“For our own sakes, I hope so too,” grinned Sandy.
“But what’s at the bottom of this?” the factor commenced all over again. “You can’t make me believe that men will attempt murder because of some trivial grudge.”
“I’m not trying to,” retorted Dick. “We’re not sure what it’s all about ourselves. But we propose to find out.”
“Good for you!” applauded the factor.
Next morning, when Dick and Sandy awoke, there was another surprise in store for them. Bounding from his bed, the former was the first to make the discovery. He stood, staring in dismay. Across the room, Toma’s bunk had not been disturbed. Where was he? Overcome with sudden fear, he stepped forward, gasping.
“Sandy!” he shrieked, pointing. “Sandy!”
The young Scotchman became so weak at the thought of what might have happened, that he gave utterance to a little cry of dismay and sat down.
“It’s all our fault,” he moaned. “We shouldn’t have gone to bed until we had found out where he had gone. Something terrible has occurred or he’d have been back long before this.”
“I’m afraid so,” Dick was forced to admit.
“He knows we’d worry about him if he stayed out all night. He wouldn’t do it either unless he was hurt—or—or——” Sandy’s voice broke.