"It would be safer than the railroad or the electric line." Then he asked with great seriousness "Girl, dear, I don't know much about the meaning and value of these papers in my pocket, and I don't care to know any more than you choose to tell me. But let me know just this much: Are they as important to you as they are to our enemies? Have you really been justified in the risks you have run?"

"You have seen how far Alcatrante and the j.a.panese have been willing to go," she replied, gravely. "I am sure that they would not hesitate to kill us, if it seemed necessary to them in their effort to get possession of the papers. Now, my dear, they are even much more important to my father."

"In his business interests?"

"Much more than that."

They were walking along the glimmering canon of La Salle Street, which was now almost deserted in the dusk. A motor-car swept slowly around the corner ahead and came toward them. It had but one occupant, a chauffeur, apparently. He wore a dust-coat, a cap, and goggles which seemed to be too large for him.

Regardless of Alcatrante, who was following them, Orme hailed the chauffeur. "Will you take a fare?" he called.

The man stopped his car and after a moment of what Orme interpreted as indecision, nodded slowly.

"How much by the hour?" asked Orme.

The chauffeur held up the ten fingers of his two hands.

Orme looked at the girl. He hadn't that much money with him.

"If I only had time to cash a check," he said.

"All right," she whispered. "I have plenty."

They got into the tonneau, and the girl, leaning forward, said: "Take the Lake Sh.o.r.e Drive and Sheridan Road to Evanston."

Again the chauffeur nodded, without turning toward them.

"He doesn't waste many words," whispered the girl to Orme.

While the car was turning Orme noted that Alcatrante had stopped short and was watching them. It was some reason for surprise that he was not hunting for a motor in which to follow.

Perhaps his plans were so completely balked that he was giving up altogether. No, that would not be like Alcatrante. Orme now realized that in all likelihood the minister had foreseen some such circ.u.mstance and had made plans accordingly.

He was more and more inclined to believe that Alcatrante had but half expected to keep him long imprisoned in Wallingham's office. Then what had been the purpose underlying the trick? Probably the intention was to make Orme prisoner for as long a period as possible and, in any event, to gain time enough to communicate with Poritol and the j.a.panese and whatever other persons might be helping in the struggle to regain the papers. The probabilities were that Alcatrante had been using the last two hours to get in touch with his friends.

And now those friends would be informed promptly that Orme and the girl were setting out by motor. This a.n.a.lysis apparently accounted for Alcatrante's nonchalance. Orme and the girl seemed to be escaping, but in truth, if they approached their destination at all, they must run into the ambuscade of other enemies. Then the nearer the goal, the greater the danger.

As the motor slid smoothly northward on La Salle Street, Orme looked back. Alcatrante had made no move. The last glimpse that Orme had of him showed that slight but sinister figure alone on the sidewalk of the deserted business street.

They crossed the Clark Street bridge. "Keep on out North Clark Street until you can cross over to Lincoln Park," said Orme to the chauffeur.

The only indication that the order had been heard was a bending forward of the bowed figure on the front seat.

Orme explained to the girl. "It will be better not to take the Lake Sh.o.r.e Drive. They may be watching the Pere Marquette."

"You are right," she said. "As a precaution, we'd better not pa.s.s the hotel."

"How surprised I was to find you waiting for me there last evening,"

mused Orme--"and how glad!"

"I never called on a man before," she laughed.

"I had made up my mind only a little while before," he continued, "to stay in Chicago till I found you."

"I'm afraid that would not have been easy." She returned the pressure of his hand, which had found hers. "If it hadn't been for those papers, we might never have met."

"We were bound to meet--you and I," he said. "I have been waiting all my life just for you."

"But even now you don't know who I am. I may be a--a political adventuress--or a woman detective--or----"

"You may be," he said, "but you are the woman I love. Your name--your business, if you have one--those things don't matter. I know you, and I love you."

She leaned closer to him. "Dear," she whispered impulsively, "I am going to tell you everything--who I am, and about the papers----"

"Wait!" He held his hand before her mouth. "Don't tell me now. Do as you planned to do. Be simply 'Girl' to me for a while longer."

She moved closer to him. Their errand, the danger, were for the time forgotten, and the motor hummed along with a burden of happiness.

"You haven't looked at the papers yet," said Orme, after a time. They were turning east toward Lincoln Park.

"Do I need to?"

"Perhaps not. I took them from the envelope which you saw at Arima's. But here they are. I did not look at them, of course."

He drew the parchments from within his coat and placed them in her hand.

While she examined them, he looked straight ahead, that he might not see.

He could hear them crackle as she unfolded them--could hear her sigh of content.

And then something occurred that disquieted him to a degree which seemed unwarranted. The chauffeur suddenly turned around and glanced swiftly through his goggles at the girl and the papers. The action was, perhaps, natural; but there was an a.s.sured expectancy in the way he turned--Orme did not like it. Moreover, there was something alarmingly familiar in the manner of the movement.

Somewhere Orme had seen a man move his body like that. But before his suspicions could take form, the chauffeur had turned again.

The girl handed the papers back to Orme. "These are the right papers,"

she said. "Oh, my dear, if you only knew how much they mean."

He held them for a moment in his hand. Then, after returning them to his pocket with as little noise as possible, he caught the girl's eye and, with a significant glance toward the chauffeur, said in a distinct voice:

"I will slip them under the seat cushion. They will be safer there."

Did the chauffeur lean farther back, as if to hear better? or was the slight movement a false record by Orme's imagination?

Orme decided to be on the safe side, so he slipped under the cushion of the extra seat another mining prospectus which he had in his pocket, placing it in such a way that the end of the paper protruded. Then he put his lips close to the girl's ear and whispered:

"Don't be alarmed, but tell me, does our chauffeur remind you of anyone?"

She studied the stolid back in front of them. The ill-fitting dust-coat masked the outline of the figure; the cap was so low on the head that the ears were covered.