"A dead bee yesterday and a communication with ’ware’ on it to-day," meditated Mr. Field as he scrutinized the handwriting, "that can mean nothing but ’beware,’ I suppose, seeing that the two are intended to supplement one another. The postmark is London, so there is not much help in that. I might as well look for a needle in a haystack, as try to track my correspondent through the post. Who can he be, and what does he know, I wonder? I’d give a good deal to find out." His disquietude was not allayed by the receipt a day or so afterwards of two more little matchboxes, each containing the corpse of another bee. Hour after hour he mused on the possible explanation. "Surely it can’t be a warning of death," he shuddered. "If so, why should bees be chosen as a sign? It is more likely that they stand for letters. Perhaps the initials of the man who sent them." Suddenly he started as an inspiration seemed to flash into his mind. "Why, yes, of course that’s it," he exclaimed. "I see it all now." His heart seemed to stand still for a moment, and a cold perspiration broke out on his forehead. He sank down in his armchair, and covered his eyes with his hand. "I wonder how much he knows," he said to himself. "If it’s a question of wanting money I shan’t grudge it if only I can stop his mouth. It won’t be long, I expect, before I hear from him again." A week passed by and the tension on Mr. Field’s nerves grew worse and worse as each day brought no fresh light to bear upon the case. Jenkins and the chauffeur had both given notice, unable to endure the unreasonable behaviour of the master of the house. "Such tantrums as he goes into nowadays I never did see," bewailed the footman to his chosen cronies in the village. "No wages will ever pay for what I’ve had to put up with lately. You’d hardly believe it, but yesterday he actually threw a plate at me and nearly cut my chin, and all because there was a little spot of dust upon the rim. Catch me staying to be murdered because of the carelessness of the kitchenmaid! Not if I know it!" It seemed an unfortunate time for Ben Green to select, when he sent up a note one evening offering to remove his father from his cottage, and to make arrangements for the sale of the land, if the squire would kindly let him know in writing the terms of the agreement.