Bob’s father, having instructed the truck driver to return to the museum, led the way to his car. He desired to lose no time in calling on Mr. Jordan, who must be informed of the theft in time to prevent the sale of the stolen specimens.
The object of their remarks lived in a very fashionable residential section, which was at the very edge of the city. His private museum was located but a few squares from his home.
“If we can’t find him one place, perhaps we can another,” said Bob. “That is, if he hasn’t left the city.”
“In that case we’ll have as good a chance to see him first as the thief,” laughed Joe.
Some time later the four pulled up in front of a spacious home in an exclusive residential district. They left the car and moved up to the house.
A butler took the card Mr. Lewis handed him, standing aside a moment later for them to go in. Then, after taking their hats, he disappeared into another room.
The visitors had not long to wait. They had barely taken the chairs offered them when a tall erect man walked up to them.
“You are Mr. Jordan?” asked Joe’s father, rising.
“Yes.”