He had not relaxed his policy of vigilance, and he never went up on a bar or on the rings without first testing his apparatus. For he never forgot the strangely rotted rope. That it had been eaten by some acid, he was sure. He did not again get sight of that particular small trapeze, nor did he ask Sid or Tonzo what had become of it. He did not want to know. "It's best to let sleeping dogs lie," reasoned Joe. "But I'll be on the lookout." Matters had been going along well, and Joe had been given an increase of salary. "Well, if I can't get a fortune from some of my mother's rich and aristocratic ancestors," Joe thought with a smile, "I can make it myself by my trapeze work. And, after all, I guess, that's the best way to get rich. Though I'm not sure I'll ever get rich in the circus business." But the calm of Joe's life--that is if, one can call it calm to act in a circus--was rudely shaken one day when in his mail he found a badly scrawled note. There was no signature to it, but Joe easily guessed from whom it came. The note read: "You want to look out for yourself. You may think you're smart, but I know some smarter than you. This is a big world, but accidents may happen. You want to be careful." "Some of Sim Dobley's work," mused Joe, as he tore up the note and cast it aside. "He's trying to get my nerve. Well, I won't let that worry me. He won't dare do anything. Queer, though, that he should be following the circus still. He sure does want his place back. I'm sorry for him, but I can't help it." Joe did not regard the warning seriously, and he said nothing about it to Helen or any one else. "It would only worry Helen," he reflected. The show was over for the night. Even while the performers in the big tent had been going through with their acts, men had taken away the animal cages and loaded them on the flat railroad cars. Then the animal tent was taken down and packed into wagons with the poles and pegs. As each performer finished, he or she went to the dressing tent and packed his trunk for transportation. From the dressing tent the actors went to the sleeping car, and straight to bed. Joe's acts went very well that night. He was applauded again and again and he was quite pleased as he ran out of the tent to make ready for the night journey. He saw Benny Turton changing into his ordinary clothes from his wet fish-suit, which had to be packed in a rubber bag for transportation after the night performance, there being no time to dry it. "Well, how goes it, Ben?" asked Joe. "Oh, not very well," was the spiritless answer. "I've got lots of pain." "Too bad," said Joe in a comforting tone. "Maybe a good night's sleep will fix you up." "I hope so," said the "human fish." The circus train was rumbling along the rails. It was the middle of the night, and they were almost due at the town where next they would show.