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.
