We had scarcely said good-bye and were about to open the outer door when it was pushed open from outside, and Lockwood bustled in.
"No more anonymous letters, I hope?" he queried, in a tone which I could not determine whether serious or sarcastic.
Kennedy answered in the negative. "Not unless you have one."
"I? I rather think the ready letter-writers know better than to waste time on me. That little billet doux seems to have quite upset the Senorita, though. I don't know how many times she has called me up to see if I was all right. I begin to think that whoever wrote it has done me a good turn, after all."
Lockwood did not say it in a boastful way, but one could see that he was greatly pleased at the solicitude of Inez.
"She thinks it referred to you, then?" asked Kennedy.
"Evidently," he replied; then added, "I won't say but that I have taken it seriously, too."
He slapped his hip pocket. Under the tail of his coat bulged a blue-steel automatic.
"You still have no idea who could have sent it, or why?"
Lockwood shook his head. "Whoever he is, I'm ready," he replied grimly, bowing us out.