"He's as like his father as two peas," muttered Kerry, devouring the picture with his eyes; "a fine boy and an honest gentleman. Augh! augh! To think that I have nursed him on my knee when he was a bit of lad, and now I'm here telling him to go away. But it's better that than the other. A curse on those who brought him here and put sorrow into his heart."
Thus muttering, Kerry threw the stone lightly through the window. It fell heavily on the floor within a few feet of Claude, who sprang to his feet with an exclamation. Not waiting to see the result, Kerry hastily tumbled off the wall, jumped the ditch, and made off in the darkness. By a circuitous route he regained Rose Cottage, and entered into the kitchen worn out in body and mind. He had done his duty so far as in him lay, and mentally prayed that the result might tend to remove the threatened danger.
Meanwhile Claude had picked up the stone and ran to the window. He could see nothing, for Kerry was already halfway across the fields; he could not even guess whence the stone had been thrown. All was silent, and though he listened intently, he could not hear the sound of retreating footsteps. With some wonderment he untied the paper from the stone and smoothed it out. It was badly written and badly spelled, and ran as follows:
"Bewar of danger, Claude Larcher, tak a frind's advise and go quick away."
There was no signature, and the young man was looking at it in growing perplexity when Tait entered the room.
"What did you shout out about?" he asked carelessly. "I heard you in the next room."
"You would have shouted also," replied Larcher, holding out the paper. "This was flung into the room tied round a stone."
"I can't say. I rushed to the window at once, but saw no sign of anyone. What do you think of the hint therein contained?"
Tait read the anonymous communication, pondered over it, and finally delivered his opinion by uttering a name. "Hilliston," he said confidently, "Hilliston."
"Nonsense!" said Claude sharply; "why should he deal in underhand ways of this sort. If he wanted me to go away, he could have called and urged me to do so. But this--I don't believe Hilliston would condescend to such trickery."
"When a man is in a fix he will descend to anything to get himself out of it," replied Tait, placing the paper in his pocketbook. "I'll keep this, and, perhaps, before many days are over I'll have an opportunity of proving to you that I speak truly. Who else wants you to go away besides Hilliston."