Although he was somewhat curious to know what, if anything, was written on the paper, he restrained himself until he could be alone, for he did not know who might be in that crowd looking for just such a move on his part.

Just then Bud brushed his way through the crowd and came up to Ted.

“Them things ain’t come yit,” he said, in a tone of discontent, “an’ me stranded in St. Looey with no more clean shirt than a rabbit.”

“You can easily get a clean shirt,” said Ted, “but it’s not so easy to get a new commission.  That’s what’s worrying me, for there is no telling how soon we may need one.”

“Well, let’s git out o’ this mob, er I’ll begin ter beller an’ mill, an’ if they don’t git out o’ my way I’ll cause sech a stampede thet it’ll take ther police all day ter round ’em up ag’in.”

Ted said nothing to Bud about the paper he had discovered in his pocket, but picked up his valise.  They then made their way to the street and rode uptown in a car, where they registered at a quiet hotel.

Ted went immediately to the room assigned to him, locked the door, and drew out the paper.

He could not conceive what it would contain, for he was far above the vanity of thinking that the young woman who had stood by his side would interest herself in him enough to write him a silly note.

“The man with the pointed beard!” thought Ted.

Of course, it was he who had caused the note to be slipped into his pocket.

But why?

Taking a chair by the window, he slowly opened the note, observing at the time that the same fragrance came from it as had filled the air while the girl stood beside him in the station.

It was a sheet of pale-blue letter paper folded three times.

In the upper left-hand corner was an embossed crest, the head of a lion rampant, and beneath it a dainty monogram, which he made out to be “O.  B. N.,” or any one of the combinations of those letters.  He could not tell which combination was the correct one.

The writing was in a fashionable feminine hand, and written with a pencil.

It was as follows: 

“T.  S.:  This is a friendly warning from one who dare not communicate with you personally, for reasons which you will discover and understand later on, if things turn out as we”—­the word “we” had been scratched out and “I” written above it—­“anticipate.  Be very careful while you are in St. Louis.  Do not go on the streets alone, and go armed.  Your mission is known, and you will be watched by persons who will seek to get you out of the way.  We—­that is, I, also know of your mission, and take this means of warning you of your danger, as you have done me services in the past without knowing it.  Now, the sting of this note lies in this, and don’t forget it, don’t get into any fights, no matter what the provocation, for I have it straight that that, is the lay to do you.  If you do so, not being able to avoid it, shoot straight, and you will come out all right in the end.  I will see to that part of it at the right time.

     “A friend.”