Part 20 (1/2)
”Appreciating your courteous and reliable service, I remain, Truly yours, Christopher Mark Antony Burton, third.”
Mr. Burton came to a stop and leaned back in his ma.s.sive mahogany chair.
”There, Miss Elkins, get that off immediately,” ordered he. ”Also the two cablegrams I dictated. That will be all at present. Now, Christopher, suppose you give me your mighty tidings.”
A faint note of sarcasm, not lost on the boy, echoed in the words, and with enthusiasm quenched, the lad silently produced his note and laid it on his father's desk.
”What's this?” Mr. Burton asked.
”You can read it.”
”A vilely dirty sc.r.a.p of paper. What have you been doing with it--cleaning your shoes?”
”It was that way when it came.”
”Came? Came from whom?”
”Read it and see.”
”But the thing has neither beginning nor end. Was it meant for you?”
”Yes, sir. It came through the mail.”
Taking the envelope from his pocket, Christopher placed it beside the letter.
Mr. Burton, however, did not heed either object.
Instead, with deliberation, he took off his gla.s.ses, wiped them and put them back on his nose. Then he lighted a fresh cigar. Even an observer less keen than his son could have detected that the major portion of his mind was still occupied by the cablegrams and dictation that had previously engaged him, and that he antic.i.p.ated no very vital disclosures from the morsel of grimy paper he so gingerly took up.
Slowly he read it. Then the boy, watching, saw his figure become tense, and a flash of amazement light his eyes.
”Great Heavens!” cried he, startled out of his customary dignity. ”It's from Stuart. Why didn't you say so at once?”
”I tried to tell you.”
”Yes, yes. I know! But I had no idea you had anything as important as this to say. If you had only explained--”
”I was going to, only you--”
”Well, we won't stop to discuss all that now. I'll call Corrigan immediately. I don't suppose there is any chance but the note is genuine. Why, it would be a seven-days' wonder if we should get those stones back. The insurance money was no compensation for them. We could not buy three such perfectly matched diamonds had we ten times their price. Of course there is a possibility this letter may be a fake, but somehow I've a feeling it is real. We'll consult Corrigan and see what he says.”
Mr. Burton reached for the telephone.
”h.e.l.lo! Give me Plaza 77098.--Is Mr. Corrigan there?--Just going out?--Catch him before he leaves, and tell him, please, that Mr. Burton wishes to speak with him.” A pause followed, in which Mr. Burton nervously drummed on his desk. Then he leaned forward expectantly. ”Mr.
Corrigan? This is Mr. Burton speaking. I've some news for you. My son has this morning received from Chicago a letter purporting to come from Stuart and giving the location of that ring.--Of course it may be--What's that?--You are on your way up to this vicinity? That will be very nice then.--Yes, eleven will suit us all right. Good-by.”
”He is coming up, is he?”
”Yes. He happened to be coming, anyway. A queer thing--that letter. I hardly know what to think about it.”
”Nor I.”