After Mr. Livingston had gone, the four Explorers pored over the translation. They were still trying to puzzle out the difficult writing when the waiter reappeared to tell them that they too were wanted in the lobby.
“Must be Mr. Livingston,” said Jack. “But why does he send for us, instead of coming back?”
“Go and see,” War advised with a shrug. “I’ll wait here.”
The other three went quickly to the hotel lobby. Mr. Livingston was not there, nor did they find him in the telephone booth. After trying vainly to learn who had summoned them, they started back to the terrace dining room.
“Where’s War?” Ken demanded, noticing that their table was now deserted.
Just at that moment, they caught a glimpse of the freckle-faced boy, coming from the opposite direction.
“I was looking for you,” War greeted them cheerfully. “Took you an awful long time—say, why that dead-pan look, Jack? What’s wrong?”
“The parchment! You didn’t go off and leave it lying unguarded on the table?”
“Why, just for a minute,” War admitted, looking scared. “But no one would touch it. Take it easy, Jack! I can see that bundle of colored cord still there.”
Without replying, Jack went quickly to the deserted table. True, the quipu lay on the tablecloth beside Ken’s half-empty water glass. But the parchment translation was nowhere visible.