CHAPTER III. A STRANGE HERITAGE
The terse, blunt statements of the letter told a strange story so plainly that they seemed like spoken words. Bruce Duncan, as he read them, could imagine the very tones of his uncle's voice: I am speaking to you, Bruce. I am writing in the front room of my house. The shades are drawn. It is late at night. You and I are alone. These are the exact words that I hope to say to you before I die, in the place that I have named. This message is written to be read if that hope is not realized.
I am a comparatively old man, Bruce. You are young and you are my only living relative. You are my dead brother's son and, like him, you have the firm traits of our family.
I am a man with a mission, Bruce, as I write these words. When you read this message, my mission will be yours; for I shall be dead.
For years I have lived in the front room of my home. I have been there always at nights, as you will be.
For that room contains a secret which must be guarded.
I have been many places in my life. I have had many adventures. I was in Russia during the Revolution. In Moscow I saved the life of a great man — a member of the nobility — a general in the army of the czar.
I brought him to safety. I risked my life for him. I left him in Paris, and then I saw him some time later. He was going back to Russia. He intended to join the forces of Admiral Kolchak in their fight against the Red rule.
He had another purpose, also. He intended to reclaim a vast wealth. Money, in golden rubles; and precious gems. An amazing fortune. He had left it hidden in Russia, and he was confident that no one could have discovered the hiding place.
He told me that in his trials he had gained the help and friendship of seven men. To each of them he owed an obligation. He regarded me as the most important of the seven.