When Senhor Poritol had disappeared Orme telephoned to the clerk. "Send me up a porter," he ordered, "and have him stand just outside my door, with orders to enter if he hears any disturbance." He waited at the door till the porter appeared, then told him to remain in a certain place until he was needed, or until the visitors left.

Senhor Poritol remained downstairs for several minutes. Evidently he was explaining the situation to his friend. But after a time Orme heard the clang of the elevator door, and in response to the knock that quickly followed, he opened his own door. At the side of his former visitor stood a dapper foreigner. He wore a long frock coat and carried a glossy hat, and his eyes were framed by large gold spectacles.

"This is the Senhor Alcatrante," explained Senhor Poritol.

The newcomer bowed with suave dignity.

"Senhor Alcatrante? The name is familiar," said Orme, smiling.

Poritol a.s.sumed an air. "He is the minister from my country to these United States."

Orme understood. This was the wary South American diplomat whose name had lately been so prominent in the Washington dispatches. What was he doing in Chicago?

"I am glad to meet you," said Orme.

Alcatrante smiled, displaying a prominent row of uneven teeth.

"My young friend, Poritol," he began, "tells me that you have in your possession the record of a secret belonging to him. What that secret is, is immaterial to you and me, I take it. He is an honorable young man--excitable, perhaps, but well-meaning. I would suggest that you give him the five-dollar bill he desires, accepting from him another in exchange. Or, if you still doubt him, permit me to offer you a bill from my own pocket." He drew out a fat wallet.

The situation appeared to be simplified. And yet Orme was dubious. There was mischief in the bill; so much he felt sure of. Alcatrante's reputation was that of a fox, and as for Poritol, he was, to say the least, a person of uncertain qualities. Orme could not but admire the subtle manner in which Alcatrante sought delicately to limit his doubts to the mere possibility that Poritol was trying to pa.s.s spurious money.

He decided not to settle the question at this moment.

"This seems to be rather a mixed-up affair, Senhor Alcatrante," he said.

"There is much more in it than appears. Call on me to-morrow morning, and you shall have my decision."

Alcatrante and Poritol looked at each other. The minister spoke:

"Will you engage not to give the bill to anyone else in the interval?"

"I will promise that," said Orme. "It is only fair. Yes, I will keep the bill until to-morrow morning."

"One other suggestion," continued Alcatrante. "You may not be willing to give up the bill, but is there any reason why you should refuse to let Senhor Poritol copy the writing that is on it?"

"Only my determination to think the whole matter over before I do anything at all," Orme replied.

"But the bill came into your hands by chance," insisted the minister.

"The information means nothing to you, though obviously it means a great deal to my young friend, here. May I ask what right you have to deny this request?"

"What right?" Orme's eyes narrowed. "My right is that I have the bill and the information, and I intend to understand the situation better before I give the information to anyone else."

"But you recognized Senhor Poritol's handwriting on the bill," exclaimed the minister.

"On the face of it, yes. He did not write the abbreviations on the back."

"Abbreviations!" exclaimed Poritol.

"Please let the matter rest till morning," said Orme stubbornly. "I have told you just what I would do."

Poritol opened his mouth, to speak, but Alcatrante silenced him with a frown. "Your word is sufficient, Mr. Orme," he said. "We will call to-morrow morning. Is ten o'clock too early?"

"Not at all," said Orme. "Doubtless I shall be able to satisfy you. I merely wish to think it over."

With a formal bow, Alcatrante turned to the door and departed, Poritol following.

Orme strolled back to his window and stood idly watching the lights of the vessels on the lake. But his mind was not on the unfolded view before him. He was puzzling over this mystery in which he had so suddenly become a factor. Unquestionably, the five-dollar bill held the key to some serious problem.

Surely Alcatrante had not come merely as the friend of Poritol, for the difference in the station of the two South Americans was marked. Poritol was a cheap character--useful, no doubt, in certain kinds of work, but vulgar and unconvincing. He might well be one of those promoters who hang on at the edge of great projects, hoping to pick up a commission here and there. His strongest point was his obvious effort to triumph over his own insignificance, for this effort, by its comic but desperate earnestness, could not but command a certain degree of respect.

Alcatrante, on the other hand, was a name to make statesmen knit their brows. A smooth trouble-maker, he had set Europe by the ears in the matter of unsettled South American loans, dexterously appealing to the much-overworked Monroe Doctrine every time his country was threatened by a French or German or British blockade. But his mind was of no small caliber. He could hold his own not only at his own game of international chess, but in the cultured discussion of polite topics. Orme knew of him as a clever after-dinner speaker, a man who could, when he so desired, please greatly by his personal charm.

No, Alcatrante was no friend of Poritol's; nor was it likely that, as protector of the interests of his countrymen, he would go so far as to accompany them on their errands unless much was at stake. Perhaps Poritol was Alcatrante's tool and had bungled some important commission. It occurred to Orme that the secret of the bill might be connected with the negotiation of a big business concession in Alcatrante's country. "S. R.

Evans" might be trying to get control of rubber forests or mines--in the Urinaba Mountains, perhaps, after all.

In any event, he felt positive that the secret of the bill did not rightfully belong to Poritol. If the bill had been in his possession, he should have been able to copy the abbreviated message. Indeed, the lies that he had told were all against the notion of placing any confidence in him. The two South Americans were altogether too eager.

Orme decided to go for a walk. He could think better in the open air. He took up his hat and cane, and descended in the elevator.

In the office the clerk stopped him.

"A man called to see you a few minutes ago, Mr. Orme. When I told him that you were engaged with two visitors he went away."

"Did he leave his name?" asked Orme.

"No, sir. He was a j.a.panese."

Orme nodded and went on out to the street. What could a j.a.panese want of him?

CHAPTER III

THE SHADOWS

Orme walked north along the Lake Sh.o.r.e 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 j.a.panese at the Pere 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 j.a.panese, he mused, was probably some valet out of a job. But how could he have learned Orme's name.

Possibly he had not known it; the clerk might have given it to him. The incident hardly seemed worth second thought, but he found himself persistently turning to one surmise after another concerning the j.a.panese. For Orme was convinced that he stood on the edge of a significant situation.

Suddenly he took notice of a figure a short distance ahead of him. This man--apparently very short and stocky--was also going northward, but he was moving along in an erratic manner. At one moment he would hurry his steps, at the next he would almost stop. Evidently he was regulating his pace with a purpose.

Orme let his eyes travel still farther ahead. He observed two men actively conversing. From time to time their discussion became so animated that they halted for a moment and faced each other, gesticulating rapidly. Every time they halted, the single figure nearer to Orme slowed down his own pace.

The oblivious couple came under a street lamp and again turned toward each other. Their profiles were distinct. Orme had already suspected their ident.i.ty, for both had high hats and carried canes, and one of them was in a sack suit, while the other wore a frock coat. And now the profiles verified the surmise. There was no mistaking the long, tip-tilted nose of the shorter man and the glinting spectacles of the other. The two were Poritol and Alcatrante.

But who was the man trailing them? A friendly guard? Or a menacing enemy?

Orme decided to shadow the shadow.