The Girl and the Bill. Bannister Merwin

I suppose you saw to it that no one else should have access to Walsh.”

      “Yes, father arranged that by telephone. The man is in solitary confinement. Several persons tried to see him to-day, on the plea of being relatives. None of them was admitted.”

      What money-king was this girl’s father, that he could thus regulate the treatment of prisoners?

      “So there were abbreviations on the bill?” she asked.

      “Yes. They weren’t very elaborate, and I puzzled over them for some time. The curious fact is that, for all my study of them, I can’t remember much of anything about them. What I have since been through, apparently, has driven the letters out of my head.”

      “Oh, do try to remember,” she implored. “Even if you recall only one or two bits of it, they may help me.”

      “There was something about a man named Evans,” he began. “S. R. Evans, it was.”

      “Evans? That is strange. I can’t think how anyone of that name could be involved.”

      “Then S. R. Evans is not your father?” he ventured.

      “Oh, no.” She laughed a light little laugh. “My father is—but are you sure that the name was Evans?”

      “Quite sure. Then there was the abbreviation ‘Chi.’—which I took to mean ‘Chicago.’ ”

      “Yes?” she breathed.

      “And there were numerals—a number, then the letter ‘N.’; another number, followed by the letter ‘E.’ So far north, so far east, I read it—though I couldn’t make out whether the numbers stood for feet or paces or miles.”

      “Yes, yes,” she whispered. Her eyes were intent on his. They seemed to will him to remember. “What else was there?”

      “Odd letters, which meant nothing to me. It’s annoying, but I simply can’t recall them. Believe me, I should like to.”

      “Perhaps you will a little later,” she said. “I’m sorry to be such a bother to you.”

      “Bother!”

      “But it does mean so much, the tracing of this bill.”

      “Shall we go to see Walsh?” he asked.

      “I suppose so.” She sighed. Apparently she was discouraged. “But even if he gives the information, it may be too late. The Japanese have the directions.”

      “But perhaps they will not be able to make them out,” he suggested.

      She smiled. “You don’t know the Japanese,” she said. “They are abominably clever at such things. I will venture that they are already on their way to the hiding-place.”

      “But even if the papers are in the pocket of one of them, it may be possible to steal them back.”

      “Hardly.” She arose. “I fear that the one chance is the mere possibility that Maku couldn’t read the directions. Then, if Walsh will speak out——”

      “Now, let me say something,” he said. “My name is Robert Orme. Apparently we have common friends in the Wallinghams. When I first saw you this afternoon, I felt that I might have a right to your acquaintance—a social right, if you like; a sympathetic right, I trust.”

      He held out his hand. She took it frankly, and the friendly pressure of her fine, firm palm sent the blood tingling through him.

      “I am sorry,” she said, “that I can’t give you my name. It would be unfair just now—unfair to others; for if you knew who I am, it might give you a clue to the secret I guard.”

      “Some day, I hope, I may know,” he said gravely. “But your present wish is my law. It is good of you to let me try to help you.”

      At the same instant they became conscious that their hands were still clasped. The girl blushed, and gently drew hers away.

      “I shall call you Girl,” Orme added.

      “A name I like,” she said. “My father uses it. Oh, if I only knew what that burglar wrote on the bill!”

      Orme started. What a fool he had been! Here he was, trying to help the girl, forcing her to the long, tired recital of her story, when all the time he held her secret in the table in his sitting-room. For there was still the paper on which he had copied the abbreviated directions.

      “Wait here,” he said sharply, and without answering the look of surprise on her face, hurried from the room and to the elevator. A few moments later he was back, the sheet of paper in his hand.

      “I can’t forgive my own stupidity,” he said. “While I was puzzling over the bill this evening I copied the secret on a sheet of paper. When Poritol came I put it away in a drawer and forgot all about it. But here it is.” He laid the paper on the little, useless onyx table that stood beside her chair.

      She snatched it quickly and began to examine it closely.

      “Perhaps you can imagine how those letters puzzled me,” he volunteered.

      “Hush!” she exclaimed; and then: “Oh, this is plain. You wouldn’t know, of course, but I see it clearly. There is no time to lose.”

      “You are going to follow this clue now—to-night?”

      “Maku will read it on the bill, and—oh, these Japanese! If you have one in your kitchen, you never know whether he’s a jinriksha man, a college student, or a vice-admiral.”

      “You will let me go with you?” Orme was trembling for the answer. He was still in the dark, and did not know how far she would feel that she could accept his aid.

      “I may need you, Mr. Orme,” she said simply.

      It pleased him that she brought up no question of possible inconvenience to him. With her, he realized, only direct relations were possible.

      “How much of a journey is it?” he ventured to ask.

      “Not very long. I intend to be mysterious about it.” She smiled brightly. Her face had lighted up wonderfully since he gave her the paper that contained the secret of the bill.

      But he knew that she must be tired; so he said: “Can’t you send me alone on this errand? It may be late before it is done, and——”

      “And I will not sit and rest while you do all the work. Besides, I cannot forego the excitement of the chase.”

      He was selfishly glad in her answer. “Do we walk?” he asked.

      “We will go in the motor,” she said.

      “Where is it?”

      “I left it around the corner. The thought came to me that Mr. Poritol might be here, and I didn’t wish him to recognize it.”

      Orme thought of the hard quest the girl had followed that day—battling for her father’s interests. What kind of a man could that father be to let his daughter thus go into difficulties alone? But she had said that her father was unable to leave the house. Probably he did not know how serious the adventure might be. Or was the loss of the papers so desperate that even a daughter must run risks?

      Together they went out to the street. Orme caught a dubious glance from the clerk, as they passed through the lobby, and he resented it. Surely anyone could see——

      The girl led the way around the corner into a side street. There stood the car. He helped her in and without a word saw that she was restfully and comfortably placed in the seat next to the chauffeur’s. She did not resist the implication of his mastery.

      He cranked up, leaped to the seat beside her, and took the levers. “Which way, Girl?” he asked.

      “North,” she answered.