Tom Slade had
"gone and done it again." He was always surprising them by his stolid
announcement of some discovery which opened up delectable possibilities.
And smile as he would (especially in view of Pee-wee's exuberance), Roy
could not but see that here was something of very grave significance.
"That's what I meant," drawled Tom, "when I told her that we could
_try_--to find her brother."
This was a knockout blow.
"This trip of ours is going to be just like a book," prophesied Pee-wee,
excitedly; "there's a--there's a--long lost brother, and--and--a deep
mystery!"
"Sure," said Roy. "We'll have to change our names; I'll be Roy Rescue,
you be Pee-wee Pinkerton, the boy sleuth, and Tom'll be Tom Trustful.
What d'you say, Tom?"
Tom made no answer and for all Roy's joking, he was deeply interested.
Like most important clues, the discovery was but a little thing, yet it
could not be accounted for except on the theory that Harry Stanton had
somehow gotten back to the launch after the accident, whatever the
accident was. It meant just that--nothing less and nothing more; though,
indeed, it did mean more to Pee-wee and as he slept that night, in the
gently rocking boat, he dreamed that he had vowed a solemn vow to Mr.
Stanton's daughter to "find her brother or perish in the attempt." He
carried a brace of pistols, and sailing forth with his trusty chums, he
landed in the island of Madagascar, to which Harry Stanton had been
carried, bound hand and foot, in an aeroplane.
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