The news had not been totally unexpected, yet the three lads felt very much depressed. They had hoped that some sort of word might have been received concerning their father while they were speeding towards New York on the train.
"I wish you would give me all the particulars," went on Dick.
"Here comes the manager,—he can tell you more than I can," replied the clerk, and he nodded in the direction of a tall, heavy-set individual who was approaching.
"So you are Mr. Rover's sons, eh?" said Mr. Garley, as he shook hands. "I am sorry for you, indeed I am. This is certainly a puzzle. Come in here and I will tell you all I know," and he led the way to a small reception parlor that was, just then, unoccupied. He drew two chairs up to a small sofa, so that all might sit close together.
"I don't suppose any word came from the farm for us?" suggested Sam, as he was about to sit down.
"If anything came in the name of Rover I'd know about it," returned the hotel manager. "I am very much interested in this case."
"Have you spoken to the police about it?" asked Tom.
"Not yet. I thought that perhaps you would not like it. Sometimes, you know, men go away and leave no word, and, later on, they come back, and they don't want anything said about it. So we have to be careful."
"What have you got to tell us?" asked Dick.
"It isn't very much. In the first place, though, I don't think your father was in the best of health. I noticed that, and so did one of my clerks and one of the elevator men."