laughed at what he called my cock-and-bull story about the colonel, but
he looked very scared and puzzled now that the same thing had come upon
himself.
Why, what on earth does this mean, John? he stammered.
My heart had turned to lead. It is K. K. K., said I.
He looked inside the envelope. So it is, he cried. Here are the
very letters. But what is this written above them?
Put the papers on the sundial, I read, peeping over his shoulder.
What papers? What sundial? he asked.
The sundial in the garden. There is no other, said I; but the
papers must be those that are destroyed.
Pooh! said he, gripping hard at his courage. We are in a civilised
land here, and we can t have tomfoolery of this kind. Where does the
thing come from?
From Dundee, I answered, glancing at the postmark.
Some preposterous practical joke, said he. What have I to do with
sundials and papers? I shall take no notice of such nonsense.
I should certainly speak to the police, I said.
And be laughed at for my pains. Nothing of the sort.
Then let me do so?
No, I forbid you. I won t have a fuss made about such nonsense.
It was in vain to argue with him, for he was a very obstinate man. I
went about, however, with a heart which was full of forebodings.
On the third day after the coming of the letter my father went from
home to visit an old friend of his, Major Freebody, who is in command
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