A moment later she entered the library, where Baron sat, and laid before him a single letter.
He examined postmark and inscription without being in the least enlightened. With a pair of scissors he cut the end from the envelope and drew forth the single sheet it contained.
His glance dropped to the bottom of the sheet, and then he sat up suddenly erect, and uttered an unintelligible exclamation.
For the first time in his life he had received an anonymous communication.
The thing had the merit of brevity:
“Do not give up the child, Bonnie May, to any one who does not present a legal claim on her.”
A disguised handwriting. This was obvious from certain exaggerations and a lack of symmetry.
He replaced the missive in its envelope, and then he took it out and read it again.
The thing excited him. Who could be seeking the child, after days of silence—even of hiding? And who could have known of his possession of her? Again, why make a mystery of the matter?
He threw the puzzling words aside. People did not pay any attention to anonymous communications, he reflected.