“Perhaps some one has been out for a row for his own pleasure and enjoyment,” suggested Christian, without thinking much of what he was saying.
“Then how did he get the padlock open?”
“Smugglers, I suppose,” said Hilda, smiling down at her small brother, “would be provided with skeleton keys.”
“Of course,” replied Stanley in an awestruck tone.
“I will tell you what we will do, Stanley,” said Christian. “To-morrow morning we will go and have a bathe; at the same time I will look at the boat and tell you whether it has been moved.”
“Unless,” added Hilda, “a telegram comes today.”
Christian laughed.
“Unless,” he said gravely, “the world comes to an end this evening.”
It happened during the precise moments occupied by this conversation, that Mr. Bodery, seated at his table in the little editor's room, opened the flimsy brown envelope of a telegram. He spread out the pink paper, and Mr. Morgan, seated opposite, raised his head from the closely-written sheets upon which his hand was resting.
“It is from Vellacott,” said the editor, and after a moment's thought he read aloud as follows:—