"Why do they watch you, Mr. Oakes? Are they suspicious that we are going to Mona?"
"No, not at all," answered Oakes. "They are watching to see where I am going. You see," he continued, "I am working on several other cases, and perhaps they are, too. You realize there are times when men of my profession cross each other's paths, and it is advantageous to know what the other fellow is doing."
"I see. Keeping tab on one another!" I said. "Rather expensive work, is it not?"
Oakes smiled. "Yes, but it is business. I like to know when a rival leaves town. I keep a pretty close watch myself on some of them."
We drove rapidly, and soon pulled up at an out-of-the-way roadhouse.
"Come," said Oakes, alighting.
A portly German was behind the bar, evidently the proprietor.
Oakes made a sudden movement of his hand, and the door was locked. We two were then shown into a rear room where two other men were seated—both tall, well-built fellows, and both dressed as we were, in dark overcoats and black Fedora hats.
They saluted Oakes, and after a word or two stepped into the bar-room, where the German served them with drinks. In a minute they were in our carriage and driving away toward Yonkers.