“Letters!” he exclaimed. “One to John Larkins, an’ the other to Frederick Glendale. What’s up now?”
Raikes uttered a hoarse cry, and snatched vainly at the letters. Then his head fell back, and a hopeless expression came over his face. He mumbled something inaudible. Meanwhile Sparwick had passed both envelopes to Jerry.
“See what’s inside, lad,” he said. “I kin make out to read writin’, but no doubt you’re better. Anyway, this scamp would snatch ’em out of my hand.”
Hamp looked eagerly over Jerry’s shoulder. The first envelope bore the following address:
MR. FREDERICK GLENDALE, Attorney at Law,
Lears Building, Broadway, New York.
Jerry opened it, and took out a sheet of paper covered with neat and legible writing. He glanced briefly at it, and his eyes opened wide.
“Listen to this,” he cried, excitedly. Then he read aloud:
Dear Mr. Glendale:—I am a prisoner in a lonely and inaccessible part of the Maine woods. My captors know who I am, and unless you pay them ten thousand dollars I will be murdered. The man who gives you this letter will tell you when and where the sum necessary for my release must be paid over. I send a letter for my father. Cable it to him at once if you need his authority to pay the money. There is no other way to get me out of the fix, so don’t be so foolish as to appeal to the police. If the messenger is harmed, or fails to return here in ten days. I will be murdered. Don’t delay, for my life is at stake. Only ten thousand dollars will save me. I am writing of my own free will.
Yours sincerely, Jim Larkins.
Jerry opened the other letter, and glanced through it.