CHAPTER IIITHE SHADOWS
Orme walked north along the Lake Shore Drive. As best he could, he pieced together the curious adventures of the day. The mystery of the five-dollar bill and the extreme anxiety of Poritol seemed to be complicated by the appearance of the Japanese at the Père Marquette. Orme sought the simplest explanation. He knew that mysterious happenings frequently become clear when one definitely tries to fit them into the natural routine of every-day life. The Japanese, he mused, was probably some valet out of a job. But how could he have learned Orme’s name. Possibly he had not known it; the clerk might have given it to him. The incident hardly seemed worth second thought, but he found himself persistently turning to one surmise after another concerning the Japanese. For Orme was convinced that he stood on the edge of a significant situation.
Suddenly he took notice of a figure a shortdistance ahead of him. This man—apparently very short and stocky—was also going northward, but he was moving along in an erratic manner. At one moment he would hurry his steps, at the next he would almost stop. Evidently he was regulating his pace with a purpose.
Orme let his eyes travel still farther ahead. He observed two men actively conversing. From time to time their discussion became so animated that they halted for a moment and faced each other, gesticulating rapidly. Every time they halted, the single figure nearer to Orme slowed down his own pace.
The oblivious couple came under a street lamp and again turned toward each other. Their profiles were distinct. Orme had already suspected their identity, for both had high hats and carried canes, and one of them was in a sack suit, while the other wore a frock coat. And now the profiles verified the surmise. There was no mistaking the long, tip-tilted nose of the shorter man and the glinting spectacles of the other. The two were Poritol and Alcatrante.
But who was the man trailing them? Afriendly guard? Or a menacing enemy? Orme decided to shadow the shadow.
At a corner not far from the entrance to Lincoln Park, Poritol and Alcatrante became so apparently excited that they stood, chattering volubly for several minutes. The shadow stopped altogether. He folded his arms and looked out over the lake like any casual wanderer, but now and then he turned his head toward the others. He seemed to be indifferent to what they were saying, though he was near enough to them to catch fragments of their conversation, if he so desired. The South Americans were probably talking in that dialect of Portuguese which their nation has developed.
Meantime Orme also stopped, taking up a position like that of the shadow. He saw Poritol, with outstretched, questioning hands, his eyes fixed on the face of Alcatrante, who seemed to be delivering orders. The flashing reflections of light from the minister’s spectacles indicated his authoritative nods of the head.
After a time Alcatrante evidently completed his instructions. He removed his hat and bowedformally. Little Poritol echoed the salute and, turning, shot off down a side street, with ridiculously rapid movements of his short legs. Orme inferred that he was bound for the North Clark Street car line. Alcatrante continued along the drive.
When the South Americans separated, the shadow quickly came to life. He hesitated for an instant, as if in doubt which of the two to follow, then decided in favor of Alcatrante, who was moving in leisurely fashion toward the park entrance, his head bowed in thought. Orme found himself wondering what snaky plots were winding through that dark mind.
The procession of three silently entered the park. The shadow was about a hundred feet behind Alcatrante. Orme kept the same distance between himself and the shadow.
The minister was in no hurry. Indifferent to his surroundings he made his way, with no apparent interest in the paths he took. At last he turned into a dark stretch and for the moment was lost to sight in the night.
Suddenly the shadow darted forward. Orme hurried his own pace, and in a moment he heardthe sounds of a short, sharp struggle—a scuffling of feet in the gravel, a heavy fall. There was no outcry.
Orme broke into a run. At a point where the path was darkest he checked himself for an instant. A little distance ahead a man lay flat on the ground, and bending over him was a short, stocky figure.
Orme leaped forward and swung his cane. The stick was tough and the blow was hard enough to send a man to earth, but the robber had heard Orme’s approach, and looked up from his victim just in time. With a motion indescribably swift, he caught with one hand the descending cane and wrenched it from Orme’s grasp. Then he crouched to spring.
At this instant Orme heard footsteps behind him. A turn of the head showed a threatening figure at his back. There had been four men in that procession through the park!
By a quick leap to one side, Orme placed himself for the moment out of danger. His two assailants, moving too fast to stop, bumped together. They faced about for another spring at him. And then there was a short scratchingsound, and in the hand of the man on the ground flared a match.
“Ha!” exclaimed the prostrate Alcatrante, “I thought so!”
Orme found himself looking into the contorted faces of two Japanese.
Discovery was evidently the last thing the hold-up men desired, for they disappeared like a flash, diving through the shrubbery behind them. Orme, dazed and breathing hard, attempted no immediate pursuit. He stepped quickly to Alcatrante and helped him to his feet.
“I am not hurt,” said the South American. “When the man threw me to the ground, I feigned that I was stunned. It is wiser not to resist a thug, is it not so?” He brushed the dust from his clothing with his handkerchief. Orme handed him his hat, which had rolled to one side. The minister rubbed it carefully with his coat-sleeve. “See,” he laughed, nodding at the ground, “my cane is broken. I must have fallen on it.”
“Since you’re not hurt,” said Orme, “we’d better get after the thieves.”
“Bah!” replied Alcatrante. “What is the use? They are already far away—and they gotnothing.” He laughed. “Is it not always better to avoid notoriety, Mr. Orme?”
“As a rule, no doubt—but in this instance——”
“No,” said Alcatrante firmly, “I really must insist that we let the matter drop. As for me, I shall return to my hotel. Perhaps you will walk along with me.”
Orme hesitated. “I don’t like those thieves to get off without a chase,senhor.”
“But, my dear Mr. Orme, they did me no harm.”
Orme shrugged his shoulders. “You forget that there was one after me as well as one after you.”
“No, I don’t forget that. But don’t you see, Mr. Orme? Those two men were not after our valuables.”
“Indeed?”
“Not at all. What they would like is my little friend Poritol’s secret.”
“But why Japanese?” Orme was puzzled.
“Why, indeed? A cunning Japanese might as easily have got wind of it as anyone else.”
“But why did you say, ‘I thought so’?” persisted Orme.
“Did I say that? It must have been because I suspected that only a Japanese could be so agile as my assailant. But all this is immaterial. I should have warned you that Poritol’s secret is dangerous. You should not have left your apartments.”
“Well, this certainly is a queer kettle of fish,” muttered Orme. He was beginning to feel disgusted with the situation. He did not like Alcatrante’s oily smoothness, and he wondered whether it would not have been better to hand the bill over to Poritol at the first demand. But it came to his mind that in a certain degree he stood committed to continue the policy he had adopted. He had sought adventure; it was coming to him in full measure.
Together they walked back toward the park entrance. The minister seemingly exerted himself to regain the ground he had lost with Orme. He proved an interesting conversationalist—keen, slightly cynical, but not without an under-note of earnestness.
“You have seen me much abused by your press, Mr. Orme,” he said. “That is natural. I have the interests of my own country to protect, andthose interests are of necessity sometimes opposed to the interests of other countries. But if your people would be even more patient with us—all we need is time. There is reason for our persistent to-morrow; for we are young, and it is a slow process to realize on our resources. That is why we do not pay our debts more promptly.”
Orme said nothing, but he thought of looted South American treasuries, of exiled presidents squandering their official stealings at Paris and Monte Carlo, of concessions sold and sold again to rival foreign companies.
They had now reached the park entrance. “There is a cab,” said Alcatrante. “You will ride with me as far as your hotel?”
“Thank you, no,” said Orme. “I rather need the walk.”
Alcatrante smiled persuasively. “Permit me to urge you. If you should be robbed, my little friend might lose his precious secret. Poor boy!” he added. “His father was my friend, and I cannot refuse him a service.”
The cab had swung around to the curb beside them. Orme had no fear of robbery on the lighted drive, but since Alcatrante was so insistenthe felt inclined to yield. He might as well ride; so he permitted the minister to bow him into the cab, and presently they were whirling along southward. There was a period of silence. Then Alcatrante spoke meditatively.
“You see how it happened, I suppose,” he said. “Those Japanese were waiting outside your hotel. When Poritol and I came out, one of them followed us, while the other remained on guard. Then you started on your stroll, and the man who remained on guard set out after you.”
“Yes,” said Orme, “but I don’t see how the fellow could have known who I was.”
Alcatrante laughed. “Oh, he could have placed you in a number of different ways. He may have got your description from one of the servants—or from the clerk. But it is enough that he did know you.”
“Well,” said Orme, “this is beyond me. That five-dollar bill seems to be very much desired by different groups of persons.”
Alcatrante nodded. “I am not sure,” he said slowly, “but that it would ease young Poritol’s mind if you would place the bill in my hands for safekeeping. Not that he mistrusts you, Mr.Orme, but he imagines that you may not realize how important it is to him, and you might not guard it carefully.”
“I agreed to keep it until to-morrow,” said Orme, quietly. “As for thieves, my apartment is on the tenth floor, pretty well out of their reach. The only danger of robbery lies between the cab and the hotel office.
“I know, I know,” chuckled Alcatrante. “It is, of course, as you will. I was merely thinking of my young friend’s peace of mind. I am his fellow-countryman, you see, and his confidence in me——” he stopped, with another chuckle. “Singular, is it not, how impressionable are the young?”
Orme said nothing. He did not enjoy this fencing.
“Look at the lake,” Alcatrante suddenly exclaimed. “How beautiful an expanse of water. It has so much more color than the sea. But you should see our wonderful harbor of Rio, Mr. Orme. Perhaps some day I shall be permitted to show you its magnificences.”
“Who knows?” said Orme. “It would be very pleasant.”
“As to the bill,” continued Alcatrante quickly, “do you care to give it to me?”
Orme felt himself frowning. “I will keep it till the morning,” he said.
“Oh, well, it is of no consequence.” Alcatrante laughed shortly. “See, here is your hotel. Your company has been a pleasure to me, Mr. Orme. You arrived most opportunely in the park.”
Orme jumped to the curb and, turning, shook the hand that was extended to him. “Thank you for the lift, Senhor Alcatrante,” he said. “I shall look for you in the morning.”
“In the morning—yes. And pray, my dear sir, do not wander in the streets any more this evening. Our experience in the park has made me apprehensive.” The minister lifted his hat, and the cab rattled away.
The entrance to the Père Marquette was a massive gateway, which opened upon a wide tunnel, leading to an interior court. On the farther side of the court were the doors of the hotel lobby. As a rule, carriages drove through the tunnel into the court, but Orme had not waited for this formality.
He started through the tunnel. There was noone in sight. He noted the elaborate terra-cotta decorations of the walls, and marveled at the bad taste which had lost sight of this opportunity for artistic simplicity. But through the opening before him he could see the fountain playing in the center of the court. The central figure of the group, a naiad, beckoned with a hand from which the water fell in a shower. The effect was not so unpleasing. If one wished to be rococo, why not be altogether so? Like the South Americans? Was their elaborate ornamentation plastered on to an inner steel construction? Orme wondered.
Midway of the tunnel, and at the right as one entered, was a door leading into the porter’s office. This door was shut, but as Orme approached it, it noiselessly opened out. He expected to see a porter appear, and when no person stepped over the sill, he inferred that the door had been blown open by an interior draught.
Just as he was turning out to go around the the door—which shut off all view of him from the inner court—a figure shot through the opening.
Before Orme could dodge, he was seized firmly by the shoulders and jerked into the room, with a force that sent him staggering. He trippedover a chair and went to the floor, but quickly scrambled to his feet and wheeled about.
Two men stood between him and the door, which had been closed silently and swiftly. They were short and stockily built. Orme exclaimed aloud, for the light that filtered through a window from the street showed two faces unmistakably oriental.
If this was an ordinary robbery, the daring of the robbers was almost incredible. They ran the risk that the porter would return—if they had not already made away with him. Only the most desperate purpose could explain their action.
“What do you want?” demanded Orme.
“Your pocket-book,” replied one of the men—“queek!” He smiled an elusive smile as he spoke.
“What if I refuse?” said Orme.
“Then we take. Be queek.”
A call for help would hardly bring anyone; but Orme gave a loud cry, more to disconcert his enemies than with any hope of rescue.
At the same instant he rushed toward the door, and struck out at the nearer Japanese.
The blow did not land. His wrist was caughtin a grip like an iron clamp, and he found himself performing queer gyrations. The Japanese had turned his back toward Orme and swung the imprisoned arm over his shoulder. A quick lurch forward, and Orme sailed through the air, coming down heavily on his side. His arm was still held, and in a few seconds he was on his back, his assailant astride him and smiling down into his face.
Orme struggled to free himself, and promptly felt a breaking strain on his imprisoned arm. The knee of the Japanese was under the back of Orme’s elbow. A moderate use of the leverage thus obtained would snap the arm like a pipe-stem. This Orme realized, as he ceased struggling. The strain on his arm relaxed slightly, but the grip was maintained.
“Jiu-jitsu,” explained the Japanese in a tone that sounded gently apologetic.
The other robber now stooped and ran his hands over Orme’s coat. Finding the pocket-book, he took it from its inside pocket and went swiftly to a table. He produced from his own pocket a little electric hand-lamp, by the light of which he took rapid count of Orme’s money.
His eyes glittered; a wide scar on his foreheadstood out whitely. Suddenly he gave a little cry and held up a single bill. He jabbered excitedly to his companion for a moment, then spoke quietly to Orme.
“This all we want,” he said. “We are not thief, see—I put other five-dollar bill in its place and leave pocket-book here.”
He thrust the selected bill into his pocket, put the fresh bill in the pocket-book, and laid the pocket-book on the table.
“See here,” said Orme, still prone, “what’s the meaning of all this?”
“Don’t say.” The Japanese smiled. He went over to the door. “Come,” he said. The man astride Orme released his hold and sprang to his feet. Like a flash, both the Japanese disappeared.
Orme jumped up. Seizing his pocket-book and his hat, he darted after his assailants. At the street entrance to the tunnel, he looked quickly in both directions, but his men were not in sight.
Pursuit was futile. Slowly he turned back. He thought of notifying the police, but, after all, he was none the worse off—except for his promise to Poritol and Alcatrante, now involuntarily broken.He must explain to them as best he could. The marked bill had been of no consequence to him except as a focus of adventure. And he had had about as much adventure as he could expect for one evening.
But the secret of the bill still tantalized him. Blindfolded, he had played in a game at which the others saw. It seemed unfair—as if he had some right to know the meaning of all these mysterious incidents. Why had Poritol wanted the bill so badly? Why had the desire to possess it driven the two Japanese to such extreme measures?
Orme crossed the court and entered the lobby. The clerk looked at him curiously.
“Mr. Orme,” he said, “there is a young lady in the reception-room, waiting to see you.”
“Me?” Orme looked his surprise.
“Yes, sir. She gave no name.”
“Has she been waiting long?”
“Nearly an hour.”
Without further questioning, Orme turned to the door of the little green-and-gold room. At the threshold he paused in bewilderment. Arising to meet him, smiling frankly, was the girl of the car.
CHAPTER IVTHE GIRL OF THE CAR
“Oh,” she said, with a little gasp of recognition, “areyouMr. Orme?” Her cheeks flushed softly.
He bowed; his heart was beating furiously, and for the moment he dared not try to speak.
“Then we do meet again,” she exclaimed—“and as usual I need your help. Isn’t it queer?”
“Any service that I”—Orme began haltingly—“of course, anything that I can do——”
The girl laughed—a merry ripple of sound; then caught herself and changed her manner to grave earnestness. “It is very important,” she said. “I am looking for a five-dollar bill that was paid to you to-day.”
Orme started. “What? You, too?”
“I, too? Has—has anybody else——?” Her gravity was more intense.
“Why, yes,” said Orme—“a little man from South America.”
“Oh,—Mr. Poritol?” Her brows were knit in an adorable frown.
“Yes—and two Japanese.”
“Oh!” Her exclamation was apprehensive.
“The Japanese got it,” added Orme, ruefully. That she had the right to this information it never occurred to him to question.
The girl stood rigidly. “Whatever shall I do now?” she whispered. “My poor father!”
She looked helplessly at Orme. His self-possession had returned, and as he urged her to a chair, he condemned himself for not guessing how serious the loss of the bill must be to her. “Sit down,” he said. “Perhaps I can help. But you see, I know so little of what it all means. Tell me everything you can.”
With a sigh, she sank into the chair. Orme stood before her, waiting.
“That bill tells, if I am not mistaken,” she said, wearily, “where certain papers have been hidden. My father is ill at our place in the country. He must have those papers before midnight to-morrow, or——” Tears came into her eyes. Orme would have given much for the right to comfort her. “So much depends upon finding them,” she added—“more even than I can begin to tell you.”
“Let me help,” said Orme, eager to follow those papers all over Chicago, if only it would serve her. “Hear my story first.” Rapidly he recounted the adventures of the evening. She listened, eyes intent, nodding in recognition of his description of Poritol and Alcatrante. When he came to the account of the fight in the porter’s office and spoke of the Japanese with the scar on his forehead, she interrupted.
“Oh! That was Maku,” she exclaimed.
“Maku?”
“Our butler. He must have overheard my father and me.”
“Then he knew the value of the papers.”
“He must have. I am sorry, Mr. Orme, that you have been so roughly used.”
“That doesn’t matter,” he said. “They didn’t hurt me in the least. And now, what is your story? How did you get on the trail of the bill?”
“We came back from the East a few days ago,” she began. “My father had to undergo a slight operation, and he wished to have it performed by his friend, Dr. Allison, who lives here, so we went to our home in—one of the northern suburbs.
“Father could not go back East as soon as he had expected to, and he had the papers sent to him, by special arrangement with the—with the other parties to the contract. Mr. Poritol followed us from the East. I—we had known him there. He was always amusing company; we never took him seriously. He had business here, he said; but on the first day of his arrival he came out to call on us. The next night our house was entered by a burglar. Besides the papers, only a few things were taken.”
“Poritol?” exclaimed Orme, incredulously.
“It happened that a Chicago detective had been in our village on business during the day,” she went on. “He had recognized on the streets a well-known thief, named Walsh. When we reported the burglary the detective remembered seeing Walsh, and hunted him out and arrested him. In his pockets was some jewelry belonging to me, and in his room the other stolen articles were found—everything except the papers.”
“Did you tell the police about the papers?”
“No, it seemed wiser not to. They were in a sealed envelope with—with my father’s name on it, and would surely have been returned, if found withthe other things. There are reasons why they would have—would try to please my father. We did let them know that an envelope containing something of value had not been recovered, and told them to make a thorough search.
“The afternoon after the burglary the news of Walsh’s arrest was telephoned out to us from Chicago. I talked with my father, who was not well enough to leave the house, and it seemed best that someone should go to the county jail and see Walsh and try to get the papers. My father had reasons for not wishing the loss to become known. Only he and I were acquainted with the contents of the envelope; so I insisted on going to Chicago and interviewing the burglar.”
She laughed, intercepting Orme’s admiring look. “Oh, it was easy enough. I planned to take our lawyer as an escort.”
“Did you?”
“No, and that is where my troubles really began. Just as I was preparing to go, Mr. Poritol called. I had forgotten that we had asked him out for an afternoon of golf. Heissuch a funny player.
“As soon as I told him I was going to the Chicagojail to interview a burglar about some stolen goods, he insisted on acting as escort. He was so amusingly persistent that I finally agreed. We set out for the city in my car, not waiting to take a train.
“When we reached the jail I presented a letter which my father had written, and the officials agreed to let me have a private interview with Walsh.”
Orme opened his eyes. This girl’s father must have considerable influence.
“It is a horrid place, the jail. They took us through a corridor to Walsh’s cell, and called him to the grating. I made Mr. Poritol stand back at the other side of the corridor so that he couldn’t hear us talk.
“I asked the man what he had done with the papers. He insisted that he had seen none. Then I promised to have him freed, if he would only return them. He looked meditatively over my shoulders and after a moment declined the offer, again insisting that he didn’t understand what I was talking about. ‘I took the other things, miss,’ he said, ‘and I suppose I’ll get time for it. But so help me, I didn’t see no papers.’”
The girl paused and looked at Orme. “This seems like wasting minutes when we might be searching.”
Orme was pleased to hear the “we.”
“Well,” she went on, “I knew that the man was not telling the truth. He was too hesitant to be convincing. So I began to promise him money. At every offer he looked past my shoulder and then repeated his denials. The last time he raised his eyes I had an intuition that something was going on behind me. I turned quickly. There stood Mr. Poritol, extending his fingers in the air and forming his mouth silently into words. He was raising my bids!
“It flashed upon me that the papers would be of immense value to Mr. Poritol—for certain reasons. If only I had thought of it before! I spoke to him sharply and told him to go outside. It always seemed natural to order him about, like a little dog.”
“However, little dogs have the sharpest teeth,” remarked Orme.
“That is true. He replied that he couldn’t think of leaving me alone in such a place. So there was nothing for me to do except to go. Iwould have to return later without Mr. Poritol. ‘Come along,’ I said. ‘My errand is done.’
“Mr. Poritol smiled at me in a way I didn’t like. The burglar, meantime, had gone to a little table at the back of his cell. There was an ink-bottle there and he seemed to be writing. Looking into the cell, Mr. Poritol said: ‘The poor fellow has very unpleasant quarters.’ Then he said to Walsh: ‘Can’t we do something to make your enforced stay here more comfortable, my very dear sir?’”
Orme smiled at the unconscious mimicry of her accent.
“Walsh came back to the grating. He held in his hand a five-dollar bill—the one that has made so much trouble. It had been smuggled in to him in some way. ‘You might get me some “baccy,”’ he said, thrusting the bill through the bars and grinning.
“Now I understood what was going on. I reached for the bill, as though it were intended for me, but Mr. Poritol was quicker. He snatched the bill and put it in his pocket.
“I didn’t know what to do. But suddenly Mr. Poritol seemed to be frightened. Perhaps hethought that I would have him arrested, though he might have known that there were reasons why I couldn’t. He gave me a panicky look and rushed out of the corridor. Afterward I learned that he told the guard I had sent him on an errand.
“Well”—she sighed—“of course, I followed, after a last glance at Walsh, who was peering through the grating with a look of evil amusement. He must have been well paid, that burglar. But then,” she mused, “they could afford it—yes, they could well afford it.
“When I got to the street, Poritol was just disappearing in my car! I can only think that he had lost his head very completely, for he didn’t need to take the car. He could have mixed with the street-crowd and gone afoot to the hotel where——”
“Alcatrante?”
“Yes, Mr. Alcatrante—where he was stopping, and have waited there. But Mr. Alcatrante was playing golf at Wheaton, and Mr. Poritol seems to have thought that he must go straight to him. He cannot escape from being spectacular, you see.
“He ran out through the western suburbs, puttingon more and more speed. Meantime I set a detective on the track of the car. That is how I learned what I am now telling you. As for the car, Mr. Poritol sent it back to me this morning with a hired chauffeur. He wrote a note of abject apology, saying that he had been beside himself and had not realized what he was doing.
“After setting the detective at work, I went out to our place by train. I dreaded confessing my failure to father, but he took it very well. We had dinner together in his study. Maku was in the room while we were talking. Now I can see why Maku disappeared after dinner and did not return.”
“But how did Poritol lose the bill?” asked Orme.
The girl laughed. “It was really ridiculous. He over-speeded and was caught by one of those roadside motor-car traps, ten or twelve miles out in the country. They timed him, and stopped him by a bar across the road. From what the detective says, I judge he was frightened almost to speechlessness. He may have thought that he was being arrested for stealing the car. When they dragged him before the country justice, whowas sitting under a tree near by, he was white and trembling.
“They fined him ten dollars. He had in his pocket only eleven dollars and sixty-three cents, and the marked bill was nearly half of the sum. He begged them to let him go—offered them his watch, his ring, his scarf-pin—but the justice insisted on cash. Then he told them that the bill had a formula on it that was valuable to him and no one else.
“The justice was obdurate, and Mr. Poritol finally hit on the device which you have seen. It fitted in well with his sense of the theatrical; and the detective says that there was not a scrap of paper at hand. The point was that Mr. Poritol was more afraid of delay than anything else. He knew that I would put someone on his track.”
“When did all this happen?” asked Orme.
“Yesterday afternoon. Mr. Poritol came back to Chicago by trolley and got some money. He went back to the country justice and discovered that the marked bill had been paid out. He has followed it through several persons to you, just as Maku did, and as I have done. But I heard nothing of the Japanese.”
“You shouldn’t have attempted this alone,” said Orme, solicitously.
She smiled faintly. “I dared not let anyone into the secret. I was afraid that a detective might learn too much.” She sighed wearily. “I have been on the trail since morning.”
“And how did you finally get my address?”
“The man who paid the bill in at the hat-shop lives in Hyde Park. I did not get to him until this evening, while he was at dinner. He directed me to the hat-shop, which, of course, was closed. I found the address of the owner of the shop in the directory and went to his house. He remembered the bill, and gave me the addresses of his two clerks. The second clerk I saw proved to be the one who had paid the bill to you. Luckily he remembered your address.”
Orme stirred himself. “Then the Japanese have the directions for finding the papers.”
“My predicament,” said the girl, “is complicated by the question whether the bill does actually carry definite directions.”
“It carries something—a set of abbreviations,” said Orme. “But I could not make them out. Let us hope that the Japanese can’t. The bestcourse for us to take is to go at once to see Walsh, the burglar.”
He assumed that she would accept his aid.
“That is good of you,” she said. “But it seems a little hopeless, doesn’t it?”
“Why? What else can we do? I suppose you saw to it that no one else should have access to Walsh.”
“Yes, father arranged that by telephone. The man is in solitary confinement. Several persons tried to see him to-day, on the plea of being relatives. None of them was admitted.”
What money-king was this girl’s father, that he could thus regulate the treatment of prisoners?
“So there were abbreviations on the bill?” she asked.
“Yes. They weren’t very elaborate, and I puzzled over them for some time. The curious fact is that, for all my study of them, I can’t remember much of anything about them. What I have since been through, apparently, has driven the letters out of my head.”
“Oh, do try to remember,” she implored. “Even if you recall only one or two bits of it, they may help me.”
“There was something about a man named Evans,” he began. “S. R. Evans, it was.”
“Evans? That is strange. I can’t think how anyone of that name could be involved.”
“Then S. R. Evans is not your father?” he ventured.
“Oh, no.” She laughed a light little laugh. “My father is—but are you sure that the name was Evans?”
“Quite sure. Then there was the abbreviation ‘Chi.’—which I took to mean ‘Chicago.’”
“Yes?” she breathed.
“And there were numerals—a number, then the letter ‘N.’; another number, followed by the letter ‘E.’ So far north, so far east, I read it—though I couldn’t make out whether the numbers stood for feet or paces or miles.”
“Yes, yes,” she whispered. Her eyes were intent on his. They seemed to will him to remember. “What else was there?”
“Odd letters, which meant nothing to me. It’s annoying, but I simply can’t recall them. Believe me, I should like to.”
“Perhaps you will a little later,” she said. “I’m sorry to be such a bother to you.”
“Bother!”
“But it does mean so much, the tracing of this bill.”
“Shall we go to see Walsh?” he asked.
“I suppose so.” She sighed. Apparently she was discouraged. “But even if he gives the information, it may be too late. The Japanese have the directions.”
“But perhaps they will not be able to make them out,” he suggested.
She smiled. “You don’t know the Japanese,” she said. “They are abominably clever at such things. I will venture that they are already on their way to the hiding-place.”
“But even if the papers are in the pocket of one of them, it may be possible to steal them back.”
“Hardly.” She arose. “I fear that the one chance is the mere possibility that Maku couldn’t read the directions. Then, if Walshwillspeak out——”
“Now, let me say something,” he said. “My name is Robert Orme. Apparently we have common friends in the Wallinghams. When I first saw you this afternoon, I felt that I might havea right to your acquaintance—a social right, if you like; a sympathetic right, I trust.”
He held out his hand. She took it frankly, and the friendly pressure of her fine, firm palm sent the blood tingling through him.
“I am sorry,” she said, “that I can’t give you my name. It would be unfair just now—unfair to others; for if you knew who I am, it might give you a clue to the secret I guard.”
“Some day, I hope, I may know,” he said gravely. “But your present wish is my law. It is good of you to let me try to help you.”
At the same instant they became conscious that their hands were still clasped. The girl blushed, and gently drew hers away.
“I shall call you Girl,” Orme added.
“A name I like,” she said. “My father uses it. Oh, if I only knew what that burglar wrote on the bill!”
Orme started. What a fool he had been! Here he was, trying to help the girl, forcing her to the long, tired recital of her story, when all the time he held her secret in the table in his sitting-room. For there was still the paper on which he had copied the abbreviated directions.
“Wait here,” he said sharply, and without answering the look of surprise on her face, hurried from the room and to the elevator. A few moments later he was back, the sheet of paper in his hand.
“I can’t forgive my own stupidity,” he said. “While I was puzzling over the bill this evening I copied the secret on a sheet of paper. When Poritol came I put it away in a drawer and forgot all about it. But here it is.” He laid the paper on the little, useless onyx table that stood beside her chair.
She snatched it quickly and began to examine it closely.
“Perhaps you can imagine how those letters puzzled me,” he volunteered.
“Hush!” she exclaimed; and then: “Oh, this is plain. You wouldn’t know, of course, but I see it clearly. There is no time to lose.”
“You are going to follow this clue now—to-night?”
“Maku will read it on the bill, and—oh, these Japanese! If you have one in your kitchen, you never know whether he’s a jinriksha man, a college student, or a vice-admiral.”
“You will let me go with you?” Orme wastrembling for the answer. He was still in the dark, and did not know how far she would feel that she could accept his aid.
“I may need you, Mr. Orme,” she said simply.
It pleased him that she brought up no question of possible inconvenience to him. With her, he realized, only direct relations were possible.
“How much of a journey is it?” he ventured to ask.
“Not very long. I intend to be mysterious about it.” She smiled brightly. Her face had lighted up wonderfully since he gave her the paper that contained the secret of the bill.
But he knew that she must be tired; so he said: “Can’t you send me alone on this errand? It may be late before it is done, and——”
“And I will not sit and rest while you do all the work. Besides, I cannot forego the excitement of the chase.”
He was selfishly glad in her answer. “Do we walk?” he asked.
“We will go in the motor,” she said.
“Where is it?”
“I left it around the corner. The thought came to me that Mr. Poritol might be here, and I didn’t wish him to recognize it.”
Orme thought of the hard quest the girl had followed that day—battling for her father’s interests. What kind of a man could that father be to let his daughter thus go into difficulties alone? But she had said that her father was unable to leave the house. Probably he did not know how serious the adventure might be. Or was the loss of the papers so desperate that even a daughter must run risks?
Together they went out to the street. Orme caught a dubious glance from the clerk, as they passed through the lobby, and he resented it. Surely anyone could see——
The girl led the way around the corner into a side street. There stood the car. He helped her in and without a word saw that she was restfully and comfortably placed in the seat next to the chauffeur’s. She did not resist the implication of his mastery.
He cranked up, leaped to the seat beside her, and took the levers. “Which way, Girl?” he asked.
“North,” she answered.
The big car swung out in the Lake Shore Drive and turned in the direction of Lincoln Park.