“Well, he’s gone, that’s sure,” grumbled Nat. “I’m going back to the cabin for my valise.”
“He may come back,” suggested Dave.
“I don’t think so. But I’ll wait and see. I hung around once for him—on that island—but he never came back. It isn’t often he visits the same spot twice. That’s the reason the authorities around here haven’t caught him.”
“What is his name, Nat?”
“Wilbur Poole, if you must know. He is my father’s half-brother.”
“Where did he come from?”
“From the Blossmore Sanitarium, in New York state. It’s a private place, near Lake Erie. He lost a lot of money several years ago in a speculation in Sumatra tobacco and that made him crazy, and that is why, I suppose, he calls himself the King of Sumatra.”
“Did you know he was missing when you heard of the wild man?” questioned Dave, with interest.
“No, I did not, for the sanitarium people did not notify us that he had gotten away. I suppose they thought he would stay near the institution and that they would be able to get him again. I can’t imagine what brought him away out here, 204 excepting that I went to see him once, when he was somewhat better, and I told him about Oakdale and our school. I knew he called himself the King of Sumatra, and that is why I got interested in the wild man as soon as I heard you mention that name. Then, when the handkerchief was found, I was sure the man was my uncle.”
“And you put the hole in the handkerchief,” said our hero.