“Well, on arrival in London you will go to the Hotel Cecil and there receive a visitor on the following day, the second. You will then be given certain instructions which must be carried out.” “All this is very mysterious,” I remarked. “But I really have no intention of going to London. By June I shall probably be in New York again.” “I think not,” was his cold reply. “Because when you fully consider the whole circumstances you will keep the appointment in London and learn the truth.” “The truth regarding the death of Reginald Thorne?” I cried. “Cannot I learn it here?” “No,” he replied. “And, further, you will never learn it unless you take heed of the plain words I have spoken to-night.” “You tell me that any further friendship between Mr. Keppel and myself is forbidden,” I exclaimed, laughing. “Why, the whole thing is really too absurd! I shall, of course, just please myself, as I always do.” “In that case disaster is inevitable,” he observed with a sigh. “You tell me that I am threatened with death if I disobey. That is certainly extremely comforting.” “You appear to regard what I have said very lightly, Miss Rosselli,” said the unknown. “It would be well if you regarded your love for Ernest Cameron just as lightly.” “He has nothing whatever to do with this matter,” I said quickly. “I am mistress of my own actions, and I refuse to be influenced by any threats uttered by a person who fears to reveal his identity.” “As you will,” he replied with an impatient movement. “I am unknown to you, it is true, but I think I have shown an intimate knowledge of your private affairs.” “If, as you assure me, you are acting in my interests, you may surely tell me the truth regarding the mystery surrounding poor Reginald’s death,” I suggested. “That is unfortunately not within my power,” he responded. “I am in possession only of certain facts, and have risked much in coming here to-night and giving you warning.” “But how can my affairs affect anyone?” I queried. “What you have told me is, if true, most extraordinary.” “It is true, and it is, as you say, very extraordinary. Your friend Mr. Thorne died mysteriously. I only hope, Miss Rosselli, that you will not share the same fate.” I paused to look at the curious figure before me. “In order to avoid doing so, then, I am to hold aloof from Mr. Keppel, remain in Europe until May, and then travel to London, there to meet some person unknown?” “Exactly; but there is still one thing further. I am charged to offer for your acceptance a small present as some little recompense for the trouble you must be at in waiting here in the south and in journeying to London,” and he drew from beneath his strangely grotesque dress a small box some four or five inches square wrapped in paper. This he held out to me. I did not take it. There was something uncanny about it all.