The Clio messenger. (Clio, Mich.) 1907-current, 1912-11-21

10 myself, fixing each sentence indel
IDLY In mind as ! proceeded. But be-
fore l had quite come to the end, my
companion was speaking.
"Well?" he said. And the light
cheeriness OF his tone was not only In
marked contrast with his grave abb
sorptioh Of a moment before, but In
Earring discord with my own present
mood. We'll? What do you make OF
them?"
My annoyance found voice In my re-
Spouse.
Cameron" | begged, "for Gods
sake be serious. This doesn't seem
to me exactly a matter to be merry
over. i don't want to alarm you, but
somehow / feel that these" and l
shook the cracking. wax-like sheets.
that these cannot be utterly ignored"
But they are anonymous" he re-
torted. not unjustly. Anonymous
letters should be burned and forgot
ten"
There are anonymous letters and
anonymous letters" gave him back,
In turn. These are of an unusually
convincing character. Besides, they
-" And then | paused wished to
tell him Of that elusive encompass
ment of sinister portent which had so
impressed me; of that malign forebod-
ing beyond anything warranted by the
words; but / stumbled in the effort at
expression. Besides" started again,
and ended lamely. II don't like the
look and the feel of them"
And now he was as serious as |
could wish.
"Ah!" he cried, leaning forward
again and reaching for the letters.
You have experienced 1t, too! And
you can't explain 1t, any more than /?
1t is something that grips you when
you read. like EN- icy hand. hard as
steel. In a glove of velvet. It's al
ways between the lines, reaching out,
and nothing you can do will stay It,
thought at first / imagined it, but
the oftener | have read, the more /
have felt it's clutch. The letters Of
themselves are nothing. What do you
suppose care for yelled threats Of
that sort? I'm big enough to take
care of myself, Clyde. I've met peril
in about every possible guise, In every
part of the world, and I've never real
ly known fear. But this-this Is diff
ferent. And the worst of 1t In, don't
know why. ! can't for the life of me
make out what 1t is I'm afraid Of
He had gone very pale. and his
strong, capable hands, which toyed
with the two letters, quivered and
twitched in excess of nervous tension.
Then, with finger pointing to the
ink-stain at the bottom Of one of the
sheets, he asked:
What does that look like to your"
took the letter from him, and
scrutinizing the rude figure with con-
centrated attention for moment, ven
tured the suggestion that 1t somewhat
resembled boat.
"A one-masted vessel, square
rigged." he added, in calculation.
Exactly"
"Now turn It upside down."
did SO.
Now what do you sect"
THE head Of a man wearing a he'll
met" The resemblance was very
marked.
"A straw helmet, apparently" he
ampllfied, such as is worn in the
Orient And yet the profile Is not that
OF an Oriental. Now. look at your yes.
sci again." And once more reversed
the sheet Of paper.
Can It be Chinese junk?" asked
1T might be a sailing proa or ban
ca" he returned. such as they use In
the South Pacific. But whatever 1t is,
I can't understand what II has to do
with me or with It."
was still studying the black daub,
when he said:
But you haven't told me about the
handwriting What can you read of
the character of -writer?"
Nothing" answered, promptly.
1T is curious penmanship, as you say
heavy and regular and upright, with
some strangely formed letters; es.
peCldliy Tic duu tuo pbt Dut II
tells me nothing"
But l thought" he began.
THAT boosted? So I did. When
one writes as one habitually writes II
Is very easy. These letters, however
are not in the writer's ordinary hand
The writing Is as artificial as though
you, for example. had printed a note
I'm Roman characters. Were they ad.
dressed In the same hand"
Precisely"
what was the post-mark"
"They bore no post-mark. That Is
another strange circumstances Yet
they were with my mail. How they
came there l have been unable to as
certain. The people at the post office
naturally deny that they delivered
anything unstamped. as these were;
and Barrie, the lad who fetches the
letters. has no recollection of these.
Nor has Checkabeedy, who sorts the
mail here at the house. But each Of
them lay beside my plate at break.
fast---the FIRST on the fourteenth of
August: the second. this morning. the
fourteenth OF September"