“Never fool with a letter,” cried Jack. “Cut it open, tear it open, and know the best or worst as soon as possible. To me, a man who is afraid to open a letter is like a gambler who is uncertain whether to stake his last shilling or not.”
“This is my letter, Jack, and I propose to regard the outside of it as long as I choose before perusing its contents.”
Although the words had a sharpness in them, there was a look in Victor’s eye as he spoke which robbed them of any intention to offend.
“All right, old boy,” said Jack. “Don’t let me hurry you. Why not leave it on your table until you get back from Buckholme? My father is a man of wisdom. He has a large correspondence, but he never gets ready to answer his letters until they are about six months old. During that time he says half of them have been answered by the course of events, and it is too late to answer the others; so in that way he has not gained a very wide reputation as a letter-writer.”
Victor broke the seal, unfolded the sheet, and spread it carefully on the table before him. Reading it through quickly, he cried:
“Jack listen to this:
“My Dear Victor: Come to Corsica at once. When you reach Ajaccio, I will communicate with you secretly by messenger. Hear all, but say nothing. See Admiral Enright and sail with him on the Osprey.
“Your father,
“Hector Duquesne.”
Victor laid the letter upon the table, and as he brought his hand down forcibly upon it, he cried: “Now, what does that mean, Jack?”
“It’s just as plain as the nose on your face, Victor. It was your father who got the appointment for you. Tom Ratcliffe is going with Enright, who is ordered to cruise in the Mediterranean. Corsica, unless my geographical knowledge is twisted, is in the Mediterranean; so you see your father has fixed things all right.”