Almost at that moment they all three entered. Long Jim nodded to Craig in friendly fashion.
“It’s all right, cookie,” he told them. “Don’t you look so scared. This is just a bit of parley-vous business, that’s all.”
The Professor held out a piece of paper. He handed it over to Craig.
“Craig,” he announced, “this is a dispatch which I found in Allguez with my letters. It is addressed to you, but under the circumstances you will scarcely wonder that I opened it. You had better read it.”
Craig accepted the cable-form and read it through slowly to himself:—
“To John Craig, c/o Professor Lord Ashleigh, Yonkers, New York:
“Your sister died to-day. Her daughter Mary sails on Tuesday to join you in New York. Please meet her.
“Compton, Solicitor, London.”
Craig sat for a moment as though stunned. The girl leaned over towards him.
“Are they trying to take you on a warrant?” she whispered. “Remember you don’t need to go unless you want to.”
Craig shook his head.
“This is something quite different,” he explained. “Leave me for a moment, Marta. I must talk to these people.”