"You appear to regard what I have said very lightly, Miss Rosselli," said the unknown voice. "It would be well if you regarded your love for Ernest Cameron just as lightly."
"He has nothing whatever to do with this matter," I said quickly. "I am mistress of my own actions, and I refuse to be influenced by any threats uttered by a person who fears to reveal his identity."
"As you will," he replied, with an impatient movement. "I am unknown to you, it is true, but I think I have shown an intimate knowledge of your private affairs."
"If, as you assure me, you are acting in my interests, you may surely tell me the truth regarding the mystery surrounding poor Reginald's death," I suggested.
"That is unfortunately not within my power," he responded. "I am in possession only of certain facts, and have risked much in coming here to-night to give you warning."
"But how can my affairs affect anyone?" I queried. "What you have told me is, if true, most extraordinary."
"It is true, and it is, as you say, very extraordinary. Your friend Mr. Thorne died mysteriously. I only hope, Miss Rosselli, that you will not share the same fate."
I paused and looked at the curious figure before me.
"In order to avoid doing so, then, I am to hold aloof from Mr. Keppel, remain here until May, and then travel back to London, there to meet some person unknown?"
"Exactly. But there is still one thing further. I am charged to offer for your acceptance a small present, as some small recompense for the trouble you must be put to by waiting here in the South, and then journeying to London," and he drew from beneath his strangely grotesque dress a small box, some four or five inches square, wrapped in paper, which he handed to me.