"It's Father," he said with a movement of relief. "Cheer up, Betty. Dad will think of something."
A moment later Hiram Baxter entered the room. His face was ashen gray. He looked broken and ill, but a flicker of the old bright smile spread over his rugged face as he glanced about the room.
"Hello, everybody! Why, hello, Bish!" He tapped Bunchester playfully on the shoulder. "I'm awful glad to see you, Bish." Then, as he noticed the universal gloom, "Say, it strikes me you folks are a little frappay. What's wrong? What are you doing here?" he asked Grimes.
The detective started to explain, but Bob cut in eagerly.
"One moment! Father, did you leave twenty-five thousand dollars in the drawer of that desk?"
"Twenty-five thousand dollars! Say, boy, is this a joke? If it is, I tell ye straight I don't like it."
"No, Father, it's not a joke; it's very far from a joke. Did you leave it there?"
"Twenty-five thousand dollars in that desk? Say, if you knew what I've been through to-day! I've been scratchin' around down where the avenues are paved with red-hot bricks, lookin' for twenty-five thousand dollars. And I didn't find it, either. No, sir, I left no money in that desk. It ain't my desk, anyway; it's Betty's desk."
"Ah!" smiled Grimes.
"Say, who are you, anyway?"