Burton took it with some wonder. He was not expecting mail here. But this letter had never gone through the mails. It was unstamped. The envelope was addressed in a heavy blunt penciling that he had seen before.
"Who left this?" he asked.
"I found it on the desk. I didn't see who left it there," the clerk said.
Burton did not open it until he reached his room. Then his premonition was confirmed. The scrap of paper was covered with the same heavy-lined writing that had been on the warning paper he had found in the morning. The message read:
"You have had one warning. This is the second. The third will be the last. You may as well understand that your help is not wanted."
And the clerk did not know how it came on his desk! There seemed to be a very conspiracy of stupidity and malice in the place. He examined it carefully. It was addressed to him by his full name,--and his circle of acquaintances in High Ridge was extremely limited! Henry had not been at home when he called there. The letter had been left by some one who could come into the hotel and go out without exciting comment,--then clearly a familiar figure in the town. Burton's lips curled cynically. And the meaning of the message was quite plain! His "help" was not wanted. Whom was he trying to help, except the Underwoods?
He put the letter, envelope and all, into a large envelope which he sealed and directed to himself. He did not wish to destroy it just yet, neither did he wish to leave it where it would fall under another eye.
He dined in the public dining-room, without seeing either Ralston or Selby, and, being in no mood to cultivate new acquaintances, returned at once to his own room. He lit a cigar and got a book from his bag and settled down to read himself into quietness; but his mind would not free itself from the curious situation in which he found himself, and presently he tossed the book aside and went to the table where he had left the sealed letter addressed to himself. It was gone. It had been abstracted from his locked room while he was down at dinner.
Suddenly, as he stood there thinking, there was a sharp "ping," and a pane of his window crashed into splinters and fell into the room. A thud near his head caused him to turn, and there in the wall was a small hole where a bullet had buried itself in the plaster. The third warning!
Burton went down the stairs two steps at a time and out into the street. The hotel was on the main street, and Burton's room on the second floor looked toward the front. Across the street from the hotel was a small park, full of trees and shadows. It was clear that the shot through his front window had come from the direction of this park, and also that it would be futile to try to discover any one who might have been in hiding there. There were a hundred avenues of unseen escape. It was already dark enough to make the streets obscure.