"Only this: that all the valuable paintings and bric-à-brac, without exception, have disappeared—vanished—gone!"
"Vanished!" echoed Don, his face lighting with interest. "A jolly nice mystery, I call it. There's where the story becomes a story, eh, 'Peewee'?"
"It sounds like one of those 'to-be-continued' yarns," grumbled "Peewee." He winked impressively at Bodkins. "Anyhow, what's the use of ado and chatter about a few old paintings? I'm on call to-night, boys—which means that I must be ready to take out my car at an instant's notice. Guess I'll hit the pillow."
He stretched himself and yawned.
"Why don't they get the old count to explain the matter?" inquired Weymouth.
"I understand he can't be found," answered Dunstan.
"Perhaps the stuff is all in Berlin."
"The Château de Morancourt was never in the hands of the Germans."
"It might have been stolen by some of that great retinue of servants you spoke about," suggested "Peewee."
"Not at all likely. They were sent away some time before the count himself left."