CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY SIX

"What does this mean?" Wilkes asked as he, too, bent his neck over the sheet of paper.

Harold read the words again. Just like in the first letter he had gotten, this, too, was warning him of something in the most confusing way possible.

"I don't know," he replied. "But I do know that this is from professor Ericson. He must have written it before he died. You know, expected us to search his room when he was gone."

"That's unlikely," Wilkes said dryly. "It most likely is to someone who knows of its existence behind the clock and that person definitely isn't you - or me. Besides, how are you so certain it is from professor Ericson?"

"The handwriting. They're... similar. Don't you see it?"

"I don't. At all." He sighed then continued, "we'll compare the handwriting of this paper and the one from the letter we are certain he handed to you together when all of these is over."

"Yes, seems l