Phil read it all out slowly, and Lub listened very seriously.
"First," Phil went on to say, "the man's name, or the one he goes by right now, is John Newton. It may be assumed, and I 'reckon the chances are all that way. He seems to be in hiding, just as we thought. This is a friend who's warning him not to think of leaving his nest yet awhile. The question is, what terrible thing has he done, and who's hunting for him?"
"If you asked me," ventured Lub, composedly, "I'd say it was all as plain as print. This man must be a counterfeit money-maker. The Secret Service people are looking for him everywhere, because, like as not he's big game. And you can see how this Rutgers, who is of course a chap of the same kind, is telling him how hot the hunt is getting to be."
"It does look a little that way," admitted Phil; "there's only one thing that bothers me."
"Go on and explain what you mean," urged Ethan.
"The last part of the message doesn't seem to go with that sort of an explanation," said Phil.
"As how? Read it again, and let us see, Phil," Lub requested.
"'Too bad for both you can't compromise.' Now, the Government never allows itself to enter into any bargain where a rascal can get off. He may turn State's evidence against his pals, and in that way get lighter punishment; but there can be no such a thing as compromising a felony against the United States Government!"
"Phil, you're right about that, and I know it!" declared Lub, ponderously.
"I'll keep this telegram, if you've no objection," Phil continued; "and try to hit on some other sort of explanation later on. If we only had the key, this mystery would all be simple enough, I'm thinking."