"Was he ill, or anything?"
"No. By all accounts he was as hard as nails and as fit as a fiddle."
"But didn't he leave any message?" asked Marjorie, bewildered.
"Yes," replied Roy, unbuttoning his tunic pocket, "he did. This letter, for me. I got it from old Gillespie at the Bank. I expect Dad knew I'd pop in there!"
"But doesn't it explain?" asked Marjorie.
"I don't know," said Roy calmly. "I haven't opened it yet."
"You have had it for a day and a night, and haven't opened it?"
"No. I wanted to wait until you and I could read it together."
"But weren't you dying of curiosity?"
"I was, rather. Still, I said to myself—"