CHAPTER VIIA JAPANESE AT LARGE
What was the girl doing out there in mid-lake in the company of her enemy? Orme had seen her enter the house of her friends in Evanston; had bidden her good-night with the understanding that she was to make no further move in the game before the coming morning. She must have left the house soon after he walked away.
Had she known all the time where the Japanese was? Had she hunted him out to make terms with him? If that were the case, her action indicated a new and unsuspected distrust of Orme himself. Her failure to call for help when Orme and Porter came up in their launch seemed to show that her presence in the other boat was voluntary. And yet Orme could not believe that there was not some simple explanation which she would welcome the first chance to make. He could not doubt her.
The immediate thing to do, however, was to find out just what she desired. Suppressing his excitement, he called out:
“Girl!”
At the same time he turned the lantern so that his own face was illuminated.
“Mr. Orme!” she cried, rising from her seat. “You here?”
“At your service.”
He smiled, and turned his eyes for an instant on her companion. The face of the Japanese was a study. His eyes were narrowed to thin slits, and his mouth was formed into a meaningless grin.
Orme spoke to the Japanese in French. “Maku has confessed,” he said. “He is under arrest.”
The face of the Japanese did not change.
“Do you understand?” asked Orme, still in French.
There was no answer, and Orme turned to the Girl and said, in French.
“I don’t think he understands this language.”
“Apparently not,” she replied, in the same tongue.
“Tell me,” he went on, “are you there of your own will?”
“No.”
“Has he the papers?”
“I think so. I don’t know.”
“See if you can manage to get past him, and I will help you into our boat.”
“I’ll try.” She nodded, with a brave effort to show reassurance.
Orme frowned at the Japanese. “What are you doing with this young lady?” he demanded.
“No understand.”
“Yes, you do understand. You understood well enough when you robbed me this evening.”
“No understand,” the Japanese repeated.
The girl, meantime, had moved slowly from her position. The two boats were close together. Suddenly, after a swift glance from Orme, the girl stepped to the gunwale and leaped across the gap. Orme reached forward and caught her, drawing her for a brief instant close into his arms before she found her footing in the cockpit.
“Splendid!” he whispered, and she tossed her head with a pretty smile of relief.
Porter had been standing close by, the boathook in his hands. “Is there anything more to be done?” he asked of Orme.
“Yes, wait a moment.”
The Japanese had made no move to prevent the girl’s escape. Indeed, while she was leaping tothe other boat, he balanced himself and turned to his motor, as though to continue the work of repair.
“Now, then,” called Orme, “you must give me those papers.”
“No understand.” The Japanese did not even look up from his task.
Orme turned to Porter. “Give me the boathook,” he said, and, taking it, he hooked it to the gunwale of the other boat, drawing the two crafts together. His intention was to use the boathook to bring the Japanese to terms. But the Oriental was too quick. His apparent indifference vanished, and with a cat-like pounce, he seized the boathook and snatched it from Orme’s grasp.
The action was so unexpected that Orme was completely taken by surprise. He made ready, however, to leap in unarmed, but the Japanese thrust the blunt end of the boathook at him, and the blow, which struck him in the chest, sent him toppling backward. He was saved from tumbling into the cockpit by Porter, who caught him by the shoulders and helped him to right himself. The two boats tossed for a moment like corks in the water.
When Orme again leaped to the gunwale, the Japanese was using the boathook to push the craft apart. A final shove widened the distance to six or eight feet. The jump was impossible. Even if the boats had been nearer together it would have been folly to attempt an attack.
Stepping down into the cockpit, Orme bent over the girl, who had sunk down upon a cushion. She seemed to be content that he should play the game for her.
“What is wrong with his motor?” he said. “Do you know?”
She answered in an undertone: “I shut off the gasoline-supply. He wasn’t looking. He didn’t see.”
“Good for you, Girl!” he exclaimed. “Where did you do it? At the tank?”
“No. Unfortunately the valve is at the carburetter. Oh,” she continued, “wemustget the papers!”
Orme turned to Porter. “Are you willing to take a risk?” he asked.
“Anything in reason.” The life-saver grinned. “Of course, I don’t understand what’s going on, but I’ll back you.”
“This is a good, stout tub we are in.” Orme hesitated. “I want you to ram her nose into that other boat.”
Porter shook his head.
“That’s going pretty far,” he said. “I don’t know that there is warrant for it.”
“It won’t need to be a hard bump,” Orme explained. “I don’t want to hurt the fellow.”
“Then why——?”
“To frighten him into giving up some papers.”
Porter looked straight into Orme’s eyes. “Do the papers belong to you?” he demanded.
“No.” Orme spoke quietly. “They belong to this young lady—or, rather, to her father. This Japanese, and the other one, there on the shore, stole them.”
“What is the lady’s name?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“But the police——”
“It isn’t a matter for the police. Please trust me, Mr. Porter.”
The life-saver stood irresolute.
“If this boat is damaged, I’ll make it good five times over,” continued Orme.
“Oh, it wouldn’t hurt the boat. A fewscratches, perhaps. It’s the other boat I’m thinking of.”
“It’s pretty grim business, I know,” remarked Orme.
The younger man again studied Orme’s face. “Can you give me your word that the circumstances would justify us in ramming that boat?”
It flashed over Orme that he had no idea what those circumstances were. He knew only what little the girl had told him. Yet she had assured him again and again that the papers were of the greatest importance. True, throughout the affair, thus far, with the exception of the blow he had given Maku, the persons concerned had offered no dangerous violence. The mysterious papers might contain information about South American mines—as little Poritol had suggested; they might hold the secrets of an international syndicate. Whatever they were, it was really doubtful whether the necessity of their recovery would justify the possible slaying of another man.
Perhaps the girl had unconsciously exaggerated their value. Women who took a hand in business often lost the sense of relative importance. And yet, she had been so sure; she had herself gone tosuch lengths. Then, too, the South Americans had hired a burglar to break into her father’s house, and now this Japanese had abducted her. Yes, it was a serious game.
Orme answered Porter. “I give you my word,” he said.
Porter nodded and tightened his lips.
“At the very least, that fellow has tried to abduct this young lady,” added Orme.
“All right,” said Porter. “Let her go.”
The other boat had drifted about fifty feet away. Orme called out.
“Hello, there, Japanese. Will you give up the papers.”
No answer came.
“If you won’t,” cried Orme, “we are going to ram you.”
“Oh, no!” exclaimed the girl suddenly. “We mustn’t drown him.”
“We shan’t,” said Orme. “But we will give him a scare.” Then, in a louder voice: “Do you hear?”
The only reply was the tapping of metal on metal. The Japanese, it seemed, was still trying to find out what was wrong with his motor.
“Well, then,” Orme said to Porter, “we’ll have to try it. But use low speed, and be ready to veer off at the last minute.”
“He’ll try to fend with the boathook,” said Porter.
“If he does, I’ll get him.”
“How?”
“Lasso.” Orme picked up a spare painter that was stored under the seat, and began to tie a slip-noose.
The girl now spoke. “I suppose we shall have to do it,” she said. “But I wish there were a less dangerous, a less tragic way.”
Hardly knowing what he did, Orme laid his hand gently on her shoulder. “It will be all right, dear,” he whispered.
If the word embarrassed her, the darkness covered her confusion.
Porter had started the motor, setting it at a low speed, and now he was steering the boat in a circle to gain distance for the charge.
“I’ve lost the other boat,” exclaimed Orme, peering into the darkness.
“She’s off there,” said Porter. “You can’t see her, but I know the direction.”
He swung the launch around and headed straight through the night.
“Hold on tight,” Orme cautioned the girl, and, coiling his lasso, he went to the bow.
The launch moved steadily forward. Orme, straining his eyes in the endeavor to distinguish the other boat, saw it at last. It lay a few points to starboard, and Porter altered the course of the launch accordingly.
“Make for the stern,” called Orme, “and cripple her propeller, if you can.”
Another slight change in the course showed that Porter understood.
As the lessening of the distance between the two boats made it possible to distinguish the disabled speeder more clearly, Orme saw that the Japanese was still tinkering with the motor. He was busying himself as though he realized that he had no hope of escape unless he could start his boat.
Narrower, narrower, grew the intervening gap of dark water. Orme braced himself for the shock. In his left hand was the coiled painter; in his right, the end of the ready noose, which trailed behind him on the decking. It was long since he had thrown a lariat. In a vivid gleam of memoryhe saw at that moment the hot, dusty New Mexican corral, the low adobe buildings, the lumbering cattle and the galloping horses of the ranch. There he had spent one summer vacation of his college life. It was ten years past, but this pose, the rope in his hand, flashed it back to him.
Now they were almost on the Japanese. For the moment he seemed to waver. He glanced at the approaching launch, and reached uncertainly for the boathook. Even his subtle resources were almost at an end. Yet it did not seem to occur to him to yield.
And then, as for the hundredth time he laid his hands on the motor, he uttered a cry. It was plain to Orme that the cause of the supposed breakdown had been discovered. But was there time for the Japanese to get away? It was doubtful. He opened the feed-pipe, and let the gasoline again flow in. The launch was now so near that Orme could almost have leaped the gap, but the Japanese bent his energy to the heavy fly-wheel, tugging at it hurriedly.
The motor started. The boat began to move.
Even now it looked as though the collision could not be prevented, but the Japanese, seizing thesteering-wheel, turned the boat so quickly to starboard that the stern fell away from the bow of the approaching launch. There was no crash, no hard bump; merely a glancing blow so slight that in that calm water it scarcely made the boats careen.
Then Orme threw his noose. The distance was less than ten feet, and the loop spread, quick and true, over the head of the Japanese. But, swift though the action was, the Japanese had an instant to prepare himself. His right arm shot up. As Orme, jerking at the rope, tried to tighten the noose, the hand of the Japanese pushed it over his head and it slid over the side into the water. In a few seconds the swift boat had disappeared in the night.
Tightening his lips grimly, Orme drew the wet rope in and mechanically coiled it. There was nothing to say. He had failed. So good an opportunity to recover the papers would hardly return.
Silently he turned back to the others. Porter had swung the launch around and was heading toward the distant lights of Evanston. The girl was peering in the direction whence came the soundof the receding boat. Thus, for some time they remained silent.
At last the girl broke into a laugh. It was a rippling, silvery laugh, expressing an infectious appreciation of the humor of their situation. Orme chuckled in spite of himself. If she could laugh like that, he need not stay in the dumps. And yet in his mind rankled the sense of failure. He had made a poor showing before her—and she was laughing. Again the corners of his mouth drew down.
“I suppose the notionisamusing,” he said—“a cowboy at sea.”
“Oh, I was not laughing at you.” She had sobered quickly at his words.
“I shouldn’t blame you, if you did.”
“It is the whole situation,” she went on. “And it wouldn’t be so funny, if it weren’t so serious.”
“I appreciate it,” he said.
“And you know how serious it is,” she went on. “But truly, Mr. Orme, I am glad that we did not damage that boat. It might have been terrible. If he had been drowned——” her voice trailed off in a faint shudder, and Orme remembered how tired she must be, and how deeply disappointed.
“Now, Girl,” he said, bending over her and speaking in a low voice, “try to forget it. To-morrow I am going after the papers. I will get them.”
She looked up at him. Her eyes were softly confident. “I believe you,” she whispered. “You never give up, do you?”
“No,” he said, “I never give up—when I am striving for something which I greatly want.” There was meaning in his voice, though he had struggled to conceal it. She lowered her eyes, and said no more.
Slowly the lights of shore grew brighter. After a time Orme could distinguish the masses of trees and buildings, grayly illuminated by the arc-lamps of the streets. He spoke to Porter in an undertone.
“Can you land us some distance south of the life-saving station?” he asked.
“Sure. I’ll run in by the Davis Street pier.”
“I’ll be obliged to you,” Orme sighed. “I made a bad mess of it, didn’t I?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied the life-saver. “We got the lady.”
Orme started. “Yes,” he said, “we got thelady—and that’s more important than all the rest of it.”
Porter grinned a noncommittal grin and devoted himself to the wheel.
They had saved the girl! In his disappointment over the escape of the Japanese Orme had forgotten, but now he silently thanked God that Porter and he had come out on the water. The girl had not yet explained her presence in the boat. In her own good time she would tell him. But she had been there under compulsion; and Orme shuddered to think what might have happened.
He stole a glance at her. She was leaning back on the seat. Her eyes were closed and her pose indicated complete relaxation, though it was evident from her breathing that she was not asleep. Orme marveled at her ability to push the nervous excitement of the evening away and snatch the brief chance of rest.
When at last the launch ran up under the end of a little breakwater near the Davis Street pier, she arose quickly and sprang out of the boat without help. Then she turned, as Orme stepped up beside her, and spoke to Porter. “If you andMr. Orme had not come after me,” she said, “there’s no telling whether I should ever have got back. I should like to shake hands with you,” she added; and bending down, she held out her firm white hand.
Then Orme laid his hand on the life-saver’s shoulder. “You’ve done a piece of good work to-night,” he said.
Porter laughed embarrassedly. “I only ran the boat for you,” he began.
“You took me at my word,” said Orme, “and that’s a good deal in such a case. Good-by. I will look you up before I go back East.”
At the side of the girl, Orme now walked slowly through the deserted streets. It was some time before she spoke.
“After you left me at the home of my friends—” she began at last.
“Don’t try to tell about it,” he interrupted quickly. “You are tired. Wait for another time.”
They were passing under a street-lamp at the moment, and she glanced up at him with a grateful smile, pleased apparently by his thought of her.
“That is good of you,” she exclaimed, “but mystory is easily told. Let me go on with it. I explained myself to my friends as best I could and went to my room. Then it suddenly occurred to me that Maku and his friend might have come to Evanston by boat.”
“Just as, later, it occurred to me.”
“I thought that the other man might be waiting for Maku. The motor-car that we heard—there was no good reason for thinking that our man was in it.”
She paused.
“I know,” he said. “I thought of those things, too.”
“It flashed on me,” she went on, “that if I could find the man, I might be able to buy him off. I didn’t believe that he would dare to injure me. There are reasons why he should not. My car had been taken in, but I had them bring it out, and I told them—well, that part doesn’t matter. Enough that I made an excuse, and went out with the car.”
“You should have taken someone with you.”
“There was the likelihood that the Japanese would run, if I had a companion. As long as I was alone, he might be willing to parley, Ithought. At least, he would not be afraid of me alone. So I went north on Sheridan Road to the upper end of the lower campus. There is a crossroad there, you remember, cutting through to the lake, and I turned in. I left the car near a house that is there, and walked on to the edge of the bluff.
“Moored to a breakwater below was a boat, and a man was standing near her. I called out to him, asking what time it was. He answered, ‘Don’ know,’ and I knew him at once to be foreign and, probably, Japanese. So I went down toward him.
“When he saw that I was coming, he got into the boat. He seemed to be frightened and hurried, and I inferred that he was about to cast off, and I called out that I was alone. At that he waited, but he did not get out of the boat, and I was standing at the edge of the breakwater, just above him, before he actually seemed to recognize me.”
“Did you know him?” asked Orme.
“I never saw him before to my knowledge; but he made an exclamation which indicated that he knew me.”
“What did he do then?”
“I told him that I wished to talk to him about the papers. His answer was that, if I would step down into the boat, he would talk. He said that he would not leave the boat, and added that he was unwilling to discuss the matter aloud. And I was foolish enough to believe his excuses. If he wished to whisper, I said to myself, why, I would whisper. I never felt so like a conspirator.”
She paused to look up at the street-sign at the corner which they had reached, and turned to the right on a shady avenue.
“Well, I got into the boat,” she continued. “I told him that I—my father was prepared to pay him a large sum of money for the papers, but he only shook his head and said, ‘No, no.’ I named a sum; then a larger one; but money did not seem to tempt him, though I made the second offer as large as I dared.
“‘How muchwillyou take then?’ I asked at last. Instead of answering, he bent down and started the motor, and then I noticed for the first time that while I was talking we had been drifting away from the dock. I made ready to jump overboard. We were near the shore, and the waterwas not deep; anyway, I am a fair swimmer. But he turned and seized my wrists and forced me down into the bottom of the boat. I struggled, but it was no use, and when I opened my mouth to scream, he choked me with one hand and with the other pulled from his pocket a handkerchief and tried to put it in my mouth.”
She gave a weary little laugh.
“It was such a crumpled, unclean handkerchief, I couldn’t have stood it. So I managed to gasp that, if he would only let me alone, I would keep quiet.”
“The brute!” muttered Orme.
“Oh, I don’t think he intended to hurt me. What he feared, as nearly as I can make out, is that I might have him intercepted if he let me go free. That must have been why he tried to take me with him. Probably he planned to beach the boat at some unfrequented point on the North Side and leave me to shift for myself.
“When your boat came, of course I didn’t know who was in it. I never dreamed it would be you. And I had promised to keep still.”
“Hardly a binding promise.”
“Well, before he stopped threatening me withthat awful handkerchief, he had made me swear over and over that I would not call for help, that I would not make any signal, that I would sit quietly on the seat. When you recognized me, I felt that all need of observing the promise was over.”
“Naturally,” muttered Orme.
She sighed. “It does seem as though Fate had been against us,” she said.
“Fate is fickle,” Orme returned. “You never know whether she will be your friend or your enemy. But I believe that she is now going to be our friend—for a change. To-morrow I shall get those papers.”
CHAPTER VIIITHE TRAIL OF MAKU
When for the second time that night he bade the girl adieu and saw her enter the house of her friends, Orme went briskly to the electric-car line.
He had not long to wait. A car came racing down the tracks and stopped at his corner. Swinging aboard at the rear platform, he glanced within. There were four passengers—a man and woman who, apparently, were returning from an evening party of some sort, since he was in evening dress and she wore an opera-cloak; a spectacled man, with a black portfolio in his lap; a seedy fellow asleep in one corner, his head sagging down on his breast, his hands in his trousers pockets; and—was it possible? Orme began to think that Fate had indeed changed her face toward him, for the man who sat huddled midway of the car, staring straight before him with beady, expressionless eyes, was Maku.
Under the brim of his dingy straw hat a white bandage was drawn tight around his head—sotight that from its under edge the coarse black hair bristled out in a distinct fringe. The blow of the wrench, then, must have cut through the skin.
Well—that would mean one more scar on the face of the Japanese.
The other scar, how had Maku come by that? Perhaps in some battle with the Russians in Manchuria. He seemed to be little more than a boy, but then, one never could guess the age of a Japanese, and for that matter, Orme had more than once been told that the Japanese had begun to impress very young soldiers long before the battle of Mukden.
While making these observations, Orme had drawn his hat lower over his eyes. He hoped to escape recognition, for this opportunity to track Maku to his destination was not to be missed. He also placed himself in such a position on the platform that his own face was partly concealed by the cross-bars which protected the windows at the end of the car.
In his favor was the fact that Maku would not expect to see him. Doubtless the Japanese was more concerned with his aching head than withany suspicion of pursuit, though his somewhat indeterminate profile, as visible to Orme, gave no indication of any feeling at all. So Orme stood where he could watch without seeming to watch, and puzzled over the problem of following Maku from the car without attracting attention.
The refusal of the other Japanese to accept the girl’s offer of money for the papers had given Orme a new idea of the importance of the quest. Maku and his friend must be Japanese government agents—just as Poritol and Alcatrante were unquestionably acting for their government. This, at least, was the most probable explanation that entered Orme’s mind. The syndicate, then,—or concession, or whatever it was—must be of genuine international significance.
Though Orme continued to smother his curious questionings as to the meaning of the secret, he could not ignore his general surmises. To put his confidence in the girl—to act for her and for her alone—that was enough for him; but it added to his happiness to think that she might be leading him into an affair which was greater than any mere tangle of private interests. He knew too, that, upon the mesh of private interests, publicinterests are usually woven. The activity of a Russian syndicate in Korea had been the more or less direct cause of the Russo-Japanese War; the activity of rival American syndicates in Venezuela had been, but a few years before, productive of serious international complications. In the present instance, both South Americans and Japanese were interested. But Orme knew in his soul that there could be nothing unworthy in any action in which the girl took part. She would not only do nothing unworthy; she would understand the situation clearly enough to know whether the course which offered itself to her was worthy or not.
In events such as she had that night faced with him, any other girl Orme had ever met would have shown moments of weakness, impatience, or fear. But to her belonged a calm which came from a clear perception of the comparative unimportance of petty incident. She was strong, not as a man is strong, but in the way a woman should be strong.
The blood went to his cheeks as he remembered how tenderly he had spoken to her in the boat, and how plain he had made his desire for her. What should he call his feeling? Did lovecome to men as suddenly as this? She had not rebuked him—there was that much to be thankful for; and she must have known that his words were as involuntary as his action in touching her shoulder with his hand.
But how could she have rebuked him? She was, in a way, indebted to him. The thought troubled him. Had he unintentionally taken advantage of her gratitude by showing affection when she wished no more than comradeship? And had she gently said nothing, because he had done something for her? If her patience with him were thus to be explained, it must have been based upon her recognition of his unconsciousness.
Still, the more he pondered, the more clearly he saw that she was not a girl who, under the spell of friendly good will, would permit a false situation to exist. Her sincerity was too deep for such a glossing of fact. He dared assume, then, that her sympathy with him went even so far as to accept his attitude when it was a shade more than friendly.
More than friendly! Like a white light, the truth flashed upon him as he stood there on the rocking platform of the car. He and she wouldhave to be more than friendly! He had never seen her until that day. He did not even know her name. But all his life belonged to her, and would belong to her forever. The miracle which had been worked upon him, might it not also have been worked upon her? He felt unworthy, and yet she might care—might already have begun to care—But he put the daring hope out of his mind, and looked again at Maku.
The Japanese had not moved. His face still wore its racial look of patient indifference; his hands were still crossed in his lap. He sat on the edge of the seat, in order that his feet might rest on the floor, for his legs were short; and with every lurch of the car, he swayed easily, adapting himself to the motion with an unconscious ease that betrayed supple muscles.
The car stopped at a corner and the man and woman got out, but Maku did not even seem to glance at them. Orme stepped back to make way for them on the platform, and as they descended and the conductor rang the bell, he looked out at the suburban landscape, with its well-lighted, macadamized streets, its vacant lots, and its occasional houses, which seemed to be of the betterclass, as nearly as he could judge in the uncertain rays of the arc-lamps. He turned to the conductor, who met his glance with the look of one who thirsts to talk.
“People used to go to parties in carriages and automobiles,” said the conductor, “but now they take the car when they’ve any distance to go. It’s quicker and handier.”
“I should think thatwouldbe so, here in the suburbs,” said Orme.
“Oh, this ain’t the suburbs. We crossed the city limits twenty minutes ago.”
“You don’t carry many passengers this time of night.”
“That depends. Sometimes we have a crowd. To-night there’s hardly anyone. Nobody else is likely to get on now.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, it’s only a short way now to the connection with the elevated road. People who want to go the rest of the way by the elevated, would walk. And after we pass the elevated there’s other car-lines they’re more likely to take, where the cars run frequenter.”
“Do you go to the heart of the city?”
“No, we stop at the barns. Say, have you noticed that Jap in there?”
The conductor nodded toward Maku.
“What about him?”
“He was put aboard by a cop. Looks as though somebody had slugged him.”
“That’s so,” commented Orme. “His head is bandaged.”
“Judging from the bandage, it must have been a nasty crack,” continued the conductor. “But you wouldn’t know he’d been hurt from his face. Say, you can’t tell anything about those Johns from their looks, can you, now?”
“You certainly can’t,” replied Orme.
The conductor glanced out. “There’s the elevated,” he said. “I’ll have to go in and wake that drunk. He gets off here.”
Orme watched the conductor go to the man who was sleeping in the corner and shake him. The man nodded his head vaguely, and settled back into slumber. Through the open door came the conductor’s voice: “Wake up!”—Shake—“You get off here!”—Shake—“Wake up, there!” But the man would not awaken.
Maku was sitting but a few feet from the sleepingman. He had not appeared to notice what was going on, but now, just as the conductor seemed about to appeal to the motorman for help, the little Japanese slid along the seat and said to the conductor: “I wake him.”
The conductor stared, and scratched his head. “If you can,” he remarked, “it’s more’n I can do.”
Maku did not answer, but putting his hand behind the sleeping man’s back, found some sensitive vertebra. With a yell, the man awoke and leaped to his feet. The conductor seized him by the arm and led him to the platform.
The car was already slowing down, but without waiting for it to stop, the fellow launched himself into the night, being preserved from falling by the god of alcohol, and stumbled away toward the sidewalk.
“Did you see the Jap?” exclaimed the conductor. “Stuck a pin into him, that’s what he did.”
“Oh, I guess not,” laughed Orme. “He touched his spine, that was all.”
The car stopped. The spectacled passenger with the portfolio arose and got off by way of thefront platform. Would Maku also take the elevated? If he did, unless he also got off the front platform, Orme would have to act quickly to keep out of sight.
But Maku made no move. He had returned to his former position, and only the trace of an elusive smile on his lips showed that he had not forgotten the incident in which he had just taken part. Meantime Orme had maintained his partial concealment, and though Maku had turned his head when he went to the conductor’s help, he had not appeared to glance toward the back platform.
The conductor rang the bell, and the car started forward again with its two passengers—Maku within, Orme without—the pursuer and the pursued.
“I thought the motorman and I was going to have to chuck that chap off,” commented the conductor. “If the Jap hadn’t stuck a pin into him——”
“I don’t think it was a pin. The Japanese know where to touch you so that it will hurt.”
“An’ I didn’t even like to rub the fellow’s ears for fear of hurtin’ him. I heard of a man that was made deaf that way. Smashed his ear-drums.”
“I wonder where the Jap will get off?” said Orme.
“Oh, he’ll go right through to the barns and take a Clark Street car. There’s a lot of them Japs lives over that way. He’ll be one of ’em, I guess.”
“Unless he’s somebody’s cook or valet.”
“I don’t believe he is. But, of course, you never know.”
“That’s true,” said Orme. “One never knows.”
As the car plunged onward, Maku suddenly put his hand in his pocket. He drew it out empty. On his face was an expression which may mean “surprise,” among the Japanese. He then fumbled in his other pockets, but apparently he did not find what he was looking for. Orme wondered what it might be.
The search continued. A piece of twine, a pocket-knife, a handkerchief, were produced in turn and inspected. At last he brought out a greenback, glancing at it twice before returning it to his pocket. Orme knew that it must be the marked bill. But Maku was looking for something else. His cheek glistened with perspiration; evidently he had lost something of value. After a time, however,he stopped hunting his pockets, and seemed to resign himself to his loss—a fact from which Orme gathered that the object of his search was nothing so valuable that it could not be replaced.
When he had been quiet for a time, he again produced the greenback, and examined it attentively. From the way he held it, Orme judged that he was looking at the well-remembered legend: “Remember Person You Pay This To.” Presently he turned it over and held it closer to his eyes. He was, of course, looking at the abbreviated directions.
“You’d think that Jap had never seen money before,” remarked the conductor.
“Perhaps he hasn’t—that kind,” replied Orme.
“Maybe he guesses it’s a counterfeit.”
“Maybe.”
“Looks as though he was trying to read the fine print on it.”
“Something you and I never have done, I imagine,” said Orme.
“That’s a fact,” the conductor chuckled. “I never noticed anything about a bill except the color of it and the size of the figure.”
“Which is quite enough for most men.”
“Sure! But I bet I pass on a lot of counterfeits without knowin’ it.”
“Very likely. The Jap has evidently finished his English lesson. See how carefully he folds the bill before he puts it away.”
“We’re comin’ to the barns,” said the conductor. “Far as we go.”
As he spoke, the car slowed down and stopped, and Maku arose from his seat. Orme was at the top of the steps, ready to swing quickly to the ground, if Maku left the car by the rear door. But the Japanese turned to the forward entrance. Orme waited until Maku had got to the ground, then he, too, descended.
Maku did not turn at once toward the Clark Street car that was waiting to start down-town. He stood hesitant in the street. After a moment, his attention seemed to be attracted by the lights of an all-night restaurant, not far away, and he crossed the street and walked rapidly to the gleaming sign.
Orme followed slowly, keeping on the other side of the street. If Maku was hungry, why, Maku would eat, while he himself would wait outside like a starving child before a baker’s window. ButMaku, it seemed, was not hungry. Through the window Orme saw him walk to the cashier’s desk and apparently ask a question. In answer, the woman behind the desk-pointed to a huge book which lay on the counter near by. Orme recognized it as the city directory.
For some time Maku studied the pages. Then he seemed to appeal to the cashier for help, for she pulled the book to her, looked at him as though she were asking a question, and then, rapidly running through the leaves, placed her finger at a certain part of a certain page and turned the book around so that the Japanese could see. He nodded and, after bowing in a curious fashion, came back to the street.
Orme had, meantime, walked on for a little way. He would have gone to the restaurant in an endeavor to find out what address Maku had wished, but for two reasons: The cashier might refuse to tell him, or she might have forgotten the name. In either event his opportunity to follow Maku would thus be lost—and to follow Maku was still his best course. Accordingly he watched the Japanese go back to a Clark Street car and climb aboard.
It was an open car, with transverse seats, and Maku had chosen a position about two-thirds of the way back. There was, as yet, only one other passenger. How to get aboard without being seen by Maku was a hard problem for Orme, but he solved it by taking a chance. Walking rapidly toward the next corner, away from the car, he got out of the direct rays of the street-lamp, and waited.
Presently the car started. It almost reached Orme’s corner when he signaled it and, hurrying into the street, swung on to the back platform.
There had been barely time for the car to slow down a little. Maku could not well have seen him without turning his head, and Orme had watched the little Japanese closely enough to know that he had continued to stare straight before him.
Safe on the back platform, a desire to smoke came to Orme. He found a cigar in his case and lighted it. While he was shielding the match, he looked over his hollowed hand and saw Maku produce a cigarette and light it. The Japanese had apparently wished the consolation of tobacco just as Orme had.
“An odd coincidence,” muttered Orme. “Ihope it wasn’t mind-reading.” And he smiled as he drew a mouthful of smoke.
Lincoln Park slid by them on the left. The car was getting well down into the city. Suddenly Maku worked along to the end of his seat and got down on the running-board. The conductor pulled the bell. The car stopped and the Oriental jumped off.
The action had been so quick that Orme, taken off his guard, had not had time to get off first. He, therefore, remained on the car, which began to move forward again. Looking after Maku, he saw that the Japanese, glancing neither to right nor to left, was making off down the side street, going west; so he in turn stepped to the street, just as Maku disappeared beyond the corner. He hurried quickly to the side street and saw Maku, half a block ahead, walking with short, rapid steps. How had Maku got so far? He must have run while Orme was retracing the way to the corner. And yet Maku seemed to have had no suspicion that he was being followed.
The chase led quickly to a district of poor houses and shops—an ill-looking, ill-smelling district, where every shadow seemed ominous. Wheneverthey approached a corner, Orme hurried forward, running on his toes, to shorten the distance in the event that Maku turned, but the course continued straight until Orme began to wonder whether they were not getting near to the river, one branch of which, he knew, ran north through the city.
At last Maku turned into an alley, which cut through the middle of a block. This was something which Orme had not expected. He ran forward and peered down the dark, unpleasant passage. There was his man, barely visible, picking a careful way through the ash-heaps and avoiding the pestilential garbage-cans.
Orme followed, and when Maku turned west again at the next street, swung rapidly after him and around the corner, with the full expectation of seeing him hurrying along, half a block away. But no one was in sight. Had he slipped into one of the near-by buildings?
While Orme was puzzling, a voice at his elbow said, “Hello!”
He turned with a start. Flattened in a shadowed niche of the wall beside him was Maku!
“Hello!” the Japanese said again.
“Well?” exclaimed Orme sharply, trying to make the best of the situation.
“You mus’ not follow me.” The Japanese spoke impassively.
“Follow you?”
“I saw you in a mirror at the other end of car.”
So that was it! Orme remembered no mirror, but the Japanese might apply the word to the reflecting surface of one of the forward windows.
“You lit a match,” continued Maku. “I saw. Then I come here, to find if you follow.”
Orme considered. Now that he was discovered, it would be futile to continue the chase, since Maku, naturally, would not go to his destination with Orme at his heels. But he said:
“You can’t order me off the streets, Maku.”
“I know. If you follow, then we walk an’ walk an’ walk—mebbe till nex’ week.” Orme swore under his breath. It was quite clear that the little Japanese would never rejoin the man who had the papers until he was sure that he had shaken off his pursuer. So Orme simply said:
“Good-night.”
Disappointed, baffled, he turned eastward and walked with long strides back toward the car-line.He did not look to see whether Maku was behind him. That did not matter now. He had missed his second opportunity since the other Japanese escaped him in the university campus.
Crossing North Clark Street a block north of the point at which he and Maku had left the car, he continued lakeward, coming out on the drive only a short distance from the Père Marquette, and a few minutes later, after giving the elevator-boy orders to call him at eight in the morning, he was in his apartment, with the prospect of four hours of sleep.
But there was a final question: Should he return to the all-night restaurant near the car-barns and try to learn from the cashier the address which Maku had sought? Surely she would have forgotten the name by this time. Perhaps it was a Japanese name, and, therefore, the harder to remember. True, she might remember it; if it were a peculiar combination of letters, the very peculiarity might have fixed it in her mind. And if he hesitated to go back there now, the slim chance that the name remained with her would grow slimmer with every added moment of delay. He felt that he ought to go. He was dog-tired, but—heremembered the girl’s anxiety. Yes, he would go; with the bare possibility that the cashier would remember and would be willing to tell him what she remembered, he would go.
He took up his hat and stepped toward the door. At that moment he heard a sound from his bedroom. It was an unmistakable snore. He tip-toed to the bedroom door and peered within. Seated in an arm-chair was a man. He was distinctly visible in the light which came in from the sitting-room, and it was quite plain that he was sound asleep and breathing heavily. And now for the second time his palate vibrated with the raucous voice of sleep.
Orme switched on the bedroom lights. The man opened his eyes and started from the chair.
“Who are you?” demanded Orme.
“Why—the detective, of course.”
“Detective?”
“Sure—regular force.”
“Regular force?”
The stranger pulled back his coat and displayed his nickeled star.
“But what are you doing here?” gasped Orme, amazed.
“Why, a foreign fellow came to the chief and said you wanted a man to keep an eye on your quarters to-night—and the chief sent me. I was dozing a bit—but I’m a light sleeper. I wake at the least noise.”
Orme smiled reminiscently, thinking of the snore. “Tell me,” he said, “was it Senhor Alcatrante who had you sent?”
“I believe thatwashis name.” He was slowly regaining his sleep-benumbed wits. “That reminds me,” he continued. “He gave me a note for you.”
An envelope was produced from an inside pocket. Orme took it and tore it open. The sheet within bore the caption, “Office of The Chief of Police,” and the few lines, written beneath in fine script, were as follows: