~a/n: I made a mistake that I'm not sure how to correct-the temperature measurement is in degrees farenheit, since I had a particular temperature in mind, and I don't know how that converts to Celcius. My humblest apologies.

To my kind editor:

Please excuse how long it's been since my last letter-I've been terribly busy of late. You see, my darling, dearest Beatrice, if she is indeed alive, still has not appeared, but I haven't given up hope.

If I were to give up hope, now would be an ideal time to do so. I'm sitting in a small teepee I constructed myself in the east end of the Valley of the Four Drafts. I can assure you that the valley is indeed rather drafty-it is forty degrees out tonight and it feels like thirty. But, as melodramatic as it seems, the cold without is not nearly so fatal as the cold within. This morning I found, tucked into the back pocket of the one pair of pants I must wear day and night (alas, why couldn't I pack more wisely?) another note, this more frantically scrawled:

Save me!!

And yet, as I sit here shivering on the cold, bare valley earth, I have no where else to go. I have scrutinized every last inch of this valley, and she is nowhere. My search for the remaining Bauldilare parent of rumor has proved fruitless, although I did meet up with a few old friends, and I am still no closer to finding my poor Beatrice, if she is alive, than a whelk is to nine gallons of lukewarm strawberry milk.

Sitting out here, all alone, I wonder exactly how close that is. If only she would write longer notes!!! I've gone over my evidence again and again, not that I have much, and still I am no closer to finding her.

Wait, I'll look again.

See? No closer.

I have decided, that as a last resort, I will check a very special place. This place, which is at a location I cannot give, is somewhere that, if she needed it, she could get a note. This place, which I cannot not reveal (if this letter were to fall into the wrong hands all could be lost, or at least temporarily displaced) is our panic place.

I am afraid I cannot explain much, except that a panic place is a location a young, recently-trusted neophyte can go or at least get information to that no one else can find. The panic place is shared, usually with another neophyte, and it can provide a means of contact between the two in case of catastrophe, fire, or obcenely loud noises. I was lucky enough to be able to share mine with the love of my life. They are obscure, private places, always carefully guarded.

And so you see exactly how important it is that I delay my research into the Bauldilare case, as I am rather absorbed in the Beatrice case right now. I promise that "The Slippery Slope" will happen, but specifics cannot be given because any time frame could possibly reveal how far I am from the panic place, narrowing the list quite a bit. It seems impossible, but that small risk is not one I am willing to take.

Please understand how much I appreciate this, and know that you are still my last, if delayed, hope that the story of the Bauldilare children can be told to the general public.

With all due respect,

Lemony Snicket

PS-I am leaving in the morning. Do not attempt to contact me at the teepee, and for obvious reasons I cannot reveal the address of where I will be. I will contact you at my earliest convenience.