"If I only do get a decent excuse to go to Constantinople!" he exclaimed. "But there's no use. I won't, Bet. I couldn't honestly encourage Uncle James in any more foolishness."
"Perhaps," suggested King, "his visit has nothing to do with the treasure."
Hugh chuckled, his merry self again.
"Cross the Atlantic just to look me up? Not a chance, sir. His ruling passion is driving him on. Confound it, though! I wish this hadn't come up. And I wish I didn't crave adventure again. And I wish you weren't going to Constantinople. All right! Laugh, Jack, curse you! Laugh! Here, I'll scrag you with a couch-pillow!"
"Easy! Easy!" I pleaded. "For the furniture's sake! How about giving the Kings a line to Nikka in Paris or wherever he is?"
"Thanks," said Betty, "but we're going via the Mediterranean. The best thing for you boys to do is to pack up with Hugh's uncle, collect your friend Nikka en route and follow on."
"No go," answered Hugh dismally. "All I am scheduled for is a fat family row."
CHAPTER II
THE BROKEN MESSAGE
The steamship company telephoned while Hugh and I were at breakfast to say that the Aquitania was just docking. When we reached the pier West Street was swarming with out-going automobiles loaded with the first contingents of debarking passengers. We pushed our way upstairs into the landing-shed, surrendered our passes and dived into the swirling vortex of harried travelers, hysterical relatives and impassive Custom's officials.