He caught a glimpse of the girl. The searchlight of one of the cars struck full on the side of her face, and drew there a distinct shadow of the network of her disarranged hair. He saw the strained, excited look in her eyes.

Her captor still held her arm. He was watching Orme and Arima indifferently, as though quite confident of j.a.panese skill.

All this Orme observed in an instant. Then his eyes were again on Arima.

He knew that he would have to attack. To await the trick holds of the j.a.panese would be to invite defeat. But if he attacked, he must use an unexpected method.

Suddenly he raised his left arm above his head and clenched his fist. His right arm remained by his side.

A step forward. The upraised arm descended. Swiftly Arima reached upward to seize it. But even as the one arm descended, Orme swung his other, with terrific force, up from the waist, and caught Arima on the mouth.

The blow missed the chin, but it was hard enough to fell any man of ordinary strength. Arima staggered back, past the girl, and brought up against the side of one of the cars. But with hardly an instant for recovery, he leaped forward again and the man who was holding the girl also sprang at Orme.

It would be folly to meet the two. Orme turned and ran quickly in among the trees of the little grove. The darkness was his friend, for the pursuers halted in their quick run and separated, proceeding more cautiously.

As for Orme, once in shelter, he stopped for breath.

He could see the two men coming toward him. They were outlined against the radiance from the motor-cars. Cautiously he stepped toward the south, hoping that they would pa.s.s him in the darkness, but he dared not move rapidly, lest a stumble or the breaking of a twig betray him.

All this time the engines of the two cars had continued to work, and their m.u.f.fled chug-chug-chug helped to cover the noise of footsteps.

What pleased him most was to see, out of the corner of his eye, that the girl had taken advantage of her release to climb to the chauffeur's seat of the car in which Maku had brought them from Chicago. That meant that, if he could reach the car, they might get away. But the papers----

By this time Orme was between his pursuers and the road. He stopped and groped about till he found a fair-sized stone, then worked toward the edge of the grove. The moment was at hand to make a dash.

Ten steps would take him to the car; then a leap into the tonneau, and off to the northward he and the girl would speed. Pursuit would be delayed for a few precious moments, for the j.a.panese would have to turn the other car around. Those few moments would determine the margin of success or failure.

But there were the papers. At all cost they must be secured. The plan that flashed into Orme's mind was to draw the j.a.panese from the spot and then, jumping from the car, let the girl lead the pursuers on while he returned.

Just as he was about to rush for the car he heard a sound among the trees. He wheeled and saw the dim outline of one of his enemies coming toward him. In his excitement he had forgotten that just as they could be seen by him when they were between him and the road, so he could now be seen by them. Undoubtedly he was outlined, as they had been, against the background of the light.

The j.a.panese was only a few feet away. Orme threw the stone; by good luck it struck the man in the stomach, and he dropped to the ground and rolled in silent agony.

But at the same moment Orme was seized from behind, and held in a grip he could not break. Indeed, when he tried to break it, there was a sudden, killing strain on his spine. Then Arima's voice said, close to his ear:

"Where the papers?"

The papers!

j.a.panese character thus brought its fresh surprise to Orme. Even after this hard fight, when three of his friends lay groaning on the ground--when he had in his power the man who had injured them, who had temporarily bested himself--Arima's chief thought was still of the papers!

He seemed to have none of the semi-barbarian vengefulness that might have been expected. He merely wished the papers--wished them the more desperately with every pa.s.sing moment. The lives of his companions counted for nothing besides the papers!

"Where?" repeated Arima.

"I haven't them," said Orme. "You ought to know that by this time."

The answer was a torturing pressure on Orme's spine. "You tell," hissed Arima.

As the pressure increased Orme's suffering was so keen that his senses began to slip away. He was gliding into a state in which all consciousness centered hazily around the one sharp point of pain.

Then, suddenly, he was released. For a moment he staggered limply, but his strength surged back, and he was able to see how the situation had changed.

The girl had swung her car in closer to the edge of the grove and nearer to the struggling figures. Doubtless she had some idea of helping. But the effect of the change in the position of her car was to permit the searchlight of the other car to throw its bright beam without interruption down the road. And there, perhaps fifty feet to the southward, gleamed something white.

The girl could not see it, for her car was headed north. But Arima saw it, and in a flash he realized what it was. The papers lay there at the side of the road, where Orme had tossed them a moment before the two cars met.

There had been no other way to dispose of them. If the car from the north had stopped at a different angle, or if the other car had not moved, the light would not have shone upon them, and the j.a.panese might not have suspected where they were. Or, if Orme had tossed them a few feet farther to one side, they would have been out of the range of the light. But there they lay.

Arima leaped toward them. Even as he started, a figure appeared at the other side of the road and walked over toward the two cars. It was a man with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons and policeman's helmet. He walked with authority, and he held a stout club in his hand.

"What's goin' on here?" he demanded. Arima stopped in his tracks.

To Orme, at this moment, came the memory of the girl's desire to avoid publicity. "Nothing wrong," he said.

The policeman stared. "I've been watchin' you from over there," he said.

"It looks like nothin' wrong, with men fighting all over the ground."

"Just a little trial of strength," explained Orme.

"Trial of strength, hey?"

"Well," admitted Orme, "this man"--pointing to Arima--"wanted something that I had. It's not a matter for the police."

"Oh, it ain't? Somebody's been hurt." He gestured with his club toward the shadows where the three injured men were slowly coming back to their senses.

"Not seriously," said Orme.

"We'll see about that later," replied the policeman decidedly.

Orme tried to carry the affair off boldly. Every moment of delay now threatened defeat for him. "There is nothing serious," he said. "They have done me no real harm. But the young lady and I shall be obliged to you, if you will keep these j.a.panese here until we can get away. They attacked us, but I don't wish to make a complaint against them."

The policeman showed new interest. He glanced at Arima. "j.a.panese!" he exclaimed. "There was one slugged on the campus last night. I guess you'll all have to come along with me."

"Nonsense!" protested Orme. "Just because somebody hit a j.a.panese over the head last night----"

"Ah, you know about that, do you? No"--as Orme made a movement--"stand where you are." He drew his revolver.

During this colloquy, Arima had edged nearer and nearer to the papers.

Orme's sudden step was involuntary; it was due to the fact that he had seen Arima stoop swiftly and pick up the papers and thrust them into his pocket.

"Keep quiet," continued the policeman. "And you, there"--he nodded toward Arima--"come here."

Arima hesitated, but the muzzle of the revolver turned toward him, and he came and stood a few feet away.

"There's somethin' mighty funny about this," continued the policeman.

"We'll just get into one of these cars and go to the station."

"This man and me?" asked Orme. He had visions of no great difficulty in satisfying the questions of the local justice, but he knew that an arrest would mean delay, perhaps of hours. And Arima had the papers.