A POINTED WARNING
Burton did not know exactly what he expected to happen, or what he
would gain by staying, but something more than a sense of his
responsibility to Rachel made him want to see the thing through. That
suspicion should have buzzed so long about Henry Underwood and nothing
yet be proved could only be due to a combination of luck and
circumstances which could not be expected to continue indefinitely.
With Selby hot on the trail, the police were likely to have some
effective assistance. Malevolence is a great sharpener of the wits.
Wouldn't it be possible to get Henry out of town? Had he gone far
enough in his hint to the doctor? Possibly if he saw Henry alone he
could convey a warning that would be understood. He determined to see
Henry.
But Henry was not at home. His disappointment in this information
might have been greater if it had not been conveyed by Miss Underwood.
He found it very easy to extend his inquiry into a call, and when he
finally rose to take his leave he was surprised to find how time had
flown. Philip was justified. The only thing to wonder at was Philip's
discrimination. He must have been caught merely by her beauty, but
even to appreciate her beauty at its right value was more than he had
given Philip credit for. But what was the outcome to be? If the family
were involved in a scandal, Philip was not the man to stand by her. He
would be dominated by Rachel's prejudices, and Rachel would think the
whole thing simply unspeakable. Yet things had gone so far that it
would be impossible for Philip to withdraw without humiliating the
girl,--and that, Burton now saw clearly, was the one impossible thing.
No, the only way out was to stop the scandal from going further. Henry
must be suppressed.
He had been revolving these thoughts as he walked the streets back to
the hotel, when all at once his eye was caught by the sign:
ORTON SELBY
CONTRACTOR AND BUILDER
It swung above the door of a prosperous looking place, and he looked
at the premises with interest. So this was where Mr. Selby did
business! As he looked, Mrs. Bussey came out of the office door, and
scuttled off down the street like a frightened animal finding itself
out of bounds. Possibly she was bringing some of her crippled son's
carving to his employer. The connection was obvious and the relation
was well understood, but somehow he did not like the idea of an inmate
of the Underwood house having this side relation with a man who was an
enemy. If anything were to be done to save Henry, it must be done
skilfully and promptly. The atmosphere of the place was not favorable.
"There's a letter for you," the clerk said, as he handed Burton his
key.
Burton took it with some wonder. He was not expecting mail here. But
this letter had never gone through the mails. It was unstamped. The
envelope was addressed in a heavy blunt penciling that he had seen
before.
"Who left this?" he asked.
"I found it on the desk. I didn't see who left it there," the clerk
said.
Burton did not open it until he reached his room. Then his premonition
was confirmed. The scrap of paper was covered with the same
heavy-lined writing that had been on the warning paper he had found in
the morning. The message read:
"You have had one warning. This is the second. The third will be the
last. You may as well understand that your help is not wanted."
And the clerk did not know how it came on his desk! There seemed to be
a very conspiracy of stupidity and malice in the place. He examined it
carefully. It was addressed to him by his full name,--and his circle
of acquaintances in High Ridge was extremely limited! Henry had not
been at home when he called there. The letter had been left by some
one who could come into the hotel and go out without exciting
comment,--then clearly a familiar figure in the town. Burton's lips
curled cynically. And the meaning of the message was quite plain! His
"help" was not wanted. Whom was he trying to help, except the
Underwoods?
He put the letter, envelope and all, into a large envelope which he
sealed and directed to himself. He did not wish to destroy it just
yet, neither did he wish to leave it where it would fall under another
eye.
He dined in the public dining-room, without seeing either Ralston or
Selby, and, being in no mood to cultivate new acquaintances, returned
at once to his own room. He lit a cigar and got a book from his bag
and settled down to read himself into quietness; but his mind would
not free itself from the curious situation in which he found himself,
and presently he tossed the book aside and went to the table where he
had left the sealed letter addressed to himself. _It was gone_. It had
been abstracted from his locked room while he was down at dinner.
Suddenly, as he stood there thinking, there was a sharp "ping," and a
pane of his window crashed into splinters and fell into the room. A
thud near his head caused him to turn, and there in the wall was a
small hole where a bullet had buried itself in the plaster. The third
warning!
Burton went down the stairs two steps at a time and out into the
street. The hotel was on the main street, and Burton's room on the
second floor looked toward the front. Across the street from the hotel
was a small park, full of trees and shadows. It was clear that the
shot through his front window had come from the direction of this
park, and also that it would be futile to try to discover any one who
might have been in hiding there. There were a hundred avenues of
unseen escape. It was already dark enough to make the streets obscure.
Burton went in and reported the shooting to the clerk. Of the missing
letter he said nothing.
"Some boys must have been fooling around in the park with a gun," said
the clerk, after viewing the scene of the disaster. "They might have
hit you, the idiots. I'll bet they are scared stiff by now,--and serve
them right."
"I wish you'd give me another room," said Burton abruptly.
"Why? You don't think they'll try to pot you again, do you?" smiled
the clerk.
"I prefer to take another room," said Burton stiffly.
"Oh, very well. The adjoining room is vacant, if that will suit you."
"Yes. You may have my things moved in. Or, hold on. I'll move them in
now, with your assistance, and you needn't say anything about the
change downstairs."
The clerk took some pains to make it evident that he was suppressing a
smile, but Burton did not particularly care what opinion the young man
might form of his courage. He had other things in view.
His new room looked toward the side of the hotel. A driveway ran below
his windows, separating the hotel from a large private house
adjoining. Burton took a careful survey of his location, and when he
settled down again to read, he was careful to select a position which
was not in range with the windows.
He was beginning to take the High Ridge mystery seriously.