"Why, sure!" Vanderpole answered. "That's what I'm here for."

"You had better wait right here, then," Coulson said, "I'll fetch
them."

He made his way up to his room, undid his dressing bag, which was
fastened only with an ordinary lock, and from between two shirts
drew out a small folded packet, no bigger than an ordinary
letter. It was a curious circumstance that he used only one hand
for the search and with the other gripped the butt of a small
revolver. There was no one around, however, nor was he disturbed
in any way. In a few minutes he returned to the bar smoking room,
where the young man was still waiting, and handed him the letter.

"Tell me," the latter asked, "have you been shadowed at all?"

"Not that I know of," Coulson answered.

"Men with quick instincts," Vanderpole continued, "can always
tell when they are being watched. Have you felt anything of the
sort?"

Coulson hesitated for one moment.

"No," he said. "I had a caller whose manner I did not quite
understand. She seemed to have something at the back of her head
about me."

"She! Was it a woman?" the young man asked quickly.