When Kennedy rejoined us, the vase had been completely uncrated, Aunt
Josephine signed for it, and, grumbling a bit, the expressmen left.
There we stood, nonplussed by the curious gift.
Craig walked around the vase, looking at it critically. I had a feeling of being watched, one of those sensations which psychologists tell us are utterly baseless and unfounded. I was glad I had not said anything about it when he tapped the vase with his cane, then stuck it down the long narrow neck, working it around as well as he could. The neck was so long and narrow, however, that his stick could not fully explore the inside of the vase, but it seemed to me to be quite empty.
"Well, there's nothing in it, anyhow," I ventured.
I had spoken too soon. Kennedy withdrew his cane and on the ferrule, adhering as though by some sticky substance, was a note. Kennedy pulled it off and unfolded it, while we gathered about him.
"Maybe it's from Elaine," cried Aunt Josephine, grasping at a straw.
We read:
DEAR AUNT JOSEPHINE,
This is a token that I am unharmed. Have Mr. Kennedy give the ring to the man at the corner of Williams and Brownlee Avenues at midnight to-night, and they will surrender me to him.—ELAINE.
P. S. Have him come alone or my life will be in danger.
We looked at each other in amazement.