“Dear Mr. Orme:“You will, I am sure, pardon my seeming over-anxiety for your safety, and the safety of Poritol’s treasure, but I cannot resist using my influence to see that you are well-protected to-night by what you in America call ‘a plain-clothes man.’ I trust that he will frighten away theYellow Peril and permit you to slumber undisturbed. If you do not wish him inside your apartment, he will sit in the hall outside your door.“With all regard for your continued good health, believe me, dear Mr. Orme,“Yours, etc., etc.,“Pedro Alcatrante.”
“Dear Mr. Orme:
“You will, I am sure, pardon my seeming over-anxiety for your safety, and the safety of Poritol’s treasure, but I cannot resist using my influence to see that you are well-protected to-night by what you in America call ‘a plain-clothes man.’ I trust that he will frighten away theYellow Peril and permit you to slumber undisturbed. If you do not wish him inside your apartment, he will sit in the hall outside your door.
“With all regard for your continued good health, believe me, dear Mr. Orme,
“Yours, etc., etc.,
“Pedro Alcatrante.”
In view of everything that had happened since the note was penned, Orme smiled a grim smile. Alcatrante must have been very anxious indeed; and yet, considering that the minister knew nothing of Orme’s encounter with the Japanese and his meeting with the girl, the sending of the detective might naturally have been expected to pass as an impressive, but friendly, precaution.
The detective was rapidly losing his self-assurance. “I had only been asleep for a moment,” he said.
“Yes?” Orme spoke indifferently. “Well, you may go now. There is no longer any need of you here.”
“But my instructions——”
“Were given under a misapprehension. My return makes your presence unnecessary. Good-night—orgood-morning, rather.” He nodded toward the door.
The detective hesitated. “Look a here!” he suddenly burst out. “I never saw you before.”
“Nor I you,” replied Orme.
“Then how do I know that you are Mr. Orme? You may be the very chap I was to keep out, far as I know.”
“Sure enough, I may be,” said Orme dryly, adding—“But I am not. Now go.”
The detective narrowed his eyebrows. “Not without identification.”
“Ask the night-clerk,” exclaimed Orme impatiently. “Can’t you see that I don’t wish to be bothered any longer?”
He went over to the door and threw it open.
“Come,” he continued. “Well, here then”—as the detective did not move—“here’s my card. That ought to do you.”
He took a card from his pocket-case and offered it to the detective, who, after scrutinizing it for a moment, let it fall to the floor.
“Oh, it’s all right, I guess,” he said. “But what shall I say to the chief?”
“Simply say that I didn’t need you any longer.”
The detective picked up his hat and went.
“Thank Heaven!” exclaimed Orme as he closed the door. “But I wonder why I didn’t notice his hat. It was lying here in plain sight.”
He went to the telephone and spoke to the clerk. “Did you let that detective into my apartment?” he asked.
“Why, yes, Mr. Orme. He was one of the regular force, and he said that you wanted him here. I called up the chief’s office, and the order was corroborated. I meant to tell you when you came in, but you passed the desk just while I was down eating my supper. The elevator-boy let you in, didn’t he?”
“Yes. Never mind, it’s all right. Good-night.”
But when Orme examined his traveling-bag, he found that someone had evidently made a search through it. Nothing had been taken, but the orderly arrangement of his effects had been disturbed. His conclusion was that Alcatrante had bribed the fellow to go much farther than official zeal demanded. Doubtless the minister had paid the detective to hunt for a marked five-dollar bill and make a copy of whatever was written on it—which would have been quite a safe proceedingfor the detective, if he were not caught at the task. A subtle man, Alcatrante; but no subtler than the Japanese.
Dismissing the incident from his mind, Orme again made ready to return to the all-night restaurant. He paused at the door, however, to give the situation a final analysis. Maku had lost something. After hunting for it vainly, he had gone to the city directory for information which appeared to satisfy him. Then what he lost must have been an address. How would he have been likely to lose it?
Orme’s fatigue was so great that he repeated the question to himself several times without seeing any meaning in it. He forced his tired brain back to the first statement. Maku had lost something. Yes, he had lost something. What was it he had lost? Oh, yes, a paper.
It was futile. His brain refused to work.
Maku had lost a paper. A paper?
“Ah!” Orme was awake now.
“How stupid!” he exclaimed.
For he had entirely forgotten the paper which he had taken from the pocket of the unconscious Maku, there on the campus! He had thrust itinto his pocket without looking at it, and in the excitement of his later adventures it had passed utterly from his memory.
Another moment and he had the paper in his hand. His fingers shook as he unfolded it, and he felt angry at his weakness. Yes, there it was—the address—written in an unformed hand. If he had only thought of the paper before, he would have been saved a deal of trouble—would have had more sleep. He read it over several times—“Three forty-one, North Parker Street”—so that he would remember it, if the paper should be lost.
“I’m glad Maku didn’t write it in Japanese!” he exclaimed.
CHAPTER IXNUMBER THREE FORTY-ONE
When Orme was aroused by the ringing of his telephone-bell the next morning and heard the clerk’s voice, saying over the wire, “Eight o’clock, sir,” it seemed as if he had been asleep but a few minutes.
During breakfast he reviewed the events of the preceding evening. Strange and varied though they had been, his thoughts chiefly turned to the girl herself, and he shaped all his plans with the idea of pleasing her. The work he had set for himself was to get the envelope and deliver it to the girl. This plan involved the finding of the man who had escaped from the tree.
The search was not so nearly blind as it would have been if Orme had not found that folded slip of paper in Maku’s pocket. The address, “three forty-one North Parker Street,” was unquestionably the destination at which Maku had expected to meet friends.
To North Parker Street, then, Orme preparedto go. Much as he longed to see the girl again, he was glad that they were not to make this adventure together, for the reputation of North Parker Street was unsavory.
Orme found his way readily enough. There was not far to go, and he preferred to walk. But before he reached his destination he remembered that he had promised Alcatrante and Poritol to meet them at his apartment at ten o’clock.
His obligation to the two South Americans seemed slight, now that the bill had passed from his hands and that he knew the nature of Poritol’s actions. Nevertheless, he was a man of his word, and he hurried back to the Père Marquette, for the hour was close to ten. He was influenced to some extent by the thought that Poritol and Alcatrante, on learning how he had been robbed of the bill, might unwittingly give him a further clue.
No one had called for him. He waited till ten minutes past the hour, before he concluded that he had fulfilled his part of the bargain with them. Though he did not understand it, he attached no especial significance to their failure to appear.
Once again he went to North Parker Street.Three forty-one proved to be a notion shop. Through the window he saw a stout woman reading a newspaper behind the counter. When he entered she laid the paper aside and arose languidly, as though customers were rather a nuisance than a blessing. She was forty, but not fair.
Orme asked to see a set of studs. She drew a box from a show-case and spread the assortment before him.
He selected a set and paid her, offering a ten-dollar bill. She turned to a cash register and made change—which included a five-dollar bill.
Orme could hardly believe his eyes. The bill which she placed in his hand bore the written words: “Remember Person you pay this to.”
He turned it over. In the corner was a familiar set of abbreviations. There was no doubt about it. The bill was the same which had been taken from him, and which he had last seen in the possession of Maku.
What an insistent piece of green paper that marked bill was! It had started him on this remarkable series of adventures. It had introduced excitable little Poritol and the suave Alcatrante to his apartment. It had made him the victim ofthe attack by the two Japanese. It had brought the girl into his life. And now it came again into his possession just at the moment to prove that he was on the right track in his search for Maku and the man who had the papers. The queerest coincidence was that the bill would never have come into his possession at all, had it not been for his first meeting with the girl—who at that very time was herself searching for it. The rubbing of his hat against the wheel of her car—on so little thing as that had hinged the events that followed.
“This is strange,” Orme addressed the woman.
“It doesn’t hurt it any,” said the woman, indifferently.
“I know that. But it’s a curious thing just the same.”
The woman raised her shoulders slightly, and began to put away the stock she had taken out for Orme’s benefit.
“Who paid this to you?” persisted Orme.
“How should I remember? I can’t keep track of all the persons that come in the store during the day.”
“But I should think that anything so queeras this——” He saw that he could get nothing from her except by annoying her.
The woman glared. “What you a botherin’ about? Why don’t you leave well enough alone?”
Orme smiled. “Tell me one thing,” he said, “do you know a Japanese that lives hereabouts?”
“Oh,” said the woman, “so you’re one of the gentlemen he was expectin’, eh? Well, it’s the front flat, two flights up.”
“Thank you,” said Orme. He walked out to the street, whence a backward glance showed him the woman again concealed in her newspaper.
At one side of the shop he found the entrance to a flight of stairs which led to the floors above. In the little hallway, just before the narrow ascent began, was a row of electric buttons and names, and under each of them a mail-box. “3a” had a card on which was printed:
“Arima, Teacher of Original Kano Jiu-Jitsu.”
“Arima, Teacher of Original Kano Jiu-Jitsu.”
Should he go boldly up and present himself as a prospective pupil? If Arima were the one who had so effectively thrown him the night before, he would certainly remember the man he had thrown and would promptly be on his guard. Also, thewoman in the shop had said, “you areoneof the gentlemen he was expectin’.” Others were coming.
Prudence suggested that he conceal himself in an entry across the street and keep an eye out for the persons who were coming to visit Arima. He assumed that their coming had something to do with the stolen paper. But he had no way of knowing who the athlete’s guests would be. There might be no one among them whom he could recognize. And even if he saw them all go in, how would his own purpose be served by merely watching them? In time, no doubt, they would all come out again, and one of them would have the papers in his possession, and Orme would not know which one.
For all he was aware, some of the guests had already arrived. They might even now be gathering with eager eyes about the unfolded documents. No, Orme realized that his place was not on the sidewalk. By some means he must get where he could discover what was going on in the front flat on the third floor. Standing where he now was, there was momentary danger of being discovered by persons who would guess why he was there. Maku might come.
Orme looked to see who lived in “4a,” the flat above the Japanese. The card bore the name:
“Madame Alia, Clairvoyant and Trance Medium.”
“Madame Alia, Clairvoyant and Trance Medium.”
“I think I will have my fortune told,” muttered Orme, as he pressed Madame Alia’s bell and started up the stairs.
At the top of the second flight he looked to the entrance of the front apartment. It had a large square of ground glass, with the name “Arima” in black letters. He continued upward another flight and presently found himself before two blank doors—one at the front and one a little at one side. The side door opened slowly in response to his knock.
Before him stood a blowsy but not altogether unprepossessing woman of middle years. She wore a cheap print gown. A gipsy scarf was thrown over her head and shoulders, and her ears held loop earrings. Her inquiring glance at Orme was not unmixed with suspicion.
“Madame Alia?” inquired Orme.
She nodded and stood aside for him to enter. He passed into a cheap little reception-hall whichlooked out on the street, and then, at her silent direction went through a door at one side and found himself in the medium’s sanctum.
The one window gave on a dimly lighted narrow space which apparently had been cut in from the back of the building. Through the dusty glass he could see the railing of a fire-escape platform, and cutting diagonally across the light, part of the stairs that led to the platform above. There was a closed door, which apparently opened into the outer hall. In the room were dirty red hangings, two chairs, a couch, and a small square center-table.
Madame Alia had already seated herself at the table and was shuffling a pack of cards. “Fifty-cent reading?” she asked, as he took the chair opposite her.
Orme nodded. His thoughts were on the window and the fire-escape, and he hardly heard her monotonous sentences, though he obeyed mechanically her instructions to cut and shuffle.
“You are about to engage in a new business,” she was saying. “You will be successful, but there will be some trouble about a dark man.—Look out for him.—He talks fair, but he means mischief.—Thereis a woman, too.—This man will try to prejudice her against you.” And all the time Orme was saying to himself, “How can I persuade her to let me use the fire-escape?”
Suddenly he was conscious that the woman had ceased speaking and was running the cards through her fingers and looking at him searchingly. “You are not listening,” she said, as he met her gaze.
He smiled apologetically. “I know—I was preoccupied.”
“I can’t help you if you don’t listen.”
Orme inferred that she took pride in her work. He sighed and looked grave. “I am afraid,” he said slowly, “that my case is too serious for the cards.”
She brightened. “You’d ought to have a trance-reading—two dollars.”
“I’d take any kind of reading that would help me, but I’m afraid the situation is too difficult.”
“Then why did you come?” Again the look of suspicion.
“I came because you could help me, but not by a reading.”
“What do you mean?” Plainly she was frightened.“I don’t put people away. That’s out of my line. Honest!”
“Do I look as if I wanted anything crooked done?” Orme smiled.
“It’s hard to tell what folks want,” she muttered. “You’re a fly-cop, aren’t you?”
“What makes you think that?”
“The way you been sizing things up. You aren’t going to do anything, are you? I pay regular for my protection every month—five dollars—and I work hard to get it, too.”
Orme hesitated. He had known at the outset that he was of a class different from the ordinary run of her clients. The difference undoubtedly had both puzzled and frightened her. He might disabuse her of the notion that he had anything to do with the police, but her misapprehension was an advantage that he was loath to lose. Fearing him, she might grant any favor.
“Now, listen to me,” he said at last. “I don’t mean you any harm, but I want you to answer a few questions.”
She eyed him furtively.
“Do you know the man in the flat below?” he demanded.
“Mr. Arima? No. He’s a Jap. I see him in the halls sometimes, but I don’t do no more than bow, like any neighbor.”
“He’s noisy, isn’t he?”
“Only when he has pupils. But he goes out to do most of his teaching. Is he wanted?”
“Not exactly. Now look here. I believe you’re a well-meaning woman. Do you make a good thing out of this business?”
“Fair.” She smiled faintly. “I ain’t been in Chicago long, and it takes time to work up a good trade. I got a daughter to bring up. She’s with friends. She don’t know anything about what I do for a living.”
“Well,” said Orme, “I’m going to give you five dollars toward educating your girl.”
He took a bill from his pocket-book and handed it to her. She accepted it with a deprecating glance and a smile that was tinged with pathetic coquetry. Then she looked at it strangely. “What’s the writing?” she asked.
Orme started. He had given her the marked five-dollar bill. “I didn’t mean to give you that one,” he said, taking it from her fingers.
She stared at him. “Is it phony?”
“No—but I want it. Here’s another.” As he took a fresh bill from his pocket-book he discovered to his surprise that the marked bill, together with the few dollars in change he had received after his purchase in the shop below, was all that he now had left in his pocket. He remembered that he had intended to draw on his funds that morning. His departure from New York had been hurried, and he had come away with little ready cash.
Madame Alia slipped the bill into her bosom and waited. She knew well enough that her visitor had some demand to make.
“Now,” said Orme, “I am going to use your fire-escape for a little while.”
The woman nodded.
“I want you to keep all visitors out,” he continued. “Don’t answer the bell. I may want to come back this way quick.”
“This is straight business, isn’t it? I don’t want to get into no trouble.”
“Absolutely straight,” said Orme. “All you have to do is to leave your window open and keep quiet.”
“You can count on me,” she said. “Perhaps you know all about the place down there, but ifyou don’t, I’ll tell you that the fire-escape leads into his reception-room.”
Orme smiled. “You seem to be acquainted with your neighbor, after all.”
“I’ve come up the stairs when his door was open.”
“Does he seem to be pretty busy with his teaching?”
“Evenings, he is. And some come in the afternoon. I always know, because they thud on the floor so when they wrestle.”
“And mornings?”
“He generally seems to be away mornings.”
“I fancy he’s what you’d call a noisy neighbor,” said Orme.
“Oh, I don’t mind. There’s more or less noise up here sometimes.” She smiled frankly. “Spirits can make a lot of noise. I’ve known them to throw tables over and drag chairs all around the room.”
“Well”—Orme was not interested in spirits—“be sure you don’t let anybody in here until I come back.”
Again she nodded. Then she went into the reception-hall and he heard her push the bolt ofthe door. She did not return, but her steps seemed to move into one of the other rooms.
Orme went to the window, pushed it up, and climbed out on the fire-escape. He was glad to see that the wall across the court was windowless. He might be observed from the buildings that backed up from the next street, but they apparently belonged to a large storage loft or factory. There were no idle folk at the windows.
The window of the room below was open. This was in one sense an advantage—and Orme blessed the Japanese athletes for their insistence on fresh air; but on the other hand, it made quietness essential.
Slowly he let himself through the opening in the platform and moved a few steps down the ladder. Then he crouched and peered through the dingy lace curtains that were swaying in the breeze.
The interior was dim, but Orme succeeded in distinguishing the furniture. There were straw mats on the floor and several chairs stood about. At the opposite side of the room was a closed door. From his knowledge of Madame Alia’s apartment, Orme knew that this door opened intothe hall of the building, and the square of ground glass, with its reversed letters of the athlete’s name, told him that it was used as the chief entrance. Madame Alia preferred her clients to enter into another room.
In the farther corner of the interior Orme saw a large square table. It was covered with a red print cloth, which hung over the edge, nearly to the floor. If he could reach that table and conceal himself beneath it, his position would be better.
And now he suddenly remembered that the outline of his head would be visible against the outer light to anyone within. The room seemed to be empty, but—at that instant he heard a door open. He drew his head up. Someone was moving about the room.
The steps went here and there. Chairs were shifted, to judge from the sound. But evidently there was only one person, for Orme could hear no voices. He decided that Arima was preparing for visitors.
Again he heard a door open and close. Had Arima gone out, or had some other person entered? Orme waited a moment, listening; no sound camefrom within. He lowered his head and peered. The room was empty.
Arima might return at any moment, but the chance had to be taken. Quickly, silently, Orme descended to the platform, slid over the sill, and tip-toed over to the table. Another instant and he was under the cover.
CHAPTER X“FIND THE AMERICAN”
As Orme let the table-cover fall back to its normal position and turned to get himself into a comfortable attitude, his hand touched something soft and yielding. For a moment he was startled, but the sound of a throaty purr, and the realization that his hand was resting on fur soon told him that his companion in hiding was a cat.
He wondered whether the Japanese liked pets. From what little he knew of Japanese character it did not seem to him consistent that they should care for animals. Yet here was a peaceful tabby.
In order to accommodate himself to his close quarters, Orme had to double his legs back, resting on his thigh and supporting the upper part of his body with one hand. The cat settled down against his knee.
The light filtered redly through the table-cover. To his satisfaction he found a small hole, evidently a burn made by some careless smoker. Through this aperture he could look out. Hisrange of vision included the greater part of the room, excepting the side on which the table stood. He could see the window and several chairs, as well as the door into the adjoining room, but the door into the hall was out of view, at his right.
While he was looking about, a man came from the next room. Doubtless it was Arima; at least Orme recognized the Japanese who had overcome him in the porter’s office at the Père Marquette the night before. He stepped into the room with a little smile on his brown face. Seating himself in a chair, he fixed his heels in the rungs and clasped his hands about his knees. He was waiting.
The black eyes rested on the table. To Orme they seemed to be boring through the cover that concealed him, and he hardly dared to breathe, but the Asiatic appeared to observe nothing unusual. Orme wondered at the unfathomable intelligence of those eyes. He had often said of the Chinese and Japanese that he did not trust them for the reason that a Caucasian could never tell what they were thinking about. The racial difference in thought processes he found disconcerting.
A bell rang. Arima went to the door, out ofview, and opened it. Orme could hear persons mounting the stairs, and presently the voice of Arima said, “Come in,” and the visitors entered the room.
Pausing near the door for a moment, they exchanged a few whispered sentences. Then one of them walked over toward the window. Orme repressed an exclamation, for the figure that came into view was the figure of Poritol—dapper, assertive.
He was dressed as on the night before, and his precious high hat was hugged close to his shoulder.
His eyes roved with an exaggerated assumption of important cunning. Presently he threw over his shoulder a rapid sentence in a foreign tongue. It sounded like Spanish, and Orme inferred that it was a dialect of Portuguese.
The answer came from an oily tongue; the voice was Alcatrante’s.
What were the South Americans doing here? It was only a few hours since the Japanese had set on Alcatrante, yet here he was in a stronghold of the enemy—and expected! Had the astute diplomat fallen into a trap?
Arima was standing, not far from Poritol. Hisface was expressionless. Looking from Alcatrante to Poritol and back again, he said in English: “The mos’ honorable gentleman will soon be here.”
“That is right,” said Alcatrante suavely. “Mention no names.”
Arima nodded slightly.
The silence grew intense. Orme was relieved when it was broken by another ring of the bell, and Arima slipped to the door. Alcatrante moved over beside Poritol and whispered a few words, scarcely moving his lips. His face looked yellow by daylight, and the eyes behind the gold spectacles were heavy-lidded and almost closed. Orme inferred that the night had been sleepless for Alcatrante.
These observations were interrupted by the entrance of the newcomer. He paused at the threshold, evidently to salute, for Poritol and Alcatrante bowed low. Then quick steps crossed the floor and into view came a nervous but assured-looking little figure—a Japanese, but undoubtedly a man of great dignity. His manner of sharp authority would be hard to dispute, for it was supported by a personality that seemed to be stronger than Alcatrante’s. Who he was Ormecould not guess, but that he was somebody of importance it was easy to see.
The stranger bowed again and addressed himself to Alcatrante. The conversation was carried on in French.
“It is well that you communicated with me, sir,” he said, “we were working at cross-purposes when, in reality, our interests were identical.”
Alcatrante bowed. “I came to that conclusion late last night,” he said. “I do not deny that it would have pleased me to carry the affair through by myself.”
“Yes, your position would then have been stronger.” The Japanese smiled faintly.
“But,” continued Alcatrante, with a slight grimace, “the activity of your men made that impossible. I have no lieutenants such as yours.” He shot an ugly gleam at Poritol, whose sudden assumption of fearsome humility was in strange contrast to his usual self-assurance.
“As we hold the documents”—the Japanese spoke with great distinctness—“you will necessarily admit our advantage. That means, you will understand, a smaller commission on the next contract.”
Alcatrante twisted his face into the semblance of a smile. “Not too small, or we cannot undertake the work,” he said.
“No, not too small,” the stranger agreed calmly, “but smaller than the last. You must not forget that there are others who would gladly do the same work.”
“Yes, but at best they cannot get the terms we get.”
“Possibly. That is a matter still to be determined. Meantime we have assumed that our interests in this document are identical. Let us test it.”
“One word first,” said Alcatrante. “I take it that, if our interests are sympathetic with yours, we may count on your protection?”
“Most assuredly.”
“Then——?”
“Then we shall see. My fairness is clear in that I give you a sight of the document with myself. I might have denied all knowledge of it.”
Alcatrante smiled as if to say: “I already knew so much that you could not risk that.”
The stranger turned to Arima and said something in Japanese. Arima replied, and thestranger explained to Alcatrante: “I asked about my man Maku. The American struck him on the head last night, and injured him. But he is recovering. He is troublesome—that American.”
Orme started. His head bumped against the table.
“What’s that?” exclaimed Poritol, advancing. “There’s something under that table!” He stooped to lift the cover.
One chance flashed into Orme’s mind. Quickly he seized the cat, which was still sleeping against his knee, and pushed it under the table-cover. It walked out into the room, mewing plaintively.
“A cat,” said Poritol, drawing back.
Arima explained in English: “It belongs to lady upstairs. Comes down fire-escape. Shoo! Shoo!” He clapped his hands and the animal bounded to the window-sill and disappeared up the iron steps.
“And now,” began the stranger, “shall we examine the documents?”
“One moment,” said Alcatrante. “I should first like a clear understanding with you—some words in private.” He moved to a corner, and there the stranger joined him. They talked in anundertone for several minutes, Alcatrante gesturing volubly, the stranger nodding now and then, and interjecting a few brief words.
What was going on was more than ever a mystery to Orme. The stranger’s reference to “the next contract” strengthened the surmise that the documents in the envelope were connected with a South American trade concession. Alcatrante had plainly concluded that his interests and those of the Japanese were identical. He must have communicated with the strange Japanese the first thing in the morning. That would account for his failure to call at the Père Marquette at ten o’clock. Learning that the bill had been taken from Orme, and that the coveted documents were in the possession of the Japanese, he had no object in keeping his appointment. As for Poritol, he had become a figure of minor importance.
But Orme did not let these questions long engage him, for he had made a discovery. Where his head bumped against the table, the board above him—solid, as he had supposed—rattled strangely. At the moment he could not investigate, but as soon as the cat had satisfied the suspicions of Poritol, and Alcatrante and thestranger had retired to their corner, he twisted his head back and examined the wood above him.
The table had a drawer. From the room outside this drawer was concealed by the cloth cover, and Orme had not suspected its existence.
Now, the table was cheaply made. The drawer was shallow and narrow, and it was held in position, under the table, by an open framework of wood. When it was pushed in, it was stopped at the right place by two cleats; there was no solid strip to prevent its being pushed in too far.
Orme put his hand to the back of the drawer. There was a space between it and the table-top.
Cautiously he pushed his hand through the opening. His fingers touched a flat object—a pad of paper, or—the thought made his heart beat—a large, thick envelope. Could Arima have used the drawer as a hiding-place?
Slowly he got the edge of the object between his first and second fingers and drew it a little way toward the back of the drawer. A moment later he had it under his eyes.
Yes, it was a long envelope of heavy linen, and there were bulky papers within. The gummed flap was toward him. He was interested to notethat, important though the documents seemed to be, the envelope was not sealed with wax.
He remembered what the girl had said: her father’s name was written on the address side. He had only to turn it over to learn who she was. In the circumstances such an act might be justified. But she had not wished him to know—and he would even now respect her wish and keep his own promise to her.
His first thought was to slip the envelope into his pocket, but it occurred to him in time that, if it did indeed contain the documents concerning which Alcatrante and the stranger were disputing, it would be sought and missed long before he could escape from the room. So, taking a pencil from his pocket, he inserted it under the corner of the flap and slowly worked the flap free. The strength of the linen prevented any tearing.
He removed the contents of the envelope—two folded sheets of parchment paper, held together by an elastic band—and thrust them into the inside pocket of his coat. All this was done swiftly and noiselessly.
It now remained to find something to take the place of the abstracted documents. In his pocketwere some printed prospectuses of the mine which he had come to Chicago to investigate. In shape and thickness they were not dissimilar to the documents which he had taken. He slipped the prospectuses into the envelope and, wetting his finger, rubbed it along the gummed surface of the flap. Enough glue remained to make the flap adhere, after a little pressure. The job was by no means perfect, but it was not likely to be detected.
At that moment Alcatrante raised his voice and said, still in French: “You are sure, then, that this will not only delay the game, but end it.”
“Quite sure,” said the Japanese. “Unless the documents are signed before midnight to-night nothing can be done for sometime. We have the Germans fixed. They will do what they have thus far agreed to do, but if any technical hitch arises, such as a failure to sign within the time-limit, they will decline to renew negotiations. That was all we could get from them, but it is enough—now.”
“And for other ships,” said Alcatrante, “the commission shall be five hundred thousand.”
“Five hundred thousand. Seven hundred and fifty was too much.”
“Five hundred thousand in gold.”
“In gold.”
Orme slipped the envelope back into the drawer and put his eye to the hole in the cover. His position was now more and more critical, for to open the drawer and get the envelope, Arima would have to lift the table cover.
The stranger turned to Arima. “Give us the envelope,” he said.
Arima approached the table. Orme crowded back against the wall as far as he could, knowing that the chances of escaping discovery were strongly against him. But he was saved by the very eagerness of the others. They all crowded about Arima, as he lifted the cover, opened the drawer, and took out the envelope. So close did they stand that Orme was out of their angle of vision. The table-cover fell again, and he was safe. He resumed his position at the peep-hole.
The stranger stepped to the middle of the room, the others gathering around him. With a quick jerk he tore the envelope open, and taking out the papers, ran his eye over them rapidly. He uttered an exclamation. “What is it?” said Alcatrante. The South American’s hand was shaking, and perspiration stood out on his forehead.
The Japanese snarled. “Tricked! They’ve fooled us. That honorable burglar of yours got the wrong envelope.”
Alcatrante snatched the papers. “‘Prospectus,’” he read, “‘of the Last Dare Mining Company.’ But I do not understand.”
The Japanese glared at him angrily. “If you had kept out of this business,” he snapped, “and let Maku attend to it, everything would have been right. Now your burglars have spoiled it.” He snatched back the harmless prospectuses and tore them in two, throwing the fragments to the floor and grinding them under his heel.
Arima spoke. “Pardon, honorable sir, Maku say the right envelope was taken from the safe. Maku know.”
“Ha! Then it was you who were tricked—outwitted. That American reached the tree before you last evening and substituted these papers. Go back to Japan, Arima. I don’t need you.”
Arima bowed submissively. As for the stranger, his rage gave way to despair.
“What shall I say to the Emperor?” he muttered. “What shall I say to the Emperor?”
Then his feelings came again under control; helooked calmly at Alcatrante. “Well,” he said, “what would you suggest?”
Alcatrante’s face was a puzzle. Every shade of doubt, disappointment, anger, suspicion, and shrewd deduction passed over it. He was putting into play that marvelous power of concentration on subtle issues that had enabled him to play so brilliantly the rôle of international under-dog. At last he smiled and spoke.
“Find the American,” he said.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Arima looked at his master, who nodded indifferently and said: “Yes, see who it is. It can do no harm now.”
Orme heard the door open. What startled him first was the action of Poritol, who stepped back to the wall, his jaw dropping, his face a picture of embarrassment and fright. Alcatrante and the stranger showed amazement.
For a moment they stood thus in silence, and then from the door came a clear voice:
“What? You here, Mr. Alcatrante? And the Japanese minister?”
Orme almost sprang from his hiding-place. The voice was the voice of the girl!
CHAPTER XITHE WAY OUT
The sound of the girl’s voice brought the men in the room to life. Her words were shaded to a tone of fearless scorn which must have bitten deep, for Alcatrante and the Japanese minister looked like school-boys caught in wrong-doing. The South American gnawed at his lip; the Japanese looked at the floor, and Orme now realized that the manner which had seemed so indicative of a masterful personality was the manner which springs from power—the manner that is built upon the assurance of a tremendous backing.
The tension was broken by Poritol. The little man’s dismay suddenly gave way to an eager and voluble excitement, and he rushed across the room, exclaiming: “Oh, my dear miss——”
“No names,” commanded Alcatrante harshly, turning on his subordinate.
“My dear young lady,” continued Poritol breathlessly, “I am the victim of your misunderstanding. You will permit me to explain.”
She answered with an even, cutting edge in her voice: “You cannot explain, Mr. Poritol.”
“But——” he began, blind to her meaning.
“I do not care to hear you,” she said; and Poritol slunk back to his former position. From his face it was clear that he had no desire except to get away.
Meantime Alcatrante aroused himself. “My friend here”—he indicated the Japanese—“and myself are here on business which concerns our two nations. Your appearance, I presume, is due to a desire to engage the professional services of Mr. Arima. Or perhaps you were trying to find the fortune-teller upstairs.” He barely repressed his sneer.
The girl did not answer. She had remained by the door, and but for the attitudes of the others, Orme would not have known but that she had gone. As it was, he could read in their bearing the disconcerting effects of her continued disdain.
The Japanese spoke. “Will you enter, miss, or shall we direct you on your way? Arima will come out and talk with you, if you so wish.”
Still no answer. To Orme, in his hiding, there was something uncanny in her failure to respond.But he could picture her—Truth, calm in the presence of subterfuge.
“Will you not state your desire?” Again the Japanese. He was smiling now, with the false politeness of his race.
And then she spoke: “That envelope on the floor was stolen from my father’s home. It bears my father’s name.”
Before Alcatrante could stop him, little Poritol, with some vague hope of making amends, had snatched up the torn envelope and taken it to her. He returned to the range of Orme’s vision with an air of virtuous importance.
“The contents,” said the girl—“where are the papers?”
Alcatrante and the Japanese looked at each other. It was as if they said, “In view of our failure we might as well make a clean breast of it.” But Alcatrante was too cunning to take the initiative in confession. He left that to the Japanese, who spoke unhesitatingly.
“The only papers in the envelope were these.” He picked up the torn prospectuses from the floor and held them extended in his hand. “Our surprise is as great as yours.”
“Do you expect me to believe that?”
“Whether you believe it or not, my dear young lady, it is true.”
There was a moment of silence, then the Japanese continued: “We have reason to think that the envelope was for a time last night in the possession of an American, and that he substituted these circulars for whatever the envelope may have held.”
Orme’s impulse to declare himself was almost irresistible. A man whose instincts were less cautious would have thrown the table over and ranged himself beside the girl. Orme was not fearful, but he knew that the chances of a successful outcome would be lessened by exposure. Even if he and the girl got safely from the room, there would be a pursuit, and the risk of losing the papers would be great.
As for the girl, she clearly was in no danger. These men would not harm her.
But would the assertion of the Japanese lead her to doubt Orme? Would she believe that he had actually recovered the papers the night before and kept them for his own purposes? He remembered that he had given her only the scantiest account ofhis adventure at the tree, for he had wished to spare her the details of an incident that meant her disappointment as well as his own. She might now readily attribute his reticence to a desire to conceal something.
And then came her voice. Her first words brought a glow to Orme’s heart: “I know that you are mistaken. No American has those papers.” Orme breathed his relief. Then she added the dubious word—“Unless——”
So she did doubt him after all. Well, he could not blame her. The scene in the room—the frankness of the Japanese, which could only be attributed to discomfiture; the empty envelope; the torn prospectuses on the floor, all these conditions pointed to the truth of the explanation she had heard.
On the other hand, there was his appearance on the lake, an hour or more after the episode on the campus. Might it not occur to her that, had he already secured the papers, he would have had no object in the further pursuit of the Japanese? But, perhaps she would think that he was seeking Arima to sell the papers back to him; or that, in spite of his appearance of surprise, he had beena witness of her abduction and had gone out on the water to save her. There were so many things she might think! Indeed, that dubious word “unless” might even signify, “unless he has secured the papers since I last saw him.” But no; she would gather from the situation in which she found her enemies that the envelope had not been out of their possession since it was taken from the tree. Orme shut his lips together hard. Her doubt of him would have to be endured, even though it shattered his pleasant dream of her complete and sympathetic understanding.
Alcatrante, meantime, was studying the girl with curious eyes. His look was both perplexed and admiring.
“Do you mind telling me how you happened to come to this place?” he asked.
She answered indifferently: “Supposing that the Japanese had stolen the papers, I searched Maku’s room at our house. There was a torn envelope there, with the name ‘Arima’ printed in the corner.”
Alcatrante bowed. “You are cleverer than most Americans, my dear young lady,” he said. His lips curved into a smile that disclosed his fangs.
“That,” she replied, “is as it may be. But I have not your admiration for trickery, Mr. Alcatrante.”
Again he smiled. “Ah,” he exclaimed, “trickery is the detail work of diplomacy.” Then with a shade of seriousness in his voice, he asked: “Why did you use that word ‘unless’?”
“Why, indeed?” She made this noncommittal answer, and if Alcatrante had hoped to soothe her into friendliness and draw from her a clue to her suspicions, he was disappointed.
There was another period of silence, broken at last by the Japanese. “The fact that we have failed, my dear young lady,” he said, “makes concealment unnecessary. I know, of course, that this matter will never become public. You understand that the representatives of great nations often have to take steps which, as private citizens, they would never think of.”
“Yes,” she answered, “I understand. There is no more to be said. Good-day.”
There was a step and the sound of the door closing. She had gone.
Alcatrante and the Japanese looked at each other. “We have not failed—yet,” said Alcatrantein French. “The girl does not know where the documents are, or she would not have come here. If her father does not have them before midnight our plans are safe. We remain merely at a loss as to the details of the documents, and we already know what they contain in a general way.”
“Yes,” agreed the Japanese, “things do not look so black, perhaps. But I am interested in your former advice.”
“Yes?”
“Find the American! That is whatshewill try to do.”
“We had an appointment with him this morning,” said Alcatrante grimly, “but when you said that your man had the envelope, it no longer seemed necessary to go. We—you and I—still have the same object in view. I suggest that we now set out separately.”
“As you wish,” said the Japanese calmly. Doubtless he knew that Alcatrante was grasping at a straw which might still give him the advantage in future negotiations. “I am honored by your co-operation thus far.” He bowed formally.
Alcatrante returned the bow and, beckoning to Poritol, left the room.
The Japanese minister turned to Arima and talked rapidly in his native tongue. From his manner it was plain that he was giving orders. At last, with a little gesture of authority, he put on his hat and walked out. The door closed after him with a slam.
Arima, now alone, seated himself in a chair and appeared to meditate. Again his hands were clasped about his knees and his beady eyes fixed on space. For fully fifteen minutes he sat thus; then, with a little clucking sound, he leaped to his feet and hurried into the next room.
Now was Orme’s chance. He lifted the table-cover and rose to his feet. Arima had not closed the door after him, but Orme was not in the line of direct view into the other room, and he had to risk the possibility of being seen before he reached the window.
Or should he try for the door? It all depended upon what part of the next room Arima was in; but the window seemed safer, for the opening and closing of the door would be sure to attract attention.
Orme moved toward the window slowly, watching the opening through which Arima had disappeared. He got half-way to the window; threemore steps would bring him to the sill. And then, without warning, Arima leaped into the room. Even in that moment Orme caught a glimpse of a mirror in the farther room, and knew that the Japanese had seen his reflection.
At this instant another man appeared, close behind Arima. A bandage was wrapped around his head. It was Maku, who presumably had been in the apartment all the time.
Orme stood little chance of overcoming the two. Quick as cats, with muscles like steel springs and a great variety of scientific tricks of offense and defense, they could handle him as they willed in a direct encounter. If Orme had had a revolver, he would now have drawn it. Yet he knew that this was not a case for fire-arms. Obviously, if he used a dangerous weapon in these men’s rooms and was afterward caught, it would fare hard with him, for the real facts would be suppressed and he would be sentenced as an ordinary housebreaker, perhaps with some clemency due to his personal standing.
A quick intuition told him that he would not escape lightly if they fairly got their hands on him. The two Japanese had hitherto shown much patience with him. Their desire seemed to have been to avoid hurting him any more than wasnecessary. But there is a limit to Japanese patience. The scathing words of the Japanese minister must still be burning in Arima’s brain. And Maku, who had controlled himself while Orme was following him through the streets of the North Side, no longer had a diplomatic reason for restraining his rage against the man who had struck him down. In any event, the eyes of Arima and Maku glittered angrily, and Orme realized that he could expect no mercy.
He caught up a chair and raised it over his head, prepared to bring it down on Arima, who was only a few feet from him and coming fast.
The Japanese raised his arms, to fend the expected blow. With sudden inspiration, Orme hurled the chair at his opponent’s feet. There was a crash. Arima sprawled headlong. Maku, who was close behind, tried to leap over Arima, but his feet went through the rungs of the chair, and he, too, crashed to the floor.
As he threw the chair Orme leaped back. Before the Japanese could get out of their tangle, he had jumped over the window-sill and was running up the fire-escape. Madame Alia, was at her window, a look of startled inquiry on her face. She stepped back as he crowded into the room.
“Quick!” he said. “They’ll be after me. Hide me somewhere.”
“Come!” She took his sleeve and pulled him to a corner. There she pushed aside the dingy hanging and Orme saw that the wall was covered with a wainscoting that ran from floor to ceiling.
The medium looked at him with bright eyes. “You’re the real sort,” she whispered, and a wave of color in her cheeks brought back the suggestion of girlish beauty. “I saw that scrap there through a hole in the floor. You’re the goods.” She pressed his arm almost affectionately, then, with her free hand, she pushed against the paneling. Noiselessly a section of it turned inward, disclosing a dark cavity. “Get in!”
Orme quickly slipped into the darkness, the panel closed, and he heard the swish of the hanging as it dropped back against the board.
It was not too soon. Two soft thuds told him that the Japanese had dropped over the sill into the room.
He heard the woman give a well-feigned scream of surprise.
“’Scuse us, miss,”—it was Arima’s voice—“we looking for sneak thief. He come in here.”
“Be off with you. I’ve just come from thefront room there, and there wasn’t a soul came in.”
“We saw him.”
“He must have gone out to the hall, then.” The woman’s voice had a note of mollification—as though she had suddenly recognized the right of the two Japanese to enter the apartment. “Ididn’t hear him.”
A few words of Japanese colloquy; then Arima: “I look around. My friend go to hall.” A door closed; evidently Maku had gone out; and then Orme heard steps. After this there was a long wait, while the Japanese examined the other rooms, the woman evidently offering him her aid. At last they returned.
“Well, I go back,” said Arima. “I saw him come in the window. My friend will know. See you later.”
Presently the woman raised the hanging and whispered through the boards: “He went back down the fire-escape. His friend’s in the hall. He’ll find out you haven’t went down, and then he’ll come back.”
“I’ll try the roof,” whispered Orme. “Perhaps I can get on to another house that way.”
“Wait till I see.” She walked away, but soon returned.
“No use,” he heard her say. “That Jap’s a sitting on the fire-escape watching. He grinned when I looked down.”
Orme pondered. “Help me out of this,” he whispered, “and there’ll be something in it for you.”
She moved impatiently. “Cut it out! I don’t want nothing. You’re a good sport, that’s all.” She paused. “Not that I’d mind having a present. But I don’t want no money.”
Orme caught the distinction. “I’ll remember,” he said. “And what shall I do now?”
“You’ll have to stay in there a while, I guess.”
“I simply must get away—and within an hour or two.”
“I’ll manage that,” she answered confidently.
“But how——?”
“You’ll see. Just leave it to me.”
Orme smiled to himself, there in the darkness. Of course, he would leave it to her; but he did not see how she was to rid him of the watchful Japanese.
“There’s just one thing,” he whispered. “Whateveris done, will have to be done without help from outside. This is not a matter for the police.”
“I understand. Why can’t you just leave it to me? I don’t believe you trust me a little bit!”
“But I do,” he protested. “I am absolutely in your hands.”
He heard her sigh faintly. “I’m going to put down the window now,” she said. “It ain’t safe for me to stand here talking to you unless I do. That Arima fellow might pop up the fire-escape any time.”
She was back in a few moments. He had heard the window creak down, and had wondered whether the action would add to Arima’s suspicion.
“If he comes up now,” she explained in an undertone, “the glare on the outside of the window will keep him from seeing in very plain.”
After that she did not speak for some time, but the occasional movements of her body, as she leaned against the panel, were audible to Orme. He found himself wondering about her—how she had happened to take up the career of fortune-telling. She must have been a handsome woman; even now she was not unattractive.
The delay grew more and more irksome. Itseemed to Orme as though he had been behind the panel for hours. After a while he asked:
“What time is it?”
“About two o’clock. Ain’t you hungry?”
Orme laughed softly. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Wait a minute.” She moved away. When she returned she pulled up the hanging and opened the panel. In her hand was a thick sandwich. “I was just going to eat my own lunch when you came back through the window,” she explained.
He took the sandwich. She looked at him boldly. He was standing close to her in the opening. There was an expression that was almost defiant in her eyes. “I—I want my present.”
“You shall have it, Madame Alia,” he said.
“You ain’t my kind—and it won’t make no difference to you.” Her voice faltered and her eyes dropped. “I want you to kiss me.”
Orme looked at her, and understood. He put his arms around her and kissed her gently on the lips. There was no disloyalty in it. He was simply satisfying the craving of this poor woman’s soul—a craving for a tribute to which she could always revert as the symbol of a high friendliness.She felt that he was of a different world; he knew that the world was all one, though partitioned off by artificial barriers, but he could not correct her view.
She clung to him for a moment after his lips left hers, then released herself from his clasp and moved back into the room, her face averted. Was it to hide a blush? Orme did not ask himself, but respecting her reticence of spirit, silently closed the panel and was again in darkness.
For a time he stood there quietly. His back was against the wall,—his hands easily touched the paneling that shut him off from the room. He wondered what this secret place was for, and taking a match from his pocket, he lighted it.
The enclosure seemed to extend all the way across the side of the room. Farther along, lying on the floor and standing against the wall, were contrivances of which at first he could make nothing—poles, pieces of tin, and—were those masks, heaped in the corner? From a row of pegs hung long robes—white and black.
The truth flashed into Orme’s mind. He was in Madame Alia’s ghost-closet!