I scanned the other papers eagerly in the morning for Kennedy, hoping to glean at least some hints that others who were working on the case might have gathered. But there was nothing, and, after a hasty bite of breakfast, we hurried back to take up the thread of the investigation where we had laid it down.
To our surprise, on the steps of the Chemistry Building, as we approached, we saw Inez Mendoza already waiting for us in a high state of agitation. Her face was pale, and her voice trembled as she greeted us.
"Such a dreadful thing has come to me," she cried, even before Kennedy could ask her what the trouble was.
From her handbag she drew out a crumpled, dirty piece of paper in an envelope.
"It came in the first mail," she explained. "I could not wait to send it to you. I brought it myself. What can it mean?"
Kennedy unfolded the paper. Printed in large characters, in every way similar to the four warnings that had been sent to us, was just one ominous line. We read:
"Beware the man who professes to be a friend of your father."
I glanced from the note to Kennedy, then to Inez. One name was in my mind, and before I knew it I had spoken it.
"Lockwood?" I queried inadvertently.
Her eyes met mine in sharp defiance. "Impossible," she exclaimed. "It is some one trying to injure him with me. Beware of Mr. Lockwood? How absurd!"