Jack Haydons Quest | Page 6

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 at that hotel, if Risley expected him back, then he meant to come back. And if he didn't get back, it was because he was interfered with. I'd stake a hand on that."
Jack nodded with glistening eyes. "And I'm going to see why he didn't come back," said the lad.
"I'd come with you if I could," said Mr. Buxton, "but at present I can no more leave London than the Monument can. I'm as fast by the leg, held by press of work, as a bear tethered to a stump. How do you stand for funds?"
"I've only got a sovereign or two in my pocket," said Jack. "I was depending on you."
"Yes, yes," said Mr. Buxton, "of course you were. I made time an hour or so ago to run over your father's accounts. There's plenty to draw on." He went over to his desk and ran his fingers through a bundle of papers. "Here it is," he remarked. "At the