The roar of State Street filled the ears of Robert Orme not unpleasantly. He liked Chicago, felt towards the Western city something more than the tolerant, patronizing interest which so often characterizes the Eastern man. To him it was the hub of genuine Americanism—young, aggressive, perhaps a bit too cocksure, but ever bounding along with eyes toward the future. Here was the city of great beginnings, the city of experiment—experiment with life; hence its incompleteness—an incompleteness not d

When Orme answered the knock at the door a singular young man stood at the threshold. He was short, wiry, and very dark. His nose was long and complacently tilted at the end. His eyes were small and very black. 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

Orme walked north along the Lake Shore Drive. As best he could, he pieced together the curious adventures of the day. The mystery of the five-dollar bill and the extreme anxiety of Poritol seemed to be complicated by the appearance of the Japanese at the Père Marquette. Orme sought the simplest explanation. He knew that mysterious happenings frequently become clear when one definitely tries to fit them into the natural routine of every-day life. The Japanese, he mused, was probably some valet ou

“Oh,” she said, with a little gasp of recognition, “are you Mr. Orme?” Her cheeks flushed softly. He bowed; his heart was beating furiously, and for the moment he dared not try to speak. “Then we do meet again,” she exclaimed—“and as usual I need your help. Isn’t it queer?” “Any service that I”—Orme began haltingly—“of course, anything that I can do——” The girl laughed—a merry ripple of sound; then caught herself and changed her manner to grave earnestness. “It is very important,” she said. “I a

The car ran silently through the Park and out on the broad Sheridan Road. Orme put on as much speed as was safe in a district where there were so many police. From time to time the girl indicated the direction with a word or two. She seemed to be using the opportunity to rest, for her attitude was relaxed. The hour was about eleven, and the streets were as yet by no means deserted. As they swung along Orme was pleased by the transition from the ugliness of central Chicago to the beauty of suburb

To follow the girl’s suggestion and return at once to Chicago was Orme’s intention when he said good-night to her. The hour was close to midnight, and the evening had been crowded so full with bewildering adventure that he was tired. Moreover, he looked forward to a morning that might well test his endurance even more strenuously. He had now committed himself definitely to continue in the field against the Japanese. Except for his desire to serve this wonderful girl who had come so suddenly into

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 h

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

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

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 her

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 tremendou

To Orme the next half-hour was very long. He seated himself upon the floor of the closet and ate the sandwich which the clairvoyant had brought him. Occasionally he could hear her moving about the apartment. “Poor charlatan!” he thought. “She is herself a ‘good sort.’ I suppose she excuses the sham of her profession on the ground that it deceives many persons into happiness.” He struck another match and looked again at the ghostly paraphernalia about him. Near him hung a black robe with a large

“Oh, Mr. Orme, you are the man I most wished to see.” The minister’s voice carried a note of unrestrained eagerness. He extended his hand. Orme accepted the salutation, mustering the appearance of a casual meeting; he must keep Alcatrante out of the building. “I was sorry that I could not be at your apartment this morning,” continued Alcatrante, “and I hope you did not wait too long.” “Oh, no,” replied Orme. “I waited for a little while, but concluded that something had called you away. Has Senh

Orme’s hand still held her skirt. “Girl!” he whispered. “Yes. Are you hurt?” Her voice came to him softly with all its solicitude and sympathy. She knelt, to help him if need be, and her warm, supple hand rested gently on his forehead. He could have remained for a long time as he was, content with her touch, but his good sense told him that their safety demanded action. “Not hurt at all,” he said, and as she withdrew her hand, he arose. “Alcatrante caught me off guard,” he explained. “Yes, I saw

“How shall we go?” asked Orme, as they descended to the street level. “By train. There is no other convenient way, since my car is at home.” She looked at him doubtfully, and added, “but they will be watching the railroad stations.” He nodded. “A motor would be safer—if we can get one.” He gave her hand a secret pressure while the elevator-boy was opening the door for them, and as she passed before him she flashed upon him a look so filled with love and trust that the sudden thrill of his happin

The approaching car now drew up near by, and three men jumped lightly to the road. In the radiance of the lamps on the two cars, Orme recognized Arima. The men with him were also Japanese, though Orme was not conscious that he had ever seen them before. It was clear enough how he and the girl had blundered into the hands of the Orientals. Maku had undoubtedly secured a car and had driven it to the vicinity of the Rookery in response to a telephoned order from Alcatrante, transmitted, in all like

The first impression that came to Orme with returning consciousness was one of impending disaster. His mind was renewing its last thought before it had ceased to work. Then he realized that the disaster had already occurred, and he moved his arms and legs, to see if they had been injured. They gave him no pain, and he raised himself to a sitting position. The soft night hovered about him. He heard confusedly the droning of insects, and the distant mournful call of a whip-poor-will. The roar of t

The chauffeur was opening the door of the waiting car. It was a black car—a car with strangely familiar lines. Orme started. “Where did that come from?” he demanded. Bessie smiled at him. “That is my surprise for you. My very dear friend, whom you so much desire to see, telephoned me here this evening and asked me to spend the night with her instead of returning to Chicago. She promised to send her car for me. It was long enough coming, goodness knows, but if it had appeared sooner, I should, ha

He waited impatiently for her return. Bessie, he knew, might be in one of the rooms just across the hall, but, though Bessie was a trump, he did not go to look for her. The girl might come back at any moment—and he did not wish to miss one instant of her presence. Again he considered the miracle of her appearance in his life, and he rejoiced that, from the first, he had been able to be of service to her. Those loving, trusting words that she had just spoken—how they glowed in his heart! She had