"Did he do this?" asked Mollie, with a comprehensive sweep of her hand
about the cluttered room.

"I'm afraid he did," answered the young fellow, sobering instantly. "You
see, I just returned from overseas about a week ago and a couple of days
later my dad read in the paper about the death of this queer old man's two
sons. The pater had always been interested in the lonely old boy, so he
sent me over to see if I could do anything for him. I found the place like
this and--the bird had flown. Went dopy I suppose about the bad news and
tore things up a bit."

Though the boy's words were slangy, there was real sympathy in his tone
and the girls liked him the better for it.

"And you haven't heard anything from him since?" asked Betty softly.

"Not a word or a sign," answered the boy, with a shake of his head. "Just
clean cleared out, that's all. Pretty hard luck, I call it. Just at the
end of things too--when he had a right to expect the fellows home. Pretty
tough luck. I wish I could find the poor old duffer and do something for
him."

The girls heartily echoed the wish. Before leaving the place for good,
they looked about the rooms once more for some sign or message that might
give them a clue to the whereabouts of the professor. They found nothing,
however, and finally were forced to give up the search.

As the young people stepped outside once more and closed the door after
them upon the desolate house a great wave of pity swept over Betty.