"A joke, without doubt," said I, shrugging my shoulders.

"Well," returned my superstitious handmaid, "if it isn't from the
devil, it's from the devil's country, anyway."

Left alone, I again went over this unexpected letter. Reflection
inclined me yet more strongly to believe that it was the work of a
practical joker. My adventure was well known. The newspapers had
given it in full detail. Some satirist, such as exists even in
America, must have written this threatening letter to mock me.

To assume, on the other hand, that the Eyrie really served as the
refuge of a band of criminals, seemed absurd. If they feared that the
police would discover their retreat, surely they would not have been
so foolish as thus to force attention upon themselves. Their chief
security would lie in keeping their presence there unknown. They must
have realized that such a challenge from them would only arouse the
police to renewed activity. Dynamite or melinite would soon open an
entrance to their fortress. Moreover, how could these men have,
themselves, gained entrance into the Eyrie unless there existed a
passage which we had failed to discover? Assuredly the letter came
from a jester or a madman; and I need not worry over it, nor even
consider it.

Hence, though for an instant I had thought of showing this letter to
Mr. Ward, I decided not to do so. Surely he would attach no
importance to it. However, I did not destroy it, but locked it in my
desk for safe keeping. If more letters came of the same kind, and
with the same initials, I would attach as little weight to them as to
this.