“All right, lad. What is it?”
“This scrap of paper.”
“Do you want me to give you my opinion of your handwriting?”
“It isn’t my handwriting.”
“Whose then?”
“To the best of my knowledge, it is the handwriting of my guardian, Cornelius McCracken.”
Jack studied the paper, and then asked quietly: “Where did you find this, lad?”
“In my stateroom. It was dropped, no doubt, by Professor Puffer.”
“So I surmised. You think it was written to him by your guardian?”
“Yes; I think there can be no doubt of that. Now, what do you think it means, Jack?”