"Who's there?" he demanded, his voice sounding as if it came from under the bedclothes.
"It's I—Ned Griffin," was the reply. "Come to the door so that I can say a word to you without fear of being overheard, and be quick about it. There's not an instant to lose."
This startling announcement brought Lambert out of bed and to the door, which he opened just wide enough to make sure that his visitor was Ned Griffin, and nobody else; and then he opened it so that he could put his head out and look up and down the lane that ran by the house to the negro quarter.
"I am alone," Ned assured him without waiting to be questioned, "and I am here because Mr. Gray sent me. Do you know what you have done by this day's work? You have destroyed a good portion of Baton Rouge and got every white man in the settlement down on you."
"I never——" began Lambert, who was profoundly astonished.
"I am not here to argue the matter," interrupted Ned, "but to tell you that there is a mob in the hotel who are talking strongly of laying violent hands on you. They would have been here before this time if it hadn't been for Mr. Gray and a few others who don't believe in such things; but the gang was about equally divided when Mr. Gray sent me to warn you, and you had better dig out. They are as likely to decide on one thing as another, and you are not safe in this house."
"Great smoke!" gasped Lambert when he began to comprehend the situation. "Where shall I go?"
"Get into your duds and draw a bee-line for the nearest patch of timber. Mr. Gray may be able to hold the mob and he may not; so I say again that you had better dig out."
Ned Griffin warning Lambert.