Mr. Davis was disappointed. He was cheated of his expected triumph. Moreover, looking into our young hero's face, he saw that he was entirely self-possessed, and had by no means the air of one about to ask a favor.
"Then state your business at once," he said, roughly. "My time is too valuable to be taken up by trifles."
"My business is important to both of us," said Robert. "We have just received a letter from my father."
The superintendent started and turned pale. This was the most unwelcome intelligence he could have received. He supposed, of course, that Captain Rushton was alive, and likely to reclaim the sum, which he was in no position to surrender.
"Your father!" he stammered. "Where is he? I thought he was dead."
"I am afraid he is," said Robert, soberly.
"Then how can you just have received a letter from him?" demanded Mr. Davis, recovering from his momentary dismay.
"The letter was inclosed in a bottle, which was picked up in the South Pacific, and brought to the owners of the vessel. My father's ship was burned to the water's edge, and at the time of writing the letter he was afloat on the ocean with five of his sailors in a small boat."
"How long ago was this? I mean when was the letter dated."
"Nearly two years ago—in the November after he sailed."