The wondering youth accepted the yellow envelope and tore it open. He read:
“Go to Groveton and wait. You will learn something to your advantage.”
“Gabriel Hamilton.”
The message was dated at his father’s place of business in New York, and as shown was signed by him.
“There is no answer,” said Harvey to the waiting landlord, who departed.
“This is beyond me,” he remarked after reading the telegram to Bohunkus, who of course was as much mystified as his companion. “Why we should go to Groveton and what is there that can be of advantage to me, is a greater puzzle than the wrecking of the aeroplane.”
“What am yo’ gwine to do, Harv?”
“Obey orders. Come on.”
The two traveled with so light baggage that they had only to fling their extra coats over their arms, the few minor articles being in their pockets, and descend the stairs. Harvey paid his bill and explained that he had been called suddenly away by the telegram from his father, but it was possible he might return. The landlord expressed his sympathy for the loss of the aeroplane and promised to do all he could to find out who the criminals were.
“Don’t bother,” said Harvey airily, “it’s lucky it didn’t happen when we were a mile or two up in the sky.”