"Why, hello, Tommy," I greeted him. "What seems to be the matter
now?"
"A letter for you, Mr. Jameson," he replied, handing over a plain
envelope. "It came just after you left. The Boss thought it might
be important--something about that story, I guess. Anyhow, he told
me to take it up to you on my way home, sir."
I looked at it again. It bore simply my name and the address of
the Star, not written, but, strange to say, printed in ungainly,
rough characters, as though some one were either not familiar with
writing English or desired to conceal his handwriting.
"Where did it come from--and how?" I asked, as I tore the envelope
open.
"I don't know where, sir," replied Tommy. "A boy brought it. Said
a man uptown gave him a quarter to deliver it to you."
I looked at the contents in blank amazement. There was nothing in
the letter except a quarter sheet of ordinary size note paper such
as that used in typewritten correspondence.
Printed on it, in characters exactly like those on the outside of
the envelope, were the startling words:
"BEWARE THE CURSE OF MANSICHE ON THE GOLD OF THE GODS."
Underneath this inscription appeared the rude drawing of a dagger
in which some effort had evidently been made to make it appear
three-sided.
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