Below him, the park, looking more beautiful than ever in the
morning sunshine, stretched away to a vista of distant meadowlands and
cornfields, with here and there a little farm-house and outbuildings,
gathered snugly together. The servant, who had heard him leave the
bathroom, reappeared.
"Is there anything further I can do for you, sir?" he enquired.
"Nothing at all, thanks," Quest assured him. "What time's breakfast?"
"Breakfast is served at nine o'clock, sir. It is now half-past eight."
The man withdrew and Quest made a brisk toilet. The nameless fears of the
previous night had altogether disappeared. To his saner morning
imagination, the atmosphere seemed somehow to have become cleared of that
cloud of mysterious depression. He was whistling to himself from sheer
light-heartedness as he turned to leave the room. Then the shock came. At
the last moment he stretched out his hand to take a handkerchief from his
satchel. A sudden exclamation broke from his lips. He stood for a moment
as though turned to stone. Before him, on the top of the little pile of
white cambric, was a small black box! With a movement of the fingers which
was almost mechanical, he removed the lid and drew out the customary
little scrap of paper. He smoothed it out before him on the dressing-case
and read the message:--
"You will fail here as you have failed before. Better go back.
There is more danger for you in this country than you dream of."
His teeth came fiercely together and his hands were clenched.
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