Jack Haydons Quest | Page 5

Jack went to his own study and sat
down. He could not keep his mind from his extraordinary adventure.
Why had those fellows seized him, and what did they want? Would
they be caught, and then would their secret be discovered? His mind
worked over these points again and again, like a squirrel working the
wheel in his cage.
CHAPTER II.
A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.
Four days later Jack Haydon was in his study, his heels on the

mantelpiece, his eyes fastened on the pages of a novel, when there was
a tap at his door and a telegram was brought in. He broke open the
envelope and read the contents in growing surprise and wonder. Then a
look of uneasiness came into his eyes. It was a cablegram from Brindisi,
and ran, "Come at once. Most urgent," and was signed "Risley." Jack
went across to the Doctor's house, sent up his name, and was bidden to
go up to the study. Here he laid the cablegram before the Head.
"Who is Risley, Haydon?" asked Dr. Lawrence.
"My father's man, sir," replied Jack. "It seems to me that they must
have got as far as Brindisi on their way home. I feel wretchedly uneasy.
Something tells me that things have gone wrong with my father."
"Oh, I hope not," said Dr. Lawrence. "There is no word of ill-news here.
The urgency may be quite on another score."
"I should like to start at once, sir," said Jack. "I know my way about the
Continent very well. I have spent two or three vacations in Italy."
"Quite so, quite so," said Dr. Lawrence. "Have you plenty of money for
the journey, Haydon?"
"I don't need more than sufficient to carry me to London, sir," replied
Jack. "I shall go there to Mr. Buxton, my father's friend, who manages
all his business affairs, and he will supply me with funds."
Jack was on fire to be off to Brindisi and see what was wrong. He made
short work of his packing, and within an hour he was driving to
Longhampton to catch the London express. He caught it with scarcely
two minutes to spare, and was soon whirling towards the great city. A
short distance from Longhampton, he caught a glimpse of Rushmere
School in the distance on its hill, and the strip of heath country running
up to the foot of the slope. This brought to mind his adventure, which
remained as mysterious an affair as ever. The police had been most
active, stations had been watched, inquiries had been made in every
direction, but all to no result. The Thugs had vanished and left no trace
behind. But the thought of his encounter on the heath soon faded from

Jack's mind. It was crushed out by the pressing question of the moment.
What was the matter at Brindisi? Why had Risley cabled and not his
father? Had something happened to his father? Jack felt wretchedly
uneasy, for he and his father were bound together by no ordinary ties of
affection.
In the first place, he had, as far as he knew, no other living relation. His
mother had been dead for many years, and his father was the only close
friend that Jack knew. Then the elder Haydon had always been a great
hero in his son's eyes. His profession of mining engineer had carried
him into many wild corners of the world, and the store of marvellous
tales which he would pour forth for the boy's delight had made Jack's
holidays a time of intense pleasure. Mr. Haydon had always made a
point, if it was possible, of keeping himself free for such times, and he
and Jack had spent the weeks joyously, until the day for return to
school had become a Black Monday indeed in the boy's eyes.
As Jack mused over memories of other days, his anxiety to know what
was wrong at Brindisi grew moment by moment, and the flying express
seemed to crawl, so great was his impatience to be in London, where he
expected to get further news from Mr. Buxton. But he was destined to
learn something long before he saw Mr. Buxton. The express screamed
into an important junction and pulled up for five minutes. Three
fellow-passengers got out, and left Jack to himself. A boy came along
the platform shouting, "London Pay-pers," and Jack bought a Daily
Telegraph.
He turned to the football news, and was reading it, when the train
pulled out and shot forward once more towards London. But the
accounts of his beloved sport failed to interest him, and he turned the
paper over listlessly, idly scanning one big sheet after another.
Suddenly the word imprinted on his brain caught his eye.
"Brindisi"--here was some scrap of news from Brindisi.