As the two entered the hotel, a messenger boy came up carrying two telegrams. The clerk nodded to the boy, who went over to Mark and Saunders.
"Which is Mr. Saunders?" he asked. The detective reached out his hand and the boy gave him one of the messages. "The other one," he said, "is for Mr. Griffin.
"Sign here, please." The boy extended his book. Both men signed and the boy went out. Sitting down in a corner of the writing room, Mark and Saunders looked at one another, then at the yellow envelopes.
"Why don't you open your telegram, Saunders?" asked Mark.
"Because I know pretty well what's in it. I guessed it would be coming. I am ordered off this case, for the men who employed our agency have no use for me after last night. They have found everything out for themselves, and have settled it in their own way. Why don't you open yours?"
"For opposite reasons to yours, old chap: because I don't know what's in it, and, whatever it is, I don't think I shall like it. I have not had many messages of this kind. None but my solicitors would send one, and that means trouble. But here goes!"
Mark tore off the end of the envelope, opened the message and read. Saunders did the same with his. One glance was enough for each.
"I told you so," said Saunders. "Here's my message: 'Central disconnected.'"
Mark looked up with surprise.
"'Central disconnected'? What's that, Saunders? More United States?"