Jack Haydons Quest | Page 6

What was it? Jack folded the paper, and then a second name seemed to
leap at him from the sheet. His own name! Haydon, Brindisi. What
now? His eyes darted over the paragraph, and he drew a long, gasping
breath. This, then, was the explanation of the cablegram. Over and over

again Jack read the paragraph, striving to grasp what it all meant,
striving to seize the inner meaning. The paragraph was short and to the
point. It ran:--
"STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE.
"FROM OUR OWN CORRESPONDENT.
"BRINDISI, Tuesday.
"There is much stir here over the mysterious disappearance of Mr.
Thomas Haydon, the famous mining expert and engineer. He arrived
here on Sunday, and it was believed that he intended to travel to
England by the mail-train. He went for a walk on Sunday evening, but
did not return to his hotel, where his man and his baggage were
awaiting him. Since he left his hotel there has been no sign of him, and
the authorities are making a diligent search."
His father had disappeared? How? Why? Jack could make nothing of it,
and he stared at the paper with pale face and perplexed eyes. It was so
contrary to his every idea of his father, this extraordinary disappearance.
Thomas Haydon was the last man in the world to set tongues wagging
and to give anxiety to friends by such a trick. There was something
very strange at the back of this, and Jack struck the paper with his open
hand. "Foul Play!" he murmured to himself, and then, for he was alone
in the carriage, he said it aloud, "Foul Play!"
Jack glanced at his watch. The train was due at St. Pancras in an hour.
How slowly that hour dragged! Now that he knew this momentous
piece of news, Jack burned more fiercely than ever to be in the midst of
affairs and doing something to clear up this strange mystery which had
gathered about his father's name. At last, with a thrill of joy, he heard
the engine give its warning shriek as it ran into the big station. He had
brought nothing but a Gladstone bag with him, and he had it in his hand,
and the door of the carriage open, before the train drew up. He made a
leap at the first hansom, and shouted, "Lincoln's Inn. Drive fast," and
away he rattled into London streets.

There was a good cob in the shafts, and little time was lost on the way.
Jack paid the man double fare for the excellent speed he had made, then
bounded upstairs to the landing upon which Mr. Buxton's chambers
opened. In answer to his knock, a tall, thin man with a long beard came
to the door, and Jack gave a cry of joy. "You are at home, then, Mr.
Buxton. How glad I am! It has been my one terror that you might be
away in the country."
"No, Jack, I'm here," said Mr. Buxton, shaking hands. "I've been
expecting you every knock I've heard. I suppose you've seen the
papers."
"Yes," cried Jack, "I saw the Daily Telegraph. Are there any further
particulars in the others?"
"No," replied Mr. Buxton, leading the way into his sitting-room. "The
Telegraph has as much as anyone."
"Have you heard anything? Do you know anything?" cried Jack
eagerly.
"Nothing but what I've seen in the papers," replied the other. "I'm
altogether at sea. I can't fathom in the least what it all means. What
have you had?"
"Nothing but this cablegram," said the lad, and handed it over. Mr.
Buxton read it aloud slowly, and nodded. "From Risley," he said. "Of
course he wants to get you on the spot at once."
"I shall start without any delay," said Jack. "Isn't there a boat-train
to-night?"
"Yes," said Mr. Buxton, glancing at a clock on the mantelpiece, "but
there's plenty of time for that. Sit down and talk it over, and besides,
you must have something to eat."
He rang the bell and ordered the servant who answered it to set out a
meal in the adjoining apartment: he gave Jack a chair beside the fire,

and took one opposite to him and began to fill a pipe.
"Mr. Buxton," said Jack earnestly, "there's something out of the
common in this. My father has met with foul play. Before I know
anything else I feel sure of that."
Mr. Buxton struck a match and puffed out several clouds of smoke.
Then he tossed the match into the fire, and nodded through the tobacco
clouds. "I agree with you, Jack," he said. "This is the queerest thing I
ever came across in my life. I've known Tom Haydon, boy and man,
this forty-five years, and he's as straight as a gun-barrel. If they
expected him back