CHAPTER V
"EVANS, S. R."
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 somany police. From time to time the girl indicated the direction with aword or two. She seemed to be using the opportunity to rest, for herattitude was relaxed.
The hour was about eleven, and the streets were as yet by no meansdeserted. As they swung along Orme was pleased by the transition from theugliness of central Chicago to the beauty of suburbs--doubly beautiful bynight. The great highway followed the lake, and occasionally, above themuffled hum of the motor, Orme could hear the lapping of the wavelets onthe beach.
The girl roused herself. Her bearing was again confident and untired."Have you been up this way before?" she asked.
"No, Girl."
"This is Buena Park we are passing now. We shall soon reach the citylimits."
Clouds had been gathering, and suddenly raindrops began to strike theirfaces. The girl drew her cloak more closely about her. Orme looked to seethat she was protected, and she smiled back with a brave attempt atcheerful comradeship. "Don't worry about me," she said. "I'm quite dry."With that she leaned back and drew from the tonneau a light robe, whichshe threw about his shoulders.
The act was an act of partnership merely, but Orme let himself imagine anevidence of solicitude in her thoughtfulness. And then he demanded ofhimself almost angrily: "What right have I to think such thoughts? Shehas known me only an hour."
But to him that hour was as a year, so rich was its experience. He foundhimself recalling her every change of expression, her every characteristicgesture. "She has accepted me as a friend," he thought, warmly. But thejoy of the thought was modified by the unwelcome reflection that the girlhad had no choice. Still, he knew that, at least, she trusted him, or shewould never have let him accompany her, even though she seriously neededprotection.
They were passing a great cemetery. The shower had quickly ended. Thewhite stones and monuments fled by the car like dim and frightenedghosts. And now the car swung along with fine houses, set back in roomygrounds, at the left, the lake at the right.
"Do you know this city?" the girl asked.
"I think not. Have we passed the Chicago limits?"
"Yes. We are in Evanston."
"Evanston!" Orme had a glimmer.
The girl turned and smiled at him. "Evanston--Sheridan Road."
"Evans,--S. R.!" exclaimed Orme.
She laughed a low laugh. "Ah, Monsieur Dupin!" she said.
Speeding along the lake front, the road turned suddenly to the left andwest, skirting a large grove of trees which hugged the shore. Just at theturn was a low brick building on the beach. "The life-saving station,"explained the girl; "and these are the grounds of the university. Theroad goes around the campus, and strikes the lake again a mile or morefarther north."
Large buildings were at their right after they turned. Orme noted thatthey were scattered among the trees--some near the street, some at adistance back. Then the road again turned to the north, at a point whereless imposing streets broke in from the west and south.
"Stop at this corner," said the girl.
Orme threw on the brakes.
"We are in Evanston, on the Sheridan Road," she said, "and this streetcutting in from the south is Chicago Avenue."
"'Chi. A.'!" exclaimed Orme.
She had taken the paper from the pocket of her coat, and was scanning itclosely. "One hundred paces north and two hundred and ten east. 'T.' mustmean 'tree.'"
Orme jumped to the ground. He noticed that the university grounds werecut off from the street by an iron fence. There was a gate at the cornerby which they had stopped. The gate was not closed. If it were customaryto shut it at night, there had been some neglect on this particularevening.
"You'd better go in through the gate," said the girl, "and follow thewest fence northward for one hundred paces. Then turn east, at rightangles and go two hundred and ten paces--I suppose it must be paces, notfeet."
"Yes," said Orme. "That would be the natural way for a burglar in a hurryto measure."
"I will move the car north on Sheridan Road a little way," she went on,"so as not to be in the glare of this street light."
This was the first evidence she had shown of nervousness, and Ormesuddenly realized that enemies might be lurking among the trees.
"It might be well for you to take the electric hand-lamp," she added."It's in the kit-box, I think."
He looked in the kit-box, but the lamp was not there. He told her so.
"Maku may have stolen it," she said.
Orme slipped a heavy wrench into his pocket and closed the kit-box. Withthe girl, he avoided any reference to the possible presence of theJapanese among the trees, but knowing that he was no match for themunarmed, with their skill in jiu-jitsu, he resolved to be in some measureprepared.
He walked through the gate and began to pace northward, keeping close tothe fence and counting his steps. Meantime the car followed his course,moving along the side of the road just west of the fence. Orme countedhis hundred paces north, then turned east.
He saw that the two hundred and ten paces which he now had to take wouldcarry him well over toward the lake. The girl evidently had not realizedhow great the distance would be. She would be nearer him, if she turnedback to the corner and followed the Sheridan Road eastward toward thelife-saving station, but Orme did not suggest this to her, though the carwas within twenty feet of him, the other side of the fence. If thereshould be a struggle, it would please him just as well that she should beout of hearing, for her anxiety, he knew, was already great, though shekept it closely under control.
Eastward he went through the trees. When he had covered about half thedistance he found himself approaching the side of a large building. Theremust be some mistake. Had he deviated so widely from the course? Inleaving the fence he had taken sights as carefully as he could.
Then the explanation struck him. Walsh, the burglar, had probably pacedin eastward from the fence and come to the building just as he had. Therewas no good hiding-place apparent near at hand, and Walsh would hardlyhave retraced his steps. What, then, would he have done? Orme askedhimself. Why, he would have turned north or south.
Orme looked in both directions. North and south of the building were opendriveways. Walsh must have gone around the building, then continuedeastward. This is what Orme now proceeded to do.
Remembering the number of paces to the side of the building, he chose thenorthward course, because there was less light north of the building. Hehugged the side of the building, counting his steps, and, after reachingthe corner, turned eastward. He now counted his paces along the northernside of the building.
When he reached the corner of the eastern side of the building, he pacedas far southward on the eastern side as he had gone northward on thewestern side, and on reaching a point due east of the place at which hehad originally come to the building, he added the number of paces fromthe fence to the building to the number of paces he had taken along thenorthern side of the building, and continued eastward toward the lake.
At the two hundredth pace he stopped to reconnoiter. Not more than twohundred feet ahead of him he could see dimly, through the tree trunks,the expanse of the lake. There was no sound, no evidence that any otherperson was near.
He proceeded cautiously for ten paces. Many trees were near him. He wouldhave to examine all of them, for it was hardly possible that he hadfollowed Walsh's course with unerring exactness. If the tree was withintwenty feet of him north or south, that was as much as he could expect.
One thing was clear to him. Walsh had probably chosen a tree that couldeasily be distinguished from the others, either by its size or by somepeculiarity of form. Also, the tree must have a hollow place in which theenvelope could be concealed. Orme now decided that Walsh must have foundhis tree first and then paced westward to the fence. The even number, onehundred paces north from the gate, co
uld be only a coincidence.
A little to his left Orme discovered a trunk much larger than itsneighbors. It ran up smoothly about eight feet to the first limb. Anagile man could easily get up to this limb and pull himself into thebranches. A cavity such as are so common in oaks, would furnish a goodplace for hiding the envelope away.
He looked up. Suddenly a light appeared among the branches. It was ashort ray, striking against the trunk. Before Orme could realize what washappening a hand appeared in the little bar of radiance and was insertedapparently into the trunk of the tree. A moment later it was withdrawn.It held an oblong of white.
Involuntarily Orme took a step forward. A twig cracked under his foot.Instantly the light went out.
Orme drew the wrench from his pocket and stood tense. There was no othertree quite close enough for the man above him to spring to its branches.He would have to drop near Orme.
Standing there, the wrench in his hand, Orme felt that the advantage washis. He heard rustlings in the branches above his head and kept himselfalert to guard against the man dropping on his shoulders.
To strike the Japanese down as he dropped from the tree, that was hisplan. But meantime, where was the other Japanese? Was he among the nearshadows? If so, he might even now be creeping stealthily toward Orme. Thelikelihood of such an attack was disconcerting to think of. But as Ormewas wondering about it, it occurred to him that the man in the tree wouldnot have gone on guard so quickly, if his confederate were near at hand.It was natural that he should have put the light out, but would he notimmediately afterward have given some signal to the friend below? Andwould he not take it for granted that, were a stranger near, his watcherwould have managed to give warning? No, the other Japanese could not beon guard.
Perhaps, thought Orme, only one of them had come on this quest. He hopedthat this might be the case. He could deal with one.
The man in the tree was taking his own time to descend. Doubtless hewould await a favorable moment, then alighting on the ground as far fromOrme as possible, make off at top speed.
But now, to Orme's surprise, a figure swung from the lower branchapparently without haste. Once on the ground, however, the strangerleaped toward Orme.
An intuition led Orme to thrust out his left arm. It was quickly seized,but before the assailant could twist it, Orme struck out with the wrench,which was in his right hand. Swift though the motion was, his opponentthrew up his free arm and partly broke the force of the blow. But thewrench reached his forehead nevertheless, and with a little moan, hedropped to the ground in a heap.
As Orme knelt to search the man, another figure swung from the tree anddarted northward, disappearing in the darkness. Orme did not pursue--itwas useless--but a sickening intuition told him that the man who hadescaped was the man who had the envelope.
He struck a match. The man on the ground was moving uneasily and moaning.There was a scar on his forehead. It was Maku.
He went through the unconscious man's pockets. There was no envelope suchas he was looking for, but he did find a folded slip of paper which hethrust into his own pocket. A discovery that interested him, though itwas not now important, he made by the light of a second match. It was themarked five-dollar bill. He would have liked to take it as a souvenir, iffor no other reason, but time was short and Maku, who evidently was notseriously hurt, showed signs of returning consciousness.
Another occurrence also hastened him. A man was strolling along the lakeshore, not far away. Orme had not seen his approach, though he wasdistinctly outlined against the open background of lake and sky. Thestranger stopped. The striking of the two matches had attracted hisattention.
"Have you lost something?" he called.
"No," Orme replied.
The man started toward Orme, as if to investigate, and then Orme noticedthat outlined on his head was a policeman's helmet.
To be found going through the pockets of an unconscious man was not toOrme's liking. It might be possible to explain the situation well enoughto satisfy the local authorities, but that would involve delays fatal toany further effort to catch the man with the envelope.
So he jumped to his feet and ran northward, then turned to the west.Circling about, he made for the gate at which he had entered. His pursuereither took the wrong lead in the darkness or stopped to examine Maku, ifor when Orme went through the gate and doubled back, outside the fence,to the car, there was no sound of steps behind him. He jumped to thechauffeur's seat.
"Well?" inquired the girl, eagerly.
"Too late," said Orme. "I'm sorry. I caught Maku, but the man with theenvelope got away."
She laid a hand on his arm. "Are you hurt?" There was unconcealed anxietyin her voice.
To say the things he yearned to say! To be tender to her! But hecontrolled his feelings and explained briefly what had happened, at thesame time throwing on the power and driving the car slowly northward.
"I only know that the fellow ran northward," he said. "He may have workedback or he may have gone on. He may have climbed another tree andwaited."
By this time they had come to the northern limits of the grounds, but hehad seen no one.
Suddenly the girl exclaimed "Listen!"
Orme stopped the car. Somewhere from the distance came a faint hum."Another car!" he muttered.
"Yes," she said. "Oh, but I can do no more. I am tired, Mr. Orme. Wecannot catch that car, even if it does hold the man we want--and there isno way of being sure that it does."
"If there is any place to leave you, I will go after him alone." He hadturned the car as he spoke and was sending it slowly southward.
"No," she said wearily. "We--you must do no more to-night. You have beenso good, Mr. Orme--to help me in a matter of which I could tell youalmost nothing. I won't even try to thank you--except by saying that youhave understood."
He knew what she meant. He had met her need, because he had known itsgreatness without her telling him. His recognition of her plight had beenunaccompanied by any suggestion of ignored conventions. No gushing thankswould have pleased him half so much.
He smiled at her wistfully. "Does it all end here?"
"No," she said, "I will not let it end here. We are friends already; infact, Mr. Orme, as soon as I can do so, I will see that we are friends inname. Can you accept as little a promise as that?"
"I can accept any promise from you," he said gravely. "And now shall Itake you home?"
"Not home. It is too far. But I have some friends a few blocks away whowill take me in. Turn here, please."
Under her guidance he took the car through several streets, drawing up atlast before a large, comfortable-looking place, set back from the street,with a wide, shrub-dotted lawn before it. Several windows were stilllighted. He descended to help her out.
She hesitated. "I hate to ask it, Mr. Orme," she finally said, "but youcan catch the trolley back to Chicago. They will take care of the carhere."
He nodded. "But one thing, Girl," he said. "I am going to find that otherJapanese to-morrow. I shall get the envelope. Will you call me up at theapartment to-morrow noon? If I am not there, leave word where I can findyou."
"I will do that. But don't get yourself hurt." She let him help her tothe ground.
"At noon," he said.
"At noon. Good-night, my friend." She offered her hand.
"Good-night, Girl," he said, and then he bent over and kissed her fingersgently.
He stood by the car until she had crossed the lawn and ascended thesteps--until the door opened and admitted her.
The Girl and the Bill Page 5