But Alf, if it was Alf, turned and scuttled along the corridor and disappeared down the stairs.
“I don’t believe it was Alf,” said Dan, doubtfully.
“I know it was,” Gerald replied. “I’ve stood up in front of him too often when we used to box not to know that mouth and chin. What’s in the envelopes?”
“Let’s find out. Here, one of them’s for you.”
They were addressed in scrawly, printed characters. They tore them open and drew from each a folded sheet of paper and a round piece of yellow cardboard about the size of a silver dollar, on which was inscribed “S. P. M.” in black letters and, above, what was evidently intended for a skull and crossbones. The communication was brief:
“Brother in the Cause: There will be a Special Meeting of the Society in the Secret Rendezvous at half after seven to-night. Wear this insignia, and fail not on peril of disfavor and death!
“Number One.”