“Peril! What do you mean?” I asked, very much puzzled.
“You are in grave danger. Be careful of yourself,” she said anxiously. “You should always carry some weapon with you, because——” and she broke off short, without concluding her sentence.
“Because—why?”
“Well, because an accident might happen to you—an accident planned by those who are your enemies.”
“I really don’t understand you,” I said. “Do you mean to imply that there is some conspiracy afoot against me?”
“I warn you in all seriousness,” she said. “I—well, the fact is, I came out here—I followed you out—in order to tell you this in secret. Leave here, I beg of you; leave early to-morrow morning, and do not allow the hotel people to know your new address. Go somewhere—far away—and live in secret under an assumed name. Let Owen Biddulph disappear as though the earth had swallowed him up.”
“Then you are aware of my name!” I exclaimed.
“Certainly,” she replied. “But do—I beg of you for your own sake—heed my warning! Ah! it is cruel and horrible that I—of all women—have to tell you this!”
“I always carry a revolver,” I replied, “and I have long ago learned to shoot straight.”