iety 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.

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 gla