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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.
The name did not matter. She was his, and that was enough. Near the book lay an empty envelope, addressed to he averted his eyes. He found himself wondering whether Poritol was still kneeling in the field, and whether Maku was still running, and whether the Japanese minister was still telling charming stories on the porch at Arradale.
Nevertheless, Orme did not feel warranted in giving up the marked bill without a definite explanation. The little man was a comic figure, but his bizarre exterior might conceal a dangerous plot. He might be a thief, an anarchist, anything. "Please, my dear sir, please do not add to my already very great anxiety," pleaded the visitor. Orme spoke more decisively. "You are a stranger, Senhor Poritol.
Senhor Poritol sighed. "I can assure you of my honesty of purpose, sir," he said. "I cannot tell you about it. I have not the time. Also, it is not my secret. This bill, sir, is just as good as the other one." "Very likely," said Orme dryly. He was wondering whether this was some new counterfeiting dodge. How easily most persons could be induced to make the transfer!
However, under the compulsion of Orme's eye, he finally took out his fountain-pen and wrote the name in flowing script. He then pushed the paper back toward Orme, with an inquiring look. "No, that isn't what I mean," exclaimed Orme. "Print it. Print it in capital letters." Senhor Poritol slowly printed out the name. Orme took the paper, laying it before him.
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.
Senhor Poritol remained downstairs for several minutes. Evidently he was explaining the situation to his friend. But after a time Orme heard the clang of the elevator door, and in response to the knock that quickly followed, he opened his own door. At the side of his former visitor stood a dapper foreigner.
Poritol stand back at the other side of the corridor so that he couldn't hear us talk. "I asked the man what he had done with the papers. He insisted that he had seen none. Then I promised to have him freed, if he would only return them. He looked meditatively over my shoulders and after a moment declined the offer, again insisting that he didn't understand what I was talking about.
Surely Alcatrante had not come merely as the friend of Poritol, for the difference in the station of the two South Americans was marked. Poritol was a cheap character useful, no doubt, in certain kinds of work, but vulgar and unconvincing. He might well be one of those promoters who hang on at the edge of great projects, hoping to pick up a commission here and there.
"So the bill carries directions for finding a rich deposit in the Urinaba Mountains?" "Yes, my dear sir. But you would not rob me of it. You could not understand the directions." "Oh, no." Orme laughed. "I have no interest in South American gold mines." "Then accept this fresh bill," implored Senhor Poritol, "and give me back the one I yearn for." Orme hesitated. "A moment more," he said.
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