“Look on the center-table!” commanded Phyllis, and she turned the torch full on that article of furniture.
Leslie tiptoed over to examine it. Then she uttered a little half-suppressed cry. On the table was a slip of paper—not a very large slip, and evidently torn from some larger sheet. And on this paper were a few words, type-written. She bent to read them. It ran:
It is advisable that the article stolen from its hiding-place be returned to it as speedily as possible, as otherwise, consequences most serious to all parties concerned will result.
Leslie turned deadly pale as she read it and seized Phyllis spasmodically by the arm.
“Oh, come out of here this moment!” she exclaimed. “I will not stay in this house another instant. I told you it was dangerous!” and she dragged her friend, with the strength of terror to the side door.
Outside, as the chill mist struck her, she breathed a great sigh of relief.
“What a little ’fraid-cat you are!” laughed Phyllis. “What in the world were you frightened about?”
Leslie shivered. “Oh, the whole thing strikes me as too uncanny for words! Some one has been in here and left that warning. They may be around here now, for all you know. Who do you suppose it can be?”
“I’ve a very good notion who it was, but it’s too chilly to explain it standing here. Go over to the house with Rags and I’ll be there directly. I want to go back a moment.”
“Phyllis, Phyllis, don’t go back there again!” implored Leslie, almost beside herself with an alarm she could hardly explain. “What do you want to do?”