?"

"Si, Senor," answered the porter, a swarthy Mexican.

"Where did they come from?" asked Jim.

"From Ross and McLanes," replied the porter. "The Senor told me to tell
them to send around the best horses they had in the stable, no matter
what they cost. They were mucho hermosa, very handsome. He paid for them
right down. Never questioned the price."

"Sorry I can't give you more information," added the clerk, "but I think
if you want to find the Senor, you had better see Mr. Reynolds."

"Thank you," replied Jim. "We will go there."

"Hem!" commented Berwick when they were on the street again. "We didn't
find out very much."

"I don't know," answered Jim. "At least we have found that he has heard
from Broome."

"How do you make that out?"

"He went away unexpectedly or he would have made more preparation, and
he left no word where he was going or when he would be back, which shows
that he was going on some secret mission."

"You are probably right," admitted Berwick, after a moment's thought.
"We won't be able to get any information from him."

"But we may get something from his lawyer," replied Jim cheerfully. "He
probably knows where he has gone."

"What shall we do to get there, walk or ride?"

"Better ride, I think," said Jim, hailing a cab. "We haven't any time to
lose."

It was only a short distance, and in less than fifteen minutes they were
in the office of Mr. William Howard Reynolds, who was better known to
the shady side of San Francisco than he was to the reputable inhabitants
of the town. The office was in an old, rather dilapidated building, not
far from the city hall.

"Mr. Reynolds is in," so the clerk in charge of the outer office
informed them, "but is particularly engaged at this time. If the
gentlemen will be seated, I will learn if Mr. Reynolds will see them."

Going into an inner office, he returned a moment later to say that Mr.
Reynolds was very busy, and that he would not be able to give them any
time unless their business with him was of importance.

"Tell him," directed Jim, "that I wish to see him on a matter of much
importance to Senor de Cordova."

The clerk, a man of about forty, with an expressionless face, except for
a cunning twinkle about the eyes, took the card Jim handed him, and
again disappeared into the inner room.

At this moment Jim, who was standing by the windows looking upon the
street, happened to glance down and caught a glimpse of the familiar
fig