Aye, there was the rub. As we know, the Adirondacks cover a large area, so large indeed that many a hunter has lost his way among the solitudes and died of starvation and exposure. A person might spend months in searching for another, and unless he had some clue never gain a glimpse of him. It would be the wildest folly for Harvey Hamilton to try to trace the Professor without more enlightenment than thus far he possessed.
The only information of value in the long telegram was that the inventor made his home in the large county, most of which lies to the westward of Lake Champlain. It seemed reasonable to believe that he was there at that time putting the finishing touches to his machine, but so far as finding him was concerned he might as well have been in the heart of Canada or far out over the boisterous Atlantic.
It will be recalled that Detective Pendar insisted that many of the most brilliant successes in his profession were due to accidental or trifling incidents. Never did this truth receive a more striking illustration than in the case of Harvey Hamilton, within the same hour in which he read the first telegram from his father. He had laid the yellow sheets on the table in front of him and was trying to figure out what he should do, when one of the bellboys, in obedience to an order of the clerk at the desk, handed him a second lengthy message, which like the former was from his parent. It said:
“A letter has just arrived from Bunk addressed to you. It is without town or date, but the postmark on the outside is ‘Dawson, N. Y,’, and it was stamped yesterday. You can readily locate the place as I haven’t the time to do so. I had to get Mildred to help me translate Bunk’s spelling and sentences, but we finally succeeded and here is the result:
“‘Dear Harv,—I hope you are well, because I am. Have had a bully time, but the Professor isn’t quite ready to start for Africa. He will do so in a few days. He treats me well, but sometimes he acts blamed queer. I guess that is because he feels sort of scared about meeting so great a man as my father, the Chief Foozleum. He told me not to write to anybody at all because he didn’t wish any one to know where we are. He has gone off for a little while and I take the chance to write you, for I know you would like to hear from me and I can get a chance to mail it when he isn’t around. He must think I’m a chump not to know how to write a letter without blabbing a secret. I can keep things to myself as well as anybody. If you’d give me a thousand dollars I wouldn’t let you know that we have a cabin in the woods near Dawson. No, sir; you can’t fool me; I’m mum every time. My next letter will be from Africa and written in the palace of Chief Foozleum.
“‘No more at present. Your loving friend,
“‘Bunk.’”
Yielding to his first impulse Harvey Hamilton threw back his head and laughed till the tears came.
“Bless your heart, Bunk! What should I do without you? No more loyal heart ever beat than yours. I can’t blame you for giving me the slip as you did, and it is natural that you should be filled with the scheme of an aerial voyage across the Atlantic. If I can succeed in saving you from the attempt, it will be through the help which in the innocence of your heart you gave me.”
Manifestly the first thing to be done was to find where the town of Dawson is situate. Harvey had never heard of it, and in his perplexity he applied to the clerk, who was not only courteous but well informed. Pondering a moment, he replied: