Jimmie chuckled as he asked the question of the six silent figures ranged along the wall. As yet his eyes had not fallen on the figures of Frank and Jack, farther back in the shadows.
There was, of course, no answer to his question, and the boy leaned forward, a grin on his freckled face.
"Say, but you're a bum lot!" he cried. "Why don't you go back to the Pyramids and sleep for another thousand years? There ain't no nourishment in sitting up there like a dime museum, for there's no one sellin' tickets at the door."
"Look behind you!"
That was the English voice again, seemingly out of the heavy air, or out of the storm outside. Jimmie turned quickly and saw his chums nicely tied up.
In a moment he turned back to the row of six, without even exchanging a look with his friends.
"Who's doin' the talkin'," he asked.
Frank and Jack were now too impatient to know what had become of their leader to delay longer. The latter asked:
"Where's Ned?"
"Ask this lineup," Jimmie replied. "I don't know. Gee! If I had a face like that man on the end, I'd sell it to the wild man of Borneo, its an improvement on anythin' he could get up. Say, Old Socks!" he added, "where is Ned?"