"If you value your life, leave Folkestone immediately."
There was no signature, but I had not the least doubt that the telegram, which came from London, was sent by the unknown girl who had already befriended me once.
Somebody remarked that the situation was becoming quite dramatic. I agreed; but when I asked whether anyone would like to take my part as the hero there were no offers.
Calling in the police was suggested; but Barbour and Carruthers—both strong, active fellows—objected strongly to giving anyone else a chance of capturing a brace of modern desperadoes, and we concluded to keep the matter perfectly quiet, so as to give the enemy no hint of the counter-mine we were preparing.
I never went to such an exciting dance in my life as I did that evening; and all the others in our party were equally on the qui vive. I rather enjoyed it after a time, as the ladies were so very anxious to keep me dancing with them; while Barbour and Carruthers several times got into trouble with their partners through trying to keep their eye on me instead of attending to business.
It was nearly twelve o'clock before the expected summons came. I had just taken my partner back to her seat when one of the hotel servants came and told me a gentleman was anxious to see me outside on important business.
Signalling to Barbour and Carruthers, I left the ball-room and strolled as unconcernedly as possible out on to the terrace. There was no moon, and, but for a few twinkling gas-lamps and the light from the hotel windows, all was dark outside. I could just distinguish two men standing on the terrace about twenty yards away. Seeing me walk towards them they moved to meet me, but at this moment Barbour and Carruthers made their appearance behind me. This was quite enough for my enemies. Without a word they turned and ran off at full speed, taking different directions as they reached the main road. We gave chase, but they ran as fast as we did, and we soon lost them in the darkness.
It was annoying to have let the fellows slip through our fingers, but there was some satisfaction in knowing that I was in no danger when with friends, and that Wyngate's emissaries were not conspicuous for courage. Like himself, no doubt, they were ready to strike only when there was no danger of being caught.
As soon as possible after returning to London I gave up my rooms, stored such of my belongings as were not portable, and went to live at my club, on the principle that there is safety in numbers. In this I was again mistaken, as I was soon to learn.
A fortnight later I went to a fancy dress ball at the Covent Garden Opera house. I had just been chatting with an acquaintance, and was standing amid a small group of people who were strangers to me, at the top of the grand staircase, looking down at the people coming up, when I felt myself suddenly seized from behind and hurled down the steps. I was completely taken by surprise and could do nothing to save myself. My unknown assailant no doubt reckoned that my head would come into contact with the wall at the bottom of the flight of steps, and that I should either be killed or badly hurt. By great good luck, however, a portly commissionaire, taking tickets, was standing just in the right spot, and I dashed into him with great violence, bowling him over like a ninepin, but luckily without hurting him. I was stunned by the shock, and by the time I recovered it was of course useless to look for the man who had thrown me down the staircase. He must have shadowed me for some time and chosen his moment well, for no one saw the act, unless it be that he had accomplices who screened him from observation.