The King of Arcadia

The strenuous rush of the day of suddenly changed plans was over, and with Gardiner, the assistant professor of geology, to bid him God-speed, Ballard had got as far as the track platform gates of the Boston & Albany Station when Lassley's telegram, like a detaining hand stretched forth out of the invisible, brought him to a stand.
He read it, with a little frown of perplexity sobering his strong, enthusiastic face.
S.S. Carania , New York. To Breckenridge Ballard, Boston . You love life and crave success. Arcadia Irrigation has killed its originator and two chiefs of construction. It will kill you. Let it alone. Lassley.
He signed the book, tipped the boy for his successful chase, and passed the telegram on to Gardiner.
If you were called in as an expert, what would you make of that? he asked.
The assistant professor adjusted his eye-glasses, read the message, and returned it without suggestive comment.
My field being altogether prosaic, I should make nothing of it. There are no assassinations in geology. What does it mean?
Ballard shook his head.
I haven't the remotest idea. I wired Lassley this morning telling him that I had thrown up the Cuban sugar mills construction to accept the chief engineer's billet on Arcadia Irrigation. I didn't suppose he had ever heard of Arcadia before my naming of it to him.
I thought the Lassleys were in Europe, said Gardiner.
They are sailing to-day in the Carania , from New York. My wire was to wish them a safe voyage, and to give my prospective address. That explains the date-line of this telegram.