“Thank you just the same, Peter.”
He passed on down the street, turned through an alley and walked slowly out to his home. It was a little frame building, rather dilapidated, with an old picket-fence around part of it.
The old judge was a bachelor, but he afforded a cook, in the person of an old Chinese, who was crippled with rheumatism. The cook met him at the door and waited until the judge hung up his broad-brimmed hat and removed his soiled white collar.
“I flind him unda doo’,” said the Chinese, producing a sealed envelope, unmarked except by contact of soiled hands.
The old judge’s lips compressed firmly as he examined the envelope.
“Somebody leabe him,” said the Chinese.
“Undoubtedly,” replied the judge evenly.
He knew what it contained. The other envelope had been the same. After a few moments of indecision he tore open the envelope and quickly scanned the single sheet of paper it contained.
There will be one more but you won’t see it. Go! ! !
Slowly he tore the envelope and paper to bits, his old face grim with determination. He walked to the door and threw the papers outside, while he looked casually up and down the street.