"Confound the people," Fenwick growled. "Can't you leave me alone for half an hour when I am having my dinner? Take the thing up to my room. You sign it, Vera."
"I'll sign it, of course," Vera replied. "But don't you think you had better open the parcel? It may be of some importance. People don't usually send express letters at this time of night unless they are urgent. Or, shall I open it for you?"
The waiter had gone by this time, taking the receipt for the letter with him. With a gesture Fenwick signified to Vera that she might open the parcel. She cut the string and opened the flat packet, disclosing a small object in tissue paper inside. This she handed to Fenwick, who tore the paper off leisurely. Then the silence of the room was startled by the sound of an oath uttered in tones of intense fury.
"Curse the thing!" Fenwick cried. His yellow face was wet and ghastly now. The big purple veins stood out like cords on his forehead. "Am I never to be free from the terror of this mystery? Where did it come from? How could it be possible when the very man I have most reason to dread is no longer in a position—"
The speaker broke off suddenly, as if conscious that he was betraying himself. The little object in the tissue paper lay on the table in such a position that it was impossible for Venner or Gurdon to see what it was, but they could give a pretty shrewd guess. Venn or looked inquiringly at his friend.
"Well, what do you suppose it is?" he asked.
"Personally, I have no doubt whatever as to what it is," Gurdon said. "I am as sure as if I held the thing in my hand at the present moment. It is the second finger which at some time or another was attached to Fenwick's hand."
"You've got it," Venner said. "Upon my word, the farther we go with this thing the more complicated it becomes. No sooner do we clear up one point than a dozen fresh ones arrive. Now, is not this amazing? We know perfectly well that the man whom we have to call Bates has been kidnapped by our interesting friend opposite, and yet here the second warning arrives just as if Bates were still free to carry out his vengeance. What can one make of it?"
"Well, the logical conclusion is that Bates has an accomplice. I fail to see any other way of accounting for it."
Fenwick still sat there mopping his heated face and turning a disgusted eye upon the little object on the table. He seemed to be terribly distressed and upset, though there was nothing like the scene on the previous occasion, and, doubtless, few diners besides Venner and Gurdon knew that anything out of the common was taking place there. But they were watching everything carefully; they noted Fenwick's anxious face, they could hear his stertorous breathing. Though he had dined so freely he called for brandy now, a large glass of which he drank without any addition whatever. Then his agitation became less uncontrollable and a little natural color crept into his cheeks. Without glancing at it he slipped the little object on the table into his pocket and rose more or less unsteadily to his feet.