Satisfied with what he had done, he drew a slip of paper from his
pocket and hastily wrote a note, resting the paper on an old box.
When he had finished writing, he folded up the note and thrust it
into a little hollow carved Chinese figure which he took also from
his pocket.

These were, apparently, his emergency preparations which he was
ready to execute in case he received such a message from his
master as he had actually received.

With a final hasty glance about he extinguished the lantern,
letting the moonlight stream fitfully through the single window.
Then he left the barn, with both front and rear doors open.

Taking advantage of every bit of shelter, he made his way across
the field in the direction of the crossroads, finally dropping
down behind a huge rock some yards from the finger post that
pointed each way to Williams and Brownlee Avenues.

. . . . . . .

Late that night, Kennedy left his apartment prepared to follow
the instructions in the note which had been so strangely delivered
in the vase.

As he climbed into a roadster, he tucked the robe most carefully
into a corner under the leather seat.

"For heaven's sake, Craig," I gasped from under the robe, "let me
have a little air."