Burke was waiting impatiently at the Lodge, though it did not seem as though our arrival was the only thing he had on his mind.
“What was it you found in the little store-room in the cellar?” demanded Kennedy, jumping from the car as we pulled up at the Lodge porte-cochère.
Without comment, Burke pulled a crumpled bit of paper from his pocket and handed it to Craig. We crowded around and read:
If a hair of her head is harmed I will have revenge, though it sends me to prison for life.
We looked at the Secret Service man inquiringly.
“Not a soul has been near the store-room since we began to watch it this morning,” he explained, hurriedly. “It must have been left there before we got up—just tucked under the telephone instrument. Paquita’s disappeared!”
“Disappeared?” we exclaimed, almost together, as Burke blurted out his startling budget of news.
“Yes—and not a trace of her. She must have got away before you fellows were up.”
I looked again at the crumpled bit of paper. What did it mean? Was it that some one had actually kicked over the traces in working for one higher up?
To whom did it refer? Instantly there flashed through my mind the picture of Winifred as we had seen her borne off by the abductors whom we had foiled. Could it be she?