That last sentence was equivalent to telling me not to call again upon her.
“Why, I thought you were here for some days,” I exclaimed in dismay.
“I think mother has decided to return tomorrow,” was her significant reply.
I saw her home to Buckingham Palace Road and there bade her farewell, cursing myself for my frantic outburst. I had acted like a fool. Yet the regret I knew I ought to feel would not come.
Next morning among my letters on the breakfast table was one addressed in typewriting, which I instantly recognized. It was from Hammersmith, having been sent by express messenger instead of being posted as the other had been.
I recognized the uneven typing—and tore it open. The words I read were:
“Will you never take warning! You yesterday entertained Stanley Audley’s wife at your rooms. As you have disregarded the caution already given you, the consequences will be upon your own head. If you value your life, you will relinquish the search for a man who is already dead. To continue is at your own peril. This is the last warning——”
I had a new and insistent problem to face. Who was my mysterious correspondent and why was he sufficiently interested to threaten me with death in case I refused to abandon my search for Stanley Audley?
CHAPTER XII
STRANGE SUSPICIONS
Try as I would I could not dismiss from my mind that old Doctor Feng, if he was not actually the writer of the strange warnings I had received, was in some way associated with the sender.