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"Bring him," he said shortly. When Senhor Poritol had disappeared Orme telephoned to the clerk. "Send me up a porter," he ordered, "and have him stand just outside my door, with orders to enter if he hears any disturbance." He waited at the door till the porter appeared, then told him to remain in a certain place until he was needed, or until the visitors left.
"Please let the matter rest till morning," said Orme stubbornly. "I have told you just what I would do." Poritol opened his mouth, to speak, but Alcatrante silenced him with a frown. "Your word is sufficient, Mr. Orme," he said. "We will call to-morrow morning. Is ten o'clock too early?" "Not at all," said Orme. "Doubtless I shall be able to satisfy you. I merely wish to think it over."
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.
With a formal bow, Alcatrante turned to the door and departed, Poritol following. Orme strolled back to his window and stood idly watching the lights of the vessels on the lake. But his mind was not on the unfolded view before him. He was puzzling over this mystery in which he had so suddenly become a factor. Unquestionably, the five-dollar bill held the key to some serious problem.
Orme had already suspected their identity, for both had high hats and carried canes, and one of them was in a sack suit, while the other wore a frock coat. And now the profiles verified the surmise. There was no mistaking the long, tip-tilted nose of the shorter man and the glinting spectacles of the other. The two were Poritol and Alcatrante. But who was the man trailing them? A friendly guard?
His mouth was a wide, uncertain slit. In his hand he carried a light cane and a silk hat of the flat-brimmed French type. And he wore a gray sack suit, pressed and creased with painful exactness. "Come in, Senhor Poritol," said Orme, motioning toward a chair. The little man entered, with short, rapid steps.
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. His face was expressionless.
So " he paused and looked eloquently at Orme. "Do you know a man named Evans?" Orme asked. Senhor Poritol looked at him in bewilderment. "S. R. Evans," insisted Orme. "Why, no, dear sir I think not But what has that to do ?" Orme pushed a sheet of paper across the table. "Oblige me, Senhor Poritol. Print in small capitals the name, 'S. R. Evans." Senhor Poritol was apparently reluctant.
Or a menacing enemy? Orme decided to shadow the shadow. At a corner not far from the entrance to Lincoln Park, Poritol and Alcatrante became so apparently excited that they stood, chattering volubly for several minutes. The shadow stopped altogether. He folded his arms and looked out over the lake like any casual wanderer, but now and then he turned his head toward the others.
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.
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