“He must also abandon his profession.” “Must!” she repeated, indignantly and wonderingly. “I can assure you I am giving you excellent advice.” “We are not asking for advice.” “There are reasons which lead me to volunteer it.” “My father has been threatened by some cowardly writer of anonymous letters,” she said impulsively, “but the police will soon stop that.” His smile checked her. “Ah, the police,” he said quietly. “But of course Sir John Westwood is not afraid?” There was an implication in his words, a subtle intonation, that stung her to the quick. She moved across the room with outstretched hand, to touch the bell. “One moment,” he interposed. “My time is not my own to-day,” said Aldwyth. “You think me brutal and presumptuous?” “Extremely presumptuous.” “It is necessary for Sir John Westwood to be warned. He shall have a fair chance.” “What you say is quite unaccountable to me,” she answered, and looked at him again. It flashed upon her that only madness could be the explanation of this extraordinary conversation. And yet the man was manifestly calm and resolute. “As to the time of warning him----” he continued. “Of what?” “Of the necessity for doing what I have suggested. As to the time of telling Sir John Westwood what I have said this morning, something may be left to your discretion.” “You are very kind!” with scornful emphasis. “I don’t claim to be kind, but I am candid, and I think that when, at your discretion, you tell your father of this interview, he will see the futility of hurling himself against the rocks.” “What rocks?” she demanded. “He will discover in due time, if he does not know already.” She rang the bell, and walked towards the window. “I am sorry,” she heard him add. There was a short pause. “I am sorry for _you_.” She turned her head, with an angry retort upon her lips; but the door was closing, and she found herself alone. CHAPTER XI THE SIGN OF THE SPIDER