“Oh, I suppose we’ll have to let it go if they’ve brought the blankets back!” replied the clerk, reluctantly.
Gomez turned away with a sullen frown on his face, and Mellen saw that he had made an enemy of the fellow.
“These boys are your friends?” asked the clerk of Mellen.
“I never saw them until last night,” was the reply, “but I know that they belong to the party of which Louis Havens, the millionaire aviator, is the head. I presume the telegrams waiting for me here are from Mr. Havens, who expects to be here within twenty-four hours.”
“Not Louis Havens, the great explorer?” asked the clerk.
“The same,” answered Mellen, “and if you’ve anything more to say about the boys, say it to him.”
Taking the telegrams from the clerk, Mellen went back to the machine and, after leaving the prisoner with the police, hastened to Ben’s room, where the other boys were assembled. As he had supposed, the messages were all from Mr. Havens, and all were repetitions of the warning which had been sent the previous night.
“I don’t understand what it means!” Ben said after the messages had been read and discussed. “But it is a sure thing that Mr. Havens knows what he is talking about.”
“I think we’d all better go and get a square meal and go to bed!” Jimmie observed, rubbing his eyes. “The next time I get up in the night to take a twenty-mile ride in the air, I won’t.”
“That’s very good sense,” Mellen agreed. “These telegrams, as you see, state that Mr. Havens cannot possibly reach Quito until some time to-night.”