Royson's remarkable proficiency in most matters bearing on the
navigation of a ship had amazed him in the first instance, and this
juggling with names led him to suspect some deep-laid villainy with
which the midnight attack on von Kerber was not wholly unconnected.
But the person most taken aback by Irene's self-assertion was Mrs.
Haxton. A firm attitude on the girl's part came as an unpleasing
novelty. An imperious light leaped to her eyes, but she checked the
words which might have changed a trivial incident into a sharp tussle
for supremacy.
"I am sorry," she said quietly. "Telegrams are important things,
sometimes. And the messenger is waiting, too."
Thus, under the fire of many eyes, Royson tore open the _petit bleu_,
and read its typewritten contents. The words were brief, but
sufficiently bewildering:
"Better return to England forthwith. I undertake full responsibility
for advice, and guarantee you against loss, Forbes."
"Forbes," undoubtedly, was his uncle's solicitor. But how was it
possible that he should have discovered the name of the yacht and her
port of departure? And why did he, a methodical old lawyer, not only
disobey his client's strict injunctions that no help or assistance of
any sort was to be given to a rebellious nephew, but ignore Dick's own
wishes, and address him as Royson, not as King?
There were twenty questions which might be asked, but staring at the
flimsy bit of paper, with its jerky lettering, would not answer any of
them.
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