Jack was on fire to be off to Brindisi and see what was wrong. He made short work of his packing, and within an hour he was driving to Longhampton to catch the London express. He caught it with scarcely two minutes to spare, and was soon whirling towards the great city. A short distance from Longhampton, he caught a glimpse of Rushmere School in the distance on its hill, and the strip of heath country running up to the foot of the slope. This brought to mind his adventure, which remained as mysterious an affair as ever. The police had been most active, stations had been watched, inquiries had been made in every direction, but all to no result. The Thugs had vanished and left no trace behind. But the thought of his encounter on the heath soon faded from Jack's mind. It was crushed out by the pressing question of the moment. What was the matter at Brindisi? Why had Risley cabled and not his father? Had something happened to his father? Jack felt wretchedly uneasy, for he and his father were bound together by no ordinary ties of affection. In the first place, he had, as far as he knew, no other living relation. His mother had been dead for many years, and his father was the only close friend that Jack knew. Then the elder Haydon had always been a great hero in his son's eyes. His profession of mining engineer had carried him into many wild corners of the world, and the store of marvellous tales which he would pour forth for the boy's delight had made Jack's holidays a time of intense pleasure. Mr. Haydon had always made a point, if it was possible, of keeping himself free for such times, and he and Jack had spent the weeks joyously, until the day for return to school had become a Black Monday indeed in the boy's eyes. As Jack mused over memories of other days, his anxiety to know what was wrong at Brindisi grew moment by moment, and the flying express seemed to crawl, so great was his impatience to be in London, where he expected to get further news from Mr. Buxton. But he was destined to learn something long before he saw Mr. Buxton. The express screamed into an important junction and pulled up for five minutes. Three fellow-passengers got out, and left Jack to himself. A boy came along the platform shouting, "London Pay-pers," and Jack bought a _Daily Telegraph_. He turned to the football news, and was reading it, when the train pulled out and shot forward once more towards London. But the accounts of his beloved sport failed to interest him, and he turned the paper over listlessly, idly scanning one big sheet after another. Suddenly the word imprinted on his brain caught his eye. "Brindisi"--here was some scrap of news from Brindisi.