“If it comes to that, Chip, we’re guessing about everything except one thing—and that thing’s as plain as print.”
“What is that?”
“Why, that Lenning is at the bottom of the whole black business. It must have been Lenning. But we’re wasting time here. I don’t know that we can do much, but we can try. Suppose we rummage around for clews?”
They rummaged for half an hour, but all they discovered was a blank. Just what sort of clews Burke was looking for, Frank did not know, but he helped the super paw around the laboratory, hoping against hope that something might turn up. In the midst of their fruitless search, Mr. Bradlaugh and Hawkins, the deputy sheriff, hurried into the building.
“Here’s a fine kettle of fish, Burke!” cried the exasperated general manager. “Mighty queer we can’t hang onto our gold, after we get hold of it. Has Lenning turned up?”
“No,” said the super, “he has vanished, and the gold has vanished. I reckon one explains the other.”
“I reckon it does. Why,” and Mr. Bradlaugh’s glance took stock of Merry for the first time, “how did you get the news, Merriwell? And how did you beat Hawkins and me to the mine.”
“I was mixed up in the robbery,” Frank answered.
Hawkins, a good friend of Frank’s, laughed at that.
“How was it, son?” he inquired.