“Or that Glummy has gotten into trouble through no fault of his own. If he is in trouble, he will certainly try to put it off on somebody else--he always does.” “It must be his nature. He can’t seem to help it.” “He doesn’t try to help it. He wants to be smart, and when he fails he isn’t man enough to shoulder the blame.” For nearly an hour the boys remained at the window discussing the strange disappearance. Then they followed Mark and Frank to bed, and were soon sleeping with equal soundness. The disappearance of Hockley, coupled with the fact that Professor Strong did not return, awoke the lads early, and by seven o’clock Darry and Sam were downstairs. “Let us see if the professor is anywhere about,” suggested Darry, and they were on the point of moving off when a hotel attendant came up to them, a man from Florida who spoke English. “Are you Samuel Winthrop?” he asked. “I am,” answered Sam. “I have a private note for you,” went on the attendant. “A note? What can it mean?” “Perhaps it’s from the professor?” suggested Darry. Sam lost no time in tearing open the communication, which ran as follows: “DEAR SAM: I have got myself in a tight hole and don’t know how to get myself out of it. I am afraid the professor will give me rats for getting into it. I think you can help me a good deal--in fact, I know you can, if you will. Please come to me at the Fairfax House--an English hotel. If you bring anybody along let it be Darry. I don’t want the professor to know of it, and please don’t tell Mark or Frank, for they would only have the laugh on me. If the professor wants to know, tell him you want to go on a little private errand. Do this much for me and I will always be, “Yours gratefully, “J. HOCKLEY.” “Well, what do you make of that?” asked Sam, as he passed the note over to his companion. “Glummy is in some sort of fix, that’s certain,” answered Darry, after reading the communication twice. “He doesn’t say anything about money. I wonder what the fix can be?” Neither could imagine, but Sam determined to go to the Fairfax House without delay, and inside of two minutes both were on the way, without leaving word of their destination. It was an easy matter to find the hostelry named, although to walk there took longer than they had expected, for the Fairfax House was situated in a new section of Havana and well toward the outskirts. It was a modest, well-kept hotel, and on seeing this the boys felt relieved. “Looks all right,” was Sam’s comment. “Glad it isn’t the other kind.” There was an old Cuban _volante_ driver standing in front of the hotel, and as they came up he accosted them in broken English. “Pardon, señors,” he said. “Be you de gen’men by de name Winthrop or de name Carane?” “Yes, my name is Winthrop,” answered Sam. “And this is Mr. Crane.”