At this brief but accurate description of the wild man, Nat Poole paled a trifle and uttered something of a gasp.
“Whe—where did he go?” he faltered.
“He rowed down the river just as fast as he could. I don’t know how far he went, for the bend hid him from view,” answered our hero. “Say, Nat, do you think you know that man?”
“Why—er—know him? Of course I don’t know him,” was the stammered-out reply. “But I—I think—maybe—I’ve met him.” And then, to avoid further questioning, Nat Poole hurried away. Our hero could do nothing but stare after him.
“That is mighty queer,” mused Dave, as he turned into the library to consult the reference book. “If Nat doesn’t know the man, why was he so anxious? He acted scared to death when I said the fellow called himself the King of Sumatra.” 94
Dave remained in the school library for a half an hour and then joined Phil, Roger, and the others in Dormitory Number Twelve. He found the students discussing a talk Roger had had with Nat Poole only a few minutes before.
“Nat called me out in the hallway,” said the senator’s son. “He wanted to know all about that wild man, and he wanted to make dead certain that he had called himself the King of Sumatra.”
“That is certainly queer—on top of what happened to me,” said Dave, and told of the interview he had had.
“Well, this is a puzzle,” declared Phil, slowly. “What do you make of it, Dave?”
“I think Nat imagines he knows the wild man.”