“Then leave at once,” she urged earnestly. “To-morrow, get away by the first train to London, and thence to the Continent again. Take precautions that you are not followed. Go to France, to Germany, to Spain, anywhere out of reach. Then write to me at the Poste Restante, at Charing Cross, and I will come to you.”
“But why? How do you know all this?”
“Look at that letter, Nino,” she said in a low, deep tone. “Look once again at the handwriting.”
He opened it beneath the silk-shaded lamp and scanned it eagerly.
“It’s yours,” he gasped, the truth suddenly dawning upon him. “You yourself have given me this warning!” She nodded.
“Tell me why, quickly,” he cried, placing his hand upon her shoulder. “Tell me why.”
“I warned you, Nino,” she answered, in a soft, hoarse voice; “I warned you because I love you.”
“But what have I to fear?” he demanded. “If I’m threatened I can seek protection of the police. To my knowledge I haven’t a single enemy.”
“We all of us blind ourselves with that consolation,” she replied. “But listen. Of all men, avoid Malvano. Leave this house at once, and get out of England at the earliest moment. Your enemies are no ordinary ones; they are desperate, and hold life cheap.”
“But you!” he cried, puzzled. “You are here, in the house of this very man against whom you warn me!”