t Krech. "You'll notify
Creighton?"

"With pleasure. I'll keep these for him, too."

He placed the envelope containing the message and the fingerprints in
his pocket, then moved to follow his friend, already on his way to the
stairs. He paused at the door, however, and came back rather
hesitatingly. "Say--just how did that couplet run?"

Simon made a wry face, but obligingly recited:

"_'Who meets the monk when dusk is nigh
Within the fortnight he shall die.'_"

"Do you take that seriously?" asked the big man.

"Do you take me for a blasted fool?" snapped Simon irritably.

"Yes," said Mr. Krech simply. "Just the sort of blasted fool I would
be in your place, or that nine out of ten men would be. Because the
threat is directed at _you_, you scoff at it and ignore it."

"What are you getting at?"

"This: the fellow who wrote that note and does his stuff in a monk's
costume has all the earmarks of a maniac. Maniacs are dangerous. If
he has made use of this old local legend to further his purpose, he may
go ahead with it to the bitter end--your bitter end! Until he is laid
by the heels, why not play safe and stay home after dark?"

"Humph. I'm likely to, aren't I?" jeered Simon.

"No, you aren't, because, to use your own expression, you're 'a blasted
fool,'" conceded Mr. Krech cheerfully. "Anyway, if you happen to get
bumped off, don't come around haunting me on the score that I didn't
warn you!" He smiled benignly. "Ta-ta!"

The tanner choked back an oath. For some time after the loud groaning
of the stairs beneath his visitor's tread had died away, he sat at his
desk and scratched his chin gently as he meditated. The striking of
the clock in the outer office recalled him to more present matters. It
was understood that if he did not return home by a certain hour in the
middle of the day he would lunch downtown, and the hour was now past.
On these occasions he usually walked to the Hambleton Hotel, the town's
one hostelry, where he could regale himself on a couple of heavy
sandwiches and a cup of doubtful coffee.

Thither he now betook himself, frowning on the way as he noted some
condemnatory expressions on the faces of those he passed on the street.
He knew that public opinion was antagonistic to him in the matter of
the strike and his treatment of Maxon--the Hambleton _News_ had run a
nasty paragraph about the last--and the censure irritated, if it did
not move him.

He had no soon