The Girl and The Bill Part 31

"Oh! Where did you meet her? Why, Bob, how interesting! I never thought of her, but she's one of my dearest friends."

"Now, listen, Bessie. It is absolutely necessary that I should reach her father's house before midnight. You must help me."

He heard her laugh. "Help you? Of course I will."

"Where does she live?"

"Not very far from Arradale. Bob, you come right out here. I will see to the rest. It certainly is the funniest coincidence."

"I'll catch the first train."

"There's one at six--for men who come out to dine."

"All right. Expect me. Good-by."

Orme looked at his watch. He had an hour and a half--which meant that time must be killed. It would be unwise to return to the Pere Marquette, for the South Americans and the j.a.panese might both be on watch for him there. But he did not care to wander about the streets, with the chance of coming face to face with some of his enemies. It was obvious that swift and elaborate machinery would be set in motion to catch him. Of course, there were many places where he could conceal himself for an hour, but----

Tom Wallingham's office! Why had he not thought of that before? Tom was at Arradale with Bessie, but the clerks would let Orme stay in the reception-room until it was time to start for his train. Indeed, Orme remembered that Bixby, the head clerk, had been at the wedding of Tom and Bessie--had in fact taken charge of the arrangements at the church.

Moreover, Tom's office was in this very building--the Rookery. Doubtless it was for this reason that the Rookery had popped into his head when he gave directions to the cab-driver on North Parker Street.

Hurrying to the elevators, Orme was about to enter the nearest one, when suddenly a hand seized his elbow and pulled him to one side. He turned quickly and saw--Alcatrante.

The minister was breathing rapidly. It was plain that he had made a quick pursuit, but though his chest heaved and his mouth was partly open, his eyes were curiously steady. "One minute, Mr. Orme," he said, forcing his lips to a smile. "I had hard work to follow you. There was no other cab, but a small boy told me that you directed your driver to the Rookery.

Therefore, I got on a street-car and rode till I found a cab." He said all this in the most casual tone, retaining his hold on Orme's elbow as though his att.i.tude were familiar and friendly. Perhaps he was thus detailing his own adventures merely to gain time; or perhaps he was endeavoring to puzzle Orme.

But Orme was simply annoyed. He knew how dangerous Alcatrante could be.

"I am tired of being followed, Senhor," he said disgustedly, freeing his elbow.

Alcatrante continued to smile. "That is part of the game," he said.

"Then you will find the game serious." Orme shut his lips together and glanced about for a policeman.

Alcatrante again grasped his elbow. "Do you want publicity?" he asked.

"Your princ.i.p.als do not. Publicity will injure us all."

Orme had been given enough light to know that the South American's words were true.

"If it comes to publicity," continued Alcatrante with an ugly grin, "I will have you arrested for stealing a certain important--doc.u.ment and offering to sell it to me."

"Rubbis.h.!.+" laughed Orme. "That would never work at all. Too many persons understand my part in this matter. And then"--as he noticed the flash of triumph in Alcatrante's eyes--"I could not be arrested for stealing a doc.u.ment which was not in my possession." It was too late; Alcatrante had been able to verify his strong suspicion that Orme had the papers.

A wave of anger swept over Orme. "Publicity or no publicity," he said, "unless this annoyance stops, I will have you arrested."

Alcatrante smiled. "That would not pay, Mr. Orme. There would be counter-charges and you would be much delayed--perhaps even till after midnight to-night. You Americans do not know how to play at diplomacy, Mr. Orme."

Controlling himself, Orme hurried quickly to the nearest elevator. He had timed his action; the starter was just about to close the door as he hurried in. But quick though he was, Alcatrante was close behind him. The agile South American squeezed into the elevator by so close a margin that the door caught his coat.

"Here! What you tryin' to do?" shouted the starter.

Alcatrante, pressing in against Orme, did not reply.

The starter jerked the door open, and glared at Alcatrante. The steady and undisturbed eye of the minister had its effect, and after a moment of hesitation the starter banged the door shut and gave the signal and the car leaped upward.

Tom Wallingham's office was on the eighth floor. Though he knew that Alcatrante would cling to him, Orme could think of nothing better to do than to go straight to the office and count on the a.s.sistance of Bixby, who would certainly remember him. Accordingly he called out "Eight!" and, ignoring Alcatrante, left the elevator and walked down the hall, the South American at his elbow.

They pa.s.sed a long series of doors, the gla.s.s panels of which were inscribed, "The Wallingham Company--Private," with index-fingers pointing the direction of the main entrance. This was the Chicago branch of the great New York Corporation, and Thomas Wallingham, senior, had placed his son in charge of it two years before. The business was the manufacturing of refrigerators. One side of the reception-room which Orme entered hurriedly, Alcatrante still beside him, was given over to a large specimen refrigerator chamber, built in with glistening white tiles. The ma.s.sive door, three feet thick, was wide open, showing the spotless inner chamber. In the outer wall was a thermometer dial fully a foot in diameter.

Once inside the reception-room, Orme stopped and looked again at Alcatrante. There was menace in the look, but the South American did not flinch. Indeed, the glance which met his own seemed to Orme to be disarmingly good-natured. Its essence was a humorous recognition that the situation had its ridiculous side.

But Orme, knowing that much was at stake, did not for an instant trust his unwelcome companion. Alcatrante would cling to him like an Old Man of the Sea, awaiting the opportunity to get the better of him. Every wile would be employed; but publicity was no part of the game--Orme began really to believe that.

To shake off Alcatrante, perhaps there was no better way than to lure him to some deserted place and overpower him. But would not Alcatrante be likely to have antic.i.p.ated such a move? And would he not resort to desperate measures of his own before Orme could put his own plans into practice? Bixby might help.

Orme walked over to the inquiry-window. "I want to see Mr. Bixby," he said, offering his card.

The young woman behind the window took the card, but at the same time she said: "Mr. Bixby left a few minutes ago. He won't be back to-day. Shall I keep the card for him?"

"It doesn't matter, thank you," he said, turning away. Luck was against him. Besides Bixby no one in that office knew him.

Alcatrante smiled genially. "Since Mr. Bixby is absent," he remarked, "shall we leave the verification of the notes until to-morrow?"

"What are you talking about?" exclaimed Orme.

"Why"--Alcatrante's face was the picture of astonishment--"the Wallingham Company notes, of course. The notes you wish to sell me." His voice was raised so that the girl behind the window could not help hearing.

"Rot!" said Orme.

"What?" A note of indignation crept into Alcatrante's voice. "Are you evading? Perhaps you thought I would not insist on the verification."

Another clerk, a man, had joined the girl behind the window. Alcatrante suddenly addressed him. "This Mr. Orme told me that he needed to raise money and would transfer to me cheap some notes signed by your company. I met him at the hotel. He said that, if I would come here with him, he would show the notes and have them verified. I don't understand."

The clerk left the window and, opening a door, came into the reception-room. "What are the notes you have?" he asked.

"I have none," replied Orme, in disgust. "I have never pretended to have any. This man is crazy, I think." He pointed to Alcatrante. "He has followed me here uninvited for reasons of his own. I asked for Mr. Bixby, whom I know. I would have asked for Mr. Wallingham, my personal friend, but that I had already learned of his being at Arradale."

"There's funny business here somewhere," exclaimed Alcatrante, with great earnestness. "Do you mean to say that you did not introduce yourself to me in the lobby of the Framington and ask me to buy the notes?"

Orme did not answer.

With a conservative eye the clerk looked at the two. He was not one to involve himself in a dubious affair.

"I can't settle this matter for you, gentlemen," he said.

With a slight bow, Orme went into the hall. It dawned upon him why Alcatrante had invented so remarkable a story. Without question, the minister had feared that Orme would enlist aid in the office, or that at least he would manage to deposit the coveted papers in safety while he found other means to get rid of his shadow. Hence the sudden effort to discredit Orme.

In the long corridor Orme gave no further attention to Alcatrante, who was pattering along beside him. The course he now had in mind was to hire a cab and ride out of the city--all the way to Arradale, if possible. The distance could not be much greater than fifteen miles. If Alcatrante chose to pursue, well and good. There would be ways of disposing of him.

Then an audacious notion flashed into Orme's mind. Why not let Alcatrante ride with him? Why not take the minister all the way to his destination and at the end turn him over as a prisoner?