“What’s the matter?” asked Kennedy, looking up from a test tube which he had been examining, with an air for all the world expressive of “Why so hot, little man?”
“I’ve had a threat,” ejaculated Denison.
He laid on one of the laboratory tables a letter, without heading and without signature, written in a disguised hand, with an evident attempt to simulate the cramped script of a foreign penmanship.
“I know who did the Pittsburgh job. The same party is out to ruin Federal Radium. Remember Pittsburgh and be prepared!
“A STOCKHOLDER.”
“Well?” demanded Kennedy, looking up.
“That can have only one meaning,” asserted Denison.
“What is that?” inquired Kennedy coolly, as if to confirm his own interpretation.
“Why, another robbery—here in New York, of course.”
“But who would do it?” I asked.