“But if mother had been with him, she’d have set that all right,” objected Don.
“True enough,” replied the professor. “But how do we know that she was with him? All we know is that she ran out after him into the night. We cannot be sure that he didn’t elude her.”
“Oh, shall we ever be able to solve the mystery?” cried Don, in desperation.
“Yes, we will,” declared the captain heartily, as he placed his hand encouragingly on his nephew’s shoulder. “Keep up your heart, my boy. Remember that we found your sister Ruth when we had almost given up hope. And with heaven’s help we’ll find your father and mother too.”
“To be sure we shall, even if we go to Egypt to do it,” chimed in the professor. “We’ll rake that country with a fine-toothed comb before we’ll give up and admit that we’re beaten.”
The sound of the dinner bell broke up the conference, and Don hastened to his room to wash and to brush his hair.
They were served at table by Jennie Jenks, the maid of all work, who in her flittings to and fro that afternoon had caught snatches of the conversation and was bursting with the desire to impart it to Mrs. Roscoe, the housekeeper of the Sturdy home.
“I guess we kin say good-bye to Mister Don an’ his uncles,” she remarked, in one of her migrations to the kitchen. “They’re all a goin’ to the tomb.”
Mrs. Roscoe was so startled that she nearly dropped the dish she was carrying from the oven.
“What do you mean?” she gasped. “Are they sick?”