"No," she said, at last, "I think not."

With that, Orme sought to rea.s.sure himself.

They were in Lincoln Park now. Over this same route Orme and the girl had ridden less than twenty-four hours before. To him the period seemed like a year. Then he had been plunging into mysteries unknown with the ideal of his dreams; now he was moving among secrets partly understood, with the woman of his life--loving her and knowing that she loved him.

One short day had brought all this to pa.s.s. He had heard it said that Love and Time are enemies. The falseness of the saying was clear to him in the light of his own experience. Love and Time are not enemies; they are strangers to each other.

On they went northward. To Orme the streets through which they pa.s.sed were now vaguely familiar, yet he could hardly believe his eyes when they swung around on to the Lake Front at Evanston, along the broad ribbon of Sheridan Road.

But there was the dark mysterious surface of Lake Michigan at their right. Beyond the broad beach, he could see the line of breakwaters, and at their left the electric street lights threw their beams into the blackness of little parks and shrubby lawns.

The car swept to the left, past the university campus.

"Do you remember?" asked the girl, in a low voice, pressing his arm.

Then, "Don't!" she whispered. "Someone will see!" for he had drawn her face to his.

They came to the corner of Chicago Avenue and Sheridan Road, where they had halted the night before in their search for the hidden papers. "We'd better give him further directions," said the girl.

But the chauffeur turned north at the corner and put on more speed.

"He's taking the right direction," she laughed. "Perhaps his idea is to follow Sheridan Road till we tell him to turn."

"I don't quite like it," said Orme, thoughtfully. "He's a bit too sure of what he's doing."

The girl hesitated. "It _is_ funny," she exclaimed. "And he's going faster, too." She leaned forward and called up to the chauffeur: "Stop at this corner."

He did not seem to hear. She repeated the order in a louder voice, but the only answer was another burst of speed.

Then Orme reached up and touched the chauffeur's shoulder. "Stop the car!" he cried.

The chauffeur did not obey. He did not even turn his head.

Orme and the girl looked at each other. "I don't understand," she said.

"I'm afraid I am beginning to," Orme replied. "He will not stop until we are where he wishes us to be."

"We can't get out," she exclaimed.

"No. And if I pull him out of the seat, the car will be ditched." He puzzled vainly to hit on a method of action, and meantime the moments sped.

They pa.s.sed the university grounds quickly. Orme retained an impression of occasional ma.s.sive buildings at the right, including the dome of an observatory, and at the left the lighted windows of dwellings.

He saw, too, the tower of a lighthouse, a dark foundation supporting a changing light above; and then the road turned sharply to the left and, after a few hundred yards, curved again to the north.

Suddenly the chauffeur slowed down. On either side were groves of trees.

Ahead were the lights of an approaching motor.

Orme was still at a loss, and the girl was awaiting some decision from him. When the chauffeur at last turned and spoke--three short words--Orme realized too late the situation he and the girl were in.

"We stop now," said the chauffeur.

And the girl, with a horrified gasp, exclaimed: "Maku!"

Yes, it was the j.a.panese.

Calmly he put on the brakes and brought the car to a standstill by the roadside; then, removing his goggles, turned to Orme and the girl and smiled an unscrutable smile. There was an ugly bruise on his forehead, where Orme had struck him with the wrench.

But quick though Maku was, he was not quick enough to see a motion which Orme had made immediately after the moment of recognition--a motion which had even escaped the notice of the girl. Perhaps it accounted for the coolness with which Orme met his enemy's eyes.

CHAPTER XVI

THE STRUGGLE

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 j.a.panese, 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 likelihood, through the j.a.panese minister.

The appearance of the car on La Salle Street had been expected by the South American. Perhaps he had not antic.i.p.ated that Orme would hail it; the probability was that he had wished Maku's a.s.sistance without a definite idea of what that a.s.sistance should be; but the use of the car by Orme fell in nicely with his plans. He had a.s.sumed readily enough the direction the car would take, and getting promptly into telephonic communication with Arima, had arranged this meeting on the road.

Orme now remembered that Arima's car, when approaching, had sounded its horn at regular intervals, in series of threes--evidently a signal.

"Don't worry, Girl, dear," whispered Orme. "I--" he broke off his sentence as the newcomers cl.u.s.tered about the tonneau, but the confident glance of her eyes rea.s.sured him.

He knew not what they were to face. The j.a.panese, he inferred, would not deal with him pleasantly, but surely they would not harm the girl.

Arima opened the door of the tonneau and with a lightning motion grasped Orme by the wrist.

"Get out," he ordered.

Orme was in no mind to obey. There were four of the Orientals against him, and he stood little chance of success in a fight with them, but if he could only delay matters, someone might pa.s.s and he could raise an alarm. So he sat firm, and said, calmly:

"What do you want?"

"Get out," repeated Arima.

When Orme still made no move to leave his seat, the steely fingers on his wrist ran up his forearm and pressed down hard upon a nerve-center. The pain was almost unbearable, and for the moment his arm was paralyzed. A quick jerk brought him to the ground. As he alighted, stumblingly, Maku caught him by the other arm. He was held in such a way that for the moment it seemed futile to struggle. Arima, meantime, spoke rapidly in j.a.panese to Maku. Perhaps he, as commander of the situation, was giving precise orders as to what was to be done.

Orme looked over his shoulder at the girl. She was clutching the door of the tonneau and leaning forward, staring with horrified eyes.

"Keep cool," he counseled.

Her answer was a moan of anguish, and he realized that she feared for him.