“You’d be very hot,” she said, with a pathetic attempt at gaiety, “unless I have forgotten all my astronomy.”

He put his arm about her shoulder and hugged her. It was an affectionate brotherly hug, and no more.

“You’ve got to go away, my dear. What about the prosaic Bournemouth? Or the vulgar but wholesome Margate?”

Again she shook her head.

“Or London, which I am told is a health resort?”

“You’re very anxious for me to go, really?”

“Very,” he said, with an emphasis that betrayed his concern.

She drew back from him and faced him.

“Dick, will you tell me something without any evasion?”

He nodded.

“Do you think that I am in any personal danger?”

“I am sure of it,” he said. “It would be cruel not to tell you the truth. The shot that was fired the other day was intended for you. It was fired by a man who is as brilliant a shot as any in England, and the height of the bullet mark told us that it was aimed directly at your heart.”

She listened, stupefied, unbelieving.

“But why?” she asked, bewildered. “I have no enemies, Dick; I have wronged nobody. Who could do such a wicked thing?”

“If I told you, you would perhaps be no wiser,” he said. “There is a man in this world who hates you and hates me, and has good reason from his point of view. Now that I’ve told you the truth, will you go?”

She thought a while.

“I’ll wait until Arthur comes back,” she said, “and ask him to take me to London.”

And with that he was satisfied.

He was leaving the house when Puttler’s cycle swung into the drive.

“Anything wrong?” asked Dick quickly.

“I don’t know. Look at this.”

He took from his pocket a large sheet of foolscap paper; roughly printed in pencil were the words: “Lord Chelford is safe. Don’t search for him, or he will be killed. The Black Abot.”

The word “Abbot” was printed with one “b.” The placard had been found hanging from the twig of a tree, the jagged hole at the top showing where the mystery man had threaded the paper.

“We found it halfway between the ruins and the house,” said Puttler. “Curiously enough, we had been searching that part of the grounds only a quarter of an hour before.”

Dick handed the warning back to him.

“Is that a bad joke or do you believe this paper?” asked Leslie anxiously. “And, Dick, couldn’t I be some help? I know Fossaway Manor so well, and I am sure there must be places where the police haven’t looked. Do you know there are tiny caves in the banks of the Ravensrill?”