“Well, I think this may be our busy day, and again it may not. Better tumble out.”
“Just as you say. How you feeling, Colonel?”
“Never better. I feel just like fishing, and you—”
“'Nough said. I'm with you.”
And then, as he started toward his bath, the colonel saw a dirty slip of paper under the door of his room.
“Ha!” he ejaculated. “Another printed message. The writer is getting impatient. I think it's time to act.”
And he read:
“Why does not the great detective arrest the poisoner of her father? If he will look behind the book case he will find something that will prove everything—the poison book and—something else.”
The printed scrawl was signed: “Justice.”
“Well, 'Justice,' I'll do as you say, for once,” said the colonel softly, and there was a grim smile on his face.