Ted read the letter through three times, trying to clarify it, but each time his mind became more confused over it.

What did it mean, and how could any stranger know his business when he had not told a soul about it?

Even Bud did not know why they were in St. Louis; that is, he did not know the real reason.  Ostensibly, they were there to inspect the local horse market.

There was a loud rap on the door, and Ted went to it and unlocked it.  Throwing the door open, he saw a stranger standing on the threshold, just about to step in.

He looked at Ted in apparent surprise, then up at the number on the door, but his eyes fell to the letter which Ted still held in his hand, and he stared at it like one fascinated.

Ted noticed this, and put the letter behind his back.

As the stranger did not speak, Ted broke the spell by saying, in a sarcastic tone: 

“Well?”

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said the stranger hastily, “but isn’t Mr. Fowle in?  I expected him to come to the door, and was surprised to see you, don’t you know.”

“I don’t know any Mr. Fowle,” said Ted, with a smile that must have told the stranger that he was not taken in by the question.

The fellow threw a quick glance around the room, but did not retreat from his place in the doorway.

Ted was starting to shut the door, considering the incident closed, when the stranger, who was a large, powerful man, well dressed and with the air of a prosperous business man, started to enter.

“This is not Mr. Fowle’s room; it is mine,” said Ted, blocking the way,

“I’ll just step in and wait for him,” said the man.  “The clerk downstairs said it was his room.”

“Wait a minute,” said Ted sternly.  “I don’t know you, and I don’t know Fowle.  If you have any business with me, state it from the hall.”

The warning in the letter flashed through his mind.

Suddenly the man sprang upon Ted, and they fell to the floor together.

“Give me that letter, curse you!” hissed the man, “I saw you get it, and I saw it just now.  Give it to me, I tell you.”

Ted had managed to put the letter back into his pocket.  His right arm was twisted under his body, and he could not release it.

He looked up into the face of the man, who was straddling his body, and saw a gleam of malignant hatred in his eyes.

“Let me up, you cur,” said Ted.

“After I get the letter,” was the reply.

“It’s a private letter, and not for you.  Let me up!”

Now Ted saw that the man had a knife in his hand—­a long, keen knife, with a pearl hilt and a silver guard.

“If you don’t give me that letter at once, you’ll not get another chance, but I’ll have it,” snarled the man.

Ted began to struggle, but he soon saw that he could do nothing with one arm out of commission.  The man was not only powerful, but heavy, and it was all Ted could do to more than wriggle his body.