The Girl and The Bill Part 43

As the fore wheels dropped into the depression, the body of the car rose in the air. Orme, still clinging to Arima, shot forward. He was conscious, in that fraction of a second, that he must release his hold, or Arima's neck would be broken; so he unbent his arm.

The earth arose and something struck him heavily. He saw a firmament of brilliant stars. Then all was black.

CHAPTER XVII

A CHANCE OF THE GAME

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 the car was strangely missing. What had become of it? And where was Arima? These were the first questions he asked himself as he became able to think without confusion.

He now became aware that his head hurt, and raising his hand, he found a large b.u.mp under the hair above his right temple. Turning, he discovered that he had been thrown over the fence into a field of thick-standing grain, which had broken his fall. His head must have struck the fence in pa.s.sing.

He got to his feet. At first he was bothered by dizziness, but that soon disappeared.

Climbing the fence, he saw that the car had turned over on one side. At a glance there were no evidences of superficial damage, but it would take a team of horses and some time to right it and get it back into the road.

The lamps had been extinguished.

In the ditch near the car lay Arima. One of his legs was bent under him horribly. Orme hurried over to him.

The j.a.panese was conscious. His beady eyes glittered wetly in the starlight, but he said no word, gave no groan, made no show of pain.

Whatever he may have suffered, he endured with the stoicism that is traditional in his race.

"Much hurt?" asked Orme, bending over him.

"My leg broke." Arima spoke unemotionally.

Orme considered. "I'll send you help," he said, at last. "Lie quiet for a little while, and you will be looked after."

He rose, smoothed out his clothing, and pulled himself together. It was not part of his program to let whomever he might meet know that he himself had been concerned in the wreck.

In a moment he returned to Arima. "I'll have to have those papers," he said.

Silently the j.a.panese reached within his coat and drew out the papers. He held them up for Orme to take.

"You have me beat," he said. "Spirit told me I must fail."

A picture of the scene in Madame Alia's rooms came to Orme; the darkness broken only by a pinpoint of gaslight; the floating, ghostly forms; the circle of awed believers, with the two j.a.panese, intent as children.

The medium's work for him had not ended when she helped him to escape.

Mentally he redoubled his thanks to her, for she had so impressed the fatalistic mind of Arima that he gave the papers over without making necessary a final struggle.

By the size and shape of the papers Orme recognized them. Nevertheless, to make sure that he was not being deceived; he slid his hands over Arima's coat, and felt in the pockets. He found nothing that resembled the papers he had, so he thrust them into his own pocket.

He now took out his watch. There was not enough light to see what time it was, and he ran his fingers over the dial, as he had done during that time of imprisonment, earlier in the evening. As nearly as he could tell it was ten minutes past nine. He could hardly believe that it was so early.

With a final, "Take it easy," to Arima, Orme now started down the road toward the lights of a house, a quarter of a mile ahead.

He had it in mind to examine the papers, to find a clue to the name of the girl's father. The sentiment which had led him to refuse her offer to tell him everything must now be neglected. There might still be time to deliver the papers before midnight, but he did not dare delay.

For one thing, he had only the haziest notion as to his whereabouts.

Obviously he was somewhere west of Evanston, but that meant little in an unfamiliar country. He would have to find some conveyance.

Not altogether without sympathy for his fallen enemy, he nevertheless felt that Arima had received no more than he deserved. There had been no hesitation about the different attacks made upon himself. He had provoked no a.s.sault unless by the fact that he had the marked bill in his possession. But the calmness with which Arima had endured his final defeat aroused admiration. After all, the j.a.panese had merely acted under orders. And now Orme's first thought was to get help for him.

He came to the lights he had seen. They shone through the windows of a small farmhouse a few rods back from the road. A short avenue of poplars led to the door.

In response to Orme's knock, the man of the house appeared--a German with sleepy eyes and tousled yellow hair.

"There is an injured man down the road a way," said Orme. "Motor-car smash."

"So?"

"His leg is broken, I think. I made him as comfortable as I could. Can you get a doctor? The man will rest quiet till a doctor comes. He can't be moved very well."

"_Ein_ doctor? _Ja. Es ist_ one _bei_ Niles Center. _Mein_ son vill go for him. Too bad! Too bad! Come in."

"No, thank you," said Orme carelessly.

"Vas you in _der_ accident?"

"Do I look it?" Orme laughed.

"_Nein_, you do not look it. _Ach!_ Dese autymobles! Dey makes much harm."

"It _is_ too bad," admitted Orme.

"He vas a millionaire, maybe. Dey comes by here so fast, going to Arradale. Hans! _Komm Hier! Ein_ man is gesmashed. _Du_ must for _der_ doctor go." He turned back to Orme. "_Mein_ son, he will go."

But Orme had no ears for what the sympathetic German said. One word had made his heart leap.

"Arradale!"

There he was to have dined with Tom and Bessie Wallingham! He had forgotten them utterly. Were they still at the golf club? Possibly, and, in any event, if he could reach the club, he would be near a railroad.

"How far is Arradale?" he asked.

"_Halb_-miles. _Und_ vere did you say _der_ hurt man vas?"

"A few hundred feet back there." Orme indicated the direction. "Can I reach Arradale by this road?"

"Next turn--_rechts_. I will take de man some _schnapps_."