But the superintendent did not smile.
“Got any enemies here that you know of, Mr. Cade?” he asked.
“I’ve an idea that the third footman doesn’t like me,” replied Anthony lightly. “He does his best to forget to hand me the choicest vegetables. Why?”
“I’ve been getting anonymous letters,” said Superintendent Battle. “Or rather an anonymous letter, I should say.”
“About me?”
Without answering Battle took a folded sheet of cheap notepaper from his pocket, and handed it to Anthony. Scrawled on it in an illiterate handwriting were the words:
“Look out for Mr. Cade. He isn’t wot he seems.”
Anthony handed it back with a light laugh.
“That’s all? Cheer up, Battle. I’m really a king in disguise, you know.”
He went into the house, whistling lightly as he walked along. But as he entered his bedroom and shut the door behind him, his face changed. It grew set and stern. He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared moodily at the floor.
“Things are getting serious,” said Anthony to himself. “Something must be done about it. It’s all damned awkward. …”
He sat there for a minute or two, then strolled to the window. For a moment or two he stood looking out aimlessly, and then his eyes became suddenly focused on a certain spot, and his face lightened.
“Of course,” he said. “The Rose Garden! That’s it! The Rose Garden.”