"But will you
please explain?"
"It's a long story, Dad," said Jack, "and I haven't the time. But it's
Bob's airplane. The fellows who kidnapped you stole the machine in
Long Island several days before that. Well, Mr. Temple and the boys
came out to New Mexico, and we recovered the plane and, and--well,
there you are."
"Yes, I see," said Mr. Hampton. "It's as clear as a New York fog. But
it's enough to know that Bob--didn't you mention his name--is here
with the machine. Let's go and find him."
He started for the door. But at that moment Rafaela, who stood closer
to it, halted him with upraised hand.
"Listen," she whispered.
Cautious footsteps could be heard ascending the stairs.
"Quick, Jack," whispered Mr. Hampton, "you mustn't be seen. Nor you,
Miss Calomares. Here, hide behind this bed. And he pushed the two
behind the hangings of a great four-poster. Then removing the key from
the outside of the door, he hurriedly but noiselessly swung the
ponderous frame shut, and locked it on the inside.
"Calomares won't recall losing the key," he said grimly to himself.
"There may be a chance yet."
He listened with his ear at the keyhole. The cautious footsteps
mounted higher. They reached the landing.
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