On my way to the hotel I was struck by a sudden thought: Senor
Ramal could not be my brother or my cousin would have recognized
him! But I immediately reflected that the two had not seen each
other for some ten years, at which time Harry had been a mere
boy.
The following morning, with little difficulty, I ascertained the
fact that the Ramals had departed--at least ostensibly--for
Colorado Springs.
I followed. That same evening, when I registered at the Antlers
Hotel, a few minutes before the dinner hour, I turned over two
pages of the book, and there before me was the entry, "Senor and
Senora Ramal, Paris." It was in Harry's handwriting.
After dinner--a most excellent dinner, with melons from La Junta
and trout from the mountain streams--I descended on the hotel
clerk with questions. He was most obliging--a sharp, pleasant
fellow, with prominent ears and a Rocky Mountain twang.
"Senor and Senora Ramal? Most assuredly, sir. They have been
here several days. No, they are not now in the hotel. They left
this afternoon for Manitou, to take dinner there, and are going
to make the night trip up the Peak."
An idea immediately suggested itself to me.
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