The youth felt almost as bad as if the loss had been his own.
Frank Landes was his dearest friend, and, although the young man was rich, Bob knew the loss of the money would be a sore trial to him.
When the young photographer returned to where he had left Frank and old Blake, he found that his friend had bound up the old man’s forehead with a wet rag torn from his coat sleeve. Blake was as pale as death, and could scarcely move.
Yet he opened his eyes anxiously when Bob approached.
“Did you get ’em?” he asked feebly.
“No.”
“Didn’t you see Casco?” asked Frank.
“Yes. He escaped to the shore.”
Frank’s face fell, and Blake gave a groan.
“The papers, gone!” muttered the old man. “Gone, and Barker promised me five hundred dollars for them!”