"Nothing wrong, I hope?" he asked.
Without a word I handed him the slip, and he in turn read through its contents.
"My sainted aunt!" he exclaimed. "Have you come into a fortune or what?"
"I haven't the faintest notion," I said.
There was a short pause. Then once more he glanced through the message which he was still holding in his hand. "Who was Mr. Richard Jannaway?" he demanded. "And what's all the mystery about?"
I picked up the whisky and helped myself to a drink.
"He was my mother's brother," I said. "I know hardly anything about him besides that. I was under the impression that he was dead years ago."
"Haven't you ever seen him?"
I shook my head. "He left England when I was a baby. I believe he was a pretty bad egg one way and another—the sort of black sheep that every respectable family rolls out occasionally. I have got some vague idea that he went to South America, but so far as I know there has never been any news of him from that day to this."
Ross reseated himself on the bunk and stared at me with vast enjoyment.