ve been!” And tears of rage filled his eyes, while he pounded his fist on the top of a barrel. Then he leaped up and shook the fist in the air. “But he shan’t get the best of me! I’ll make him square up if I have to go to the police and tell everybody! He shan’t get the best of me!” His hat had rolled to the floor, and putting it on he hurried to the warehouse door, which was unlocked. Beyond was a dock extending to the waterfront and close at hand was a road leading to the city, four miles away. A cart was passing and he hailed the driver. By signs and a few words of broken Spanish he let the cart driver know he wanted to get to Ponce as soon as possible and the native made room for him on the rough seat. The drive in the early morning air did Hockley good, and by the time the cart rattled along on the uneven pavements of the city the lank youth felt somewhat like himself. At a public fountain he left the native and got a drink. Possibly the native expected pay for his service, but if so he was disappointed, and he drove on looking as if such were his feeling. Now that he felt a little better Hockley sat down in one of the city parks to review the situation. It was all well enough to go after J. Rutherford Brown and have him arrested, but what would Professor Strong say to the whole proceedings? “Hang the professor!” he exclaimed, and gave the park bench a savage kick with his foot. “I’m going to have satisfaction. I’m going to catch that fellow and make him give up my money and things if I die for it!” Leaving the park he espied an American, and from this man received directions which speedily took him to the café where he had first met J. Rutherford Brown. Going inside, he asked for the man. “Haven’t seen him this morning,” replied the keeper of the resort. “Do you know where he lives?” went on Hockley. “It’s a matter of importance to him,” he went on, shrewdly. “He has a room at the Snug Corner, I believe.” “Where is that?” “Three squares up the street, on the corner.” Waiting to hear no more, Hockley strode out and up the street in the direction indicated. It was now ten o’clock, and he had had no breakfast, but just then he had no thought of eating. Walking into the corridor of the hotel he glanced around. Only a few people were present. Then he glanced into the smoking and reading room.