with what Roddy believed to be his ancient and dishonorable
profession, he tossed the note into the street.

With a cry of dismay the man ran toward it, but Roddy was before him.
As the note had left his hand his fingers had touched upon heavy,
waxen seals.

In an instant he had retrieved the note, and, followed eagerly by the
man, carried it to the light of a gas lamp. The envelope was not
illuminating, the sealing-wax was stamped with no crest or initials,
the handwriting was obviously disguised.

After observing that from the shadow the man still watched him, while
at the same time he kept an anxious lookout up and down the street,
Roddy opened the note. It read: "You have come to Curacao for a
purpose. One who has the success of that purpose most at heart desires
to help you. To-morrow, just before sunrise, walk out the same road
over which you drove to-day. Beyond the Cafe Ducrot the bearer of this
letter will wait for you with a led horse. Follow him. If you think he
is leading you into danger, order him to ride in advance, and cover
him with your revolver. If you will come, say to the bearer,
'_Vengo_,' if not, '_No Vengo_.' He has orders not to reply to any
question of yours. If you speak of this to others, or if the bearer of
this suspects you have arranged for others to follow you, he will only
lead you back to your hotel, and your chance to right a great wrong
will have passed."

There was no signature. But as though it were an afterthought, at the
bottom of the page was written, "Adventures are for the adventurous."

Standing well in the light of the street lamp, with his back to the
houses, with his face toward the waiting messenger, Roddy read the
letter three times. But after the first reading his eyes neglected the
body of the note and raced to the postscript. That was the line that
beckoned and appealed; to him it seemed that whoever wrote the letter
doubted he would come to the rendezvous, and was by that line enticing
him, mocking him, daring him to refuse. It held forth both a promise
and a challenge.

As to who the writer of the note might be, there were in Roddy's mind
three explanations. He considered them hastily. Peter was the author
of the note, and it was a poor joke intended to test him. It was a
genuine offer from some one who had guessed the object of his visit to
Curacao and honestly wished to be of service. It came from the man in
the mask and his associates, who, resenting his i