“Father, do you know what it is that he knows?” Cliff appealed to Mr. Gray who smilingly shook his head.
“Well, I’m going to shake it out of him,” cried Cliff. “Come on, Nicky.” The two attacked Tom with gusto, letting off some of their pent-up “steam” in an old-fashioned tussle that boded ill for the hotel furniture. Mr. Gray, only watchful lest they harm any of his old records, let them have their fun. Panting and laughing, at last they gave up, still none the wiser. A knock on the door panels halted their fun.
“Tom,” said Mr. Gray, turning from a brief conversation at the door, “There is a gentleman in the office asking for you.”
“A gentleman?” cried Nicky. “Who is it?”
“Have him come on up, please, sir,” begged Tom, and then turned his back deliberately on his companions while he stared out of the window; but Cliff, watching, saw his shoulders shaking.
Tom expected this arrival! Who could it be? The door opened. With a simultaneous shout three youths launched themselves toward the tall, thin, lank figure that appeared.
“Bill—‘quipu’ Bill!”
They grabbed him: they pawed him; they pounded him.
Bill Saunders had been prospecting in the Peruvian Andes at the time that Cliff had gone to try to discover if his father was still alive among a hidden Inca tribe in the cordilleras. Bill had taken active part in their adventures. After the successful end of the trip he had, with his share of money paid him by Mr. Gray, bought a Texas ranch. The youths heard from him often. Now, here he was.
“What are you doing here—how did you know——” Nicky began. Then he turned suddenly on Tom.