AN OLD MAN OF THE SEA
"Oh, Mr. Orme, you are the man I most wished to see." The minister's
voice carried a note of unrestrained eagerness. He extended his hand.
Orme accepted the salutation, mustering the appearance of a casual
meeting; he must keep Alcatrante out of the building.
"I was sorry that I could not be at your apartment this morning,"
continued Alcatrante, "and I hope you did not wait too long."
"Oh, no," replied Orme. "I waited for a little while, but concluded that
something had called you away. Has Senhor Poritol recovered from his
anxiety?"
"Why, no," said Alcatrante. "But the course of events has changed." He
linked his arm in Orme's and walked along with him toward the center of
the city. "You see," he went on, "my young friend Poritol overestimated
the importance of that marked bill. It did give the clue to the hiding
place of certain papers which were of great value to him. What he failed
to realize was that the papers could be of little importance to others.
And yet, so perturbed is he that he has asked me to offer a considerable
reward for the recovery of these papers."
"Indeed?"
"Yes." Alcatrante sent a slanting glance at Orme. "The sum is
ridiculously large, but he insists on offering one thousand dollars."
"Quite a sum," said Orme calmly. He was interested in the minister's
indirections.
"As for the events of last night"--continued Alcatrante, stopping short,
with a significant glance.
"Well?" said Orme indifferently.
"I trust that you did not think me absurd for sending that detective to
you. That I did so was a result of poor Poritol's frantic insistence."
"Indeed?"
"My young friend was so afraid that you would be robbed."
"I was robbed," laughed Orme, trying to make light of the situation.
"Why, how was that?" Alcatrante's surprise was well assumed.
"Oh, after I said good-night to you, the two Japanese caught me while I
was going through the tunnel to the courtyard."
"My dear Mr. Orme!"
"They are clever, those Japanese."
"And afterward you went out again?"
"What makes you think that?"
Alcatrante bit his lip. "Why," he stammered, "the detective reported that
you were absent when he arrived."
"And therefore," remarked Orme coolly, "he got access to my apartment
and, after rummaging through my things, went sound asleep in my bedroom,
where I found him snoring when I returned."
The minister swung his cane viciously at a bit of paper that lay on the
sidewalk.
"He was not a clever detective," continued Orme. "And as for Poritol,
don't you think he had better offer his reward to the Japanese?"
"No," replied Alcatrante. "They may have stolen the clue from you, but I
have reason to think that the papers were already gone when they went to
look for them. Poritol is really very anxious."
"Doubtless," said Orme.
"Perhaps," added Alcatrante, after a short wait, "he might even go as
high as two thousand."
"Indeed? Then there will surely be many answers to his advertisement."
"Oh, he will not advertise." Alcatrante laughed. "Already he knows where
the papers are. While waiting for the clue of the bill, he discovered
what others had already availed themselves of it."
"That is curious." Orme smiled. "How did he discover that?"
"In a roundabout way. I won't take time for the story."
They walked along in silence for a little distance. Orme was figuring on
an escape, for the minister's clutch on his arm was like that of a
drowning man's. Finally he sought the simplest means of getting away. "I
have an engagement," he said. "I shall have to leave you here. Thank you
for walking with me thus far." He disengaged his arm.
"My dear Mr. Orme," said Alcatrante, "why should we beat around the
bush?"
"Why, indeed?" said Orme.
"Poritol knows that his papers are in your possession. Speaking for him,
I offer you five thousand."
"Why do you drag Poritol into this?" said Orme. "You know that he has
merely been your agent from the start. You think he has bungled, but I
tell you, you are the one who bungled, for you picked him to do the work.
He had bad luck hiring a burglar for you. He lost his head when he ran
away with another person's motor-car and had to hand the marked bill to a
country justice. He showed bad judgment when he tried to fool me with a
fancy lie. But you are the real bungler, Senhor Alcatrante. Any capable
diplomat could tell you that."
Alcatrante's yellow face grew white about the lips. His eyes flashed
balefully.
"Curse you!" he exclaimed. "You know more than is good for you. Take
care!"
Orme laughed in disgust. "Oh, drop this melodrama. I am not afraid of
cheap Machiavellis. In this country there are some crimes that are not
excused by high office."
The minister's teeth showed. "You shall see, my young friend."
"Doubtless. But let me tell you one thing; if anything happens to me, my
friends will know where to look for the criminal."
Alcatrante snarled. "Don't be too sure----"
"If necessary," continued Orme, "a word to certain persons as to the
commission for building warships--Five hundred thousand, is it not? by
the new arrangement--in gold----"
Alcatrante, in ungovernable rage, raised his light cane and struck. Orme
fended the blow with his arm, then wrenched the cane away and threw it
into the street. A swarm of passers-by gathered about them so quickly
that in a moment they were the center of a circle.
"You dunce," said Orme. "Do you want the police?"
"No," muttered Alcatrante, controlling himself with a great effort. "You
are right." He darted into the crowd at one side, and Orme, quick to take
the hint, disappeared in the opposite direction, crossing the street and
jumping into an empty cab, which had drawn up in anticipation of a fight.
"To the Rookery," he ordered, naming the first office-building that came
into his head.
"Sure," said the driver, and away they rattled.
A glance back showed Orme that the crowd was dispersing.
At a distance was Alcatrante. He had seen Orme's escape, and was looking
about vainly for another cab. But cabs are not numerous on North Parker
Street, and Orme, so far as he could tell, was not followed.
When his cab drew up at the busy entrance on La Salle Street, he found
his way to the nearest public telephone. The hour was close to five, and
he must discover quickly where he could find the girl. He called up the
Pere Marquette. "This is Mr. Orme," he explained to the clerk. "Have
there been any calls or messages for me?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. and Mrs. Wallingham called up at twelve-thirty to know if
you were going to Arradale with them."
The golfing engagement! Orme had not even thought of it since the evening
before.
"Anything else?"
"Yes, sir. A Japanese came about one o'clock. He left no name."
"The same man who came last evening?"
"No, sir, an older man."
The Japanese minister had doubtless gone straight from Arima's apartment
to the Pere Marquette. "Anything else?" asked Orme.
"There was a 'phone call for you about eleven o'clock. The party left no
name."
"A woman's voice?"
"Yes, sir. She said: 'Tell Mr. Orme that I shall not be able to call him
up at noon, but will try to do so as near two o'clock as possible.'"
"Did she call up again at two?"
"No, sir. There's no record of it."
Orme understood. In the interval after her attempt to reach him she had
learned at Arima's of his seeming treachery. "Very well," he said to the
clerk, and hung up the receiver.
What should he do now? The girl had given him up. He did not know her
name or where to find her, and yet find her he must and that within the
next few hours. The unquestionably great importance of the papers in his
pocket had begun to weigh on him heavily. He was tempted to take them
out, there in the telephone-booth, and examine them for a clue. The
circumstances justified him.
But--he had promised the girl! Stronger than his curiosity, stronger
almost than his wish to deliver the papers, was his desire to keep that
promise. It may have been foolish, quixotic; but he resolved to continue
as he had begun. "At ten o'clock," he said to himself, "if I have not
found her, I will look at the papers or go to the police--do whatever is
necessary." He did not like to break promises or miss engagements.
There was his engagement with the Wallinghams. It had absolutely gone
from his mind. Bessie would forgive him, of course. She was a sensible
little woman, and she would know that his failure to appear was due to
something unavoidable and important, but Orme's conscience bothered him a
little because he had not, before setting out that morning, telephoned to
her that he might be detained.
Bessie Wallingham! She knew the girl! Why had he not thought of that
before?
He got the Wallinghams' number. Were they at home? No, they had gone to
Arradale and would probably remain until the last evening train. He rang
off.
It remained to try Arradale. After some delay, he got the clubhouse. Mrs.
Wallingham? Yes, she had just come in. Would Mr. Orme hold the wire?
Mr. Orme certainly would, and presently he was rewarded for the delay by
hearing Bessie's brisk little voice.
"Hello?"
"Who?"
"Bob?"
"Well you ought to be ashamed of yourself; we waited over and took the
next train."
"Oh, yes, I know all about these very busy people."
"Nonsense! I was fooling, of course. But we were sorry you didn't come."
"What?"
"That girl? Why, what's the matter with you, Robert Orme?"
"Business importance? That won't do, Bob. You'll have to 'fess up."
"Do I know such a girl? Are you serious?"
"Why, Bob, I can think of several. Shall I name them?"
"Not give their names! What on earth is the matter with you?"
"Oh, part of the business, is it? Well, let me see. Tall and beautiful,
you say. Dark eyes and hair. A black touring-car. Hum! I know, three
girls to whom the description applies. It might be--but you don't wish me
to mention the name. Well, you'll have to think of something more
distinctive."
Orme thought in vain. The image of the girl was ever in his mind, but
describe her he could not. At last he said: "The girl I mean lives in one
of the suburbs. She has a father who has lately undergone a slight
operation. He is, I think, a man who is involved in negotiations with
other countries."
"Oh! Where did you meet her? Why, Bob, how interesting! I never thought
of her, but she's one of my dearest friends."
"Now, listen, Bessie. It is absolutely necessary that I should reach her
father's house before midnight. You must help me."
He heard her laugh. "Help you? Of course I will."
"Where does she live?"
"Not very far from Arradale. Bob, you come right out here. I will see to
the rest. It certainly is the funniest coincidence."
"I'll catch the first train."
"There's one at six--for men who come out to dine."
"All right. Expect me. Good-by."
Orme looked at his watch. He had an hour and a half--which meant that
time must be killed. It would be unwise to return to the Pere Marquette,
for the South Americans and the Japanese might both be on watch for him
there. But he did not care to wander about the streets, with the chance
of coming face to face with some of his enemies. It was obvious that
swift and elaborate machinery would be set in motion to catch him. Of
course, there were many places where he could conceal himself for an
hour, but----
Tom Wallingham's office! Why had he not thought of that before? Tom was
at Arradale with Bessie, but the clerks would let Orme stay in the
reception-room until it was time to start for his train. Indeed, Orme
remembered that Bixby, the head clerk, had been at the wedding of Tom and
Bessie--had in fact taken charge of the arrangements at the church.
Moreover, Tom's office was in this very building--the Rookery. Doubtless
it was for this reason that the Rookery had popped into his head when he
gave directions to the cab-driver on North Parker Street.
Hurrying to the elevators, Orme was about to enter the nearest one, when
suddenly a hand seized his elbow and pulled him to one side. He turned
quickly and saw--Alcatrante.
The minister was breathing rapidly. It was plain that he had made a quick
pursuit, but though his chest heaved and his mouth was partly open, his
eyes were curiously steady. "One minute, Mr. Orme," he said, forcing his
lips to a smile. "I had hard work to follow you. There was no other cab,
but a small boy told me that you directed your driver to the Rookery.
Therefore, I got on a street-car and rode till I found a cab." He said
all this in the most casual tone, retaining his hold on Orme's elbow as
though his attitude were familiar and friendly. Perhaps he was thus
detailing his own adventures merely to gain time; or perhaps he was
endeavoring to puzzle Orme.
But Orme was simply annoyed. He knew how dangerous Alcatrante could be.
"I am tired of being followed, Senhor," he said disgustedly, freeing his
elbow.
Alcatrante continued to smile. "That is part of the game," he said.
"Then you will find the game serious." Orme shut his lips together and
glanced about for a policeman.
Alcatrante again grasped his elbow. "Do you want publicity?" he asked.
"Your principals do not. Publicity will injure us all."
Orme had been given enough light to know that the South American's words
were true.
"If it comes to publicity," continued Alcatrante with an ugly grin, "I
will have you arrested for stealing a certain important--document and
offering to sell it to me."
"Rubbish!" laughed Orme. "That would never work at all. Too many persons
understand my part in this matter. And then"--as he noticed the flash of
triumph in Alcatrante's eyes--"I could not be arrested for stealing a
document which was not in my possession." It was too late; Alcatrante had
been able to verify his strong suspicion that Orme had the papers.
A wave of anger swept over Orme. "Publicity or no publicity," he said,
"unless this annoyance stops, I will have you arrested."
Alcatrante smiled. "That would not pay, Mr. Orme. There would be
counter-charges and you would be much delayed--perhaps even till after
midnight to-night. You Americans do not know how to play at diplomacy,
Mr. Orme."
Controlling himself, Orme hurried quickly to the nearest elevator. He had
timed his action; the starter was just about to close the door as he
hurried in. But quick though he was, Alcatrante was close behind him. The
agile South American squeezed into the elevator by so close a margin that
the door caught his coat.
"Here! What you tryin' to do?" shouted the starter.
Alcatrante, pressing in against Orme, did not reply.
The starter jerked the door open, and glared at Alcatrante. The steady
and undisturbed eye of the minister had its effect, and after a moment of
hesitation the starter banged the door shut and gave the signal and the
car leaped upward.
Tom Wallingham's office was on the eighth floor. Though he knew that
Alcatrante would cling to him, Orme could think of nothing better to do
than to go straight to the office and count on the assistance of Bixby,
who would certainly remember him. Accordingly he called out "Eight!" and,
ignoring Alcatrante, left the elevator and walked down the hall, the
South American at his elbow.
They passed a long series of doors, the glass panels of which were
inscribed, "The Wallingham Company--Private," with index-fingers pointing
the direction of the main entrance. This was the Chicago branch of the
great New York Corporation, and Thomas Wallingham, senior, had placed his
son in charge of it two years before. The business was the manufacturing
of refrigerators. One side of the reception-room which Orme entered
hurriedly, Alcatrante still beside him, was given over to a large
specimen refrigerator chamber, built in with glistening white tiles. The
massive door, three feet thick, was wide open, showing the spotless inner
chamber. In the outer wall was a thermometer dial fully a foot in
diameter.
Once inside the reception-room, Orme stopped and looked again at
Alcatrante. There was menace in the look, but the South American did not
flinch. Indeed, the glance which met his own seemed to Orme to be
disarmingly good-natured. Its essence was a humorous recognition that the
situation had its ridiculous side.
But Orme, knowing that much was at stake, did not for an instant trust
his unwelcome companion. Alcatrante would cling to him like an Old Man of
the Sea, awaiting the opportunity to get the better of him. Every wile
would be employed; but publicity was no part of the game--Orme began
really to believe that.
To shake off Alcatrante, perhaps there was no better way than to lure him
to some deserted place and overpower him. But would not Alcatrante be
likely to have anticipated such a move? And would he not resort to
desperate measures of his own before Orme could put his own plans into
practice? Bixby might help.
Orme walked over to the inquiry-window. "I want to see Mr. Bixby," he
said, offering his card.
The young woman behind the window took the card, but at the same time she
said: "Mr. Bixby left a few minutes ago. He won't be back to-day. Shall I
keep the card for him?"
"It doesn't matter, thank you," he said, turning away. Luck was against
him. Besides Bixby no one in that office knew him.
Alcatrante smiled genially. "Since Mr. Bixby is absent," he remarked,
"shall we leave the verification of the notes until to-morrow?"
"What are you talking about?" exclaimed Orme.
"Why"--Alcatrante's face was the picture of astonishment--"the Wallingham
Company notes, of course. The notes you wish to sell me." His voice was
raised so that the girl behind the window could not help hearing.
"Rot!" said Orme.
"What?" A note of indignation crept into Alcatrante's voice. "Are you
evading? Perhaps you thought I would not insist on the verification."
Another clerk, a man, had joined the girl behind the window. Alcatrante
suddenly addressed him. "This Mr. Orme told me that he needed to raise
money and would transfer to me cheap some notes signed by your company. I
met him at the hotel. He said that, if I would come here with him, he
would show the notes and have them verified. I don't understand."
The clerk left the window and, opening a door, came into the
reception-room. "What are the notes you have?" he asked.
"I have none," replied Orme, in disgust. "I have never pretended to have
any. This man is crazy, I think." He pointed to Alcatrante. "He has
followed me here uninvited for reasons of his own. I asked for Mr. Bixby,
whom I know. I would have asked for Mr. Wallingham, my personal friend,
but that I had already learned of his being at Arradale."
"There's funny business here somewhere," exclaimed Alcatrante, with great
earnestness. "Do you mean to say that you did not introduce yourself to
me in the lobby of the Framington and ask me to buy the notes?"
Orme did not answer.
With a conservative eye the clerk looked at the two. He was not one to
involve himself in a dubious affair.
"I can't settle this matter for you, gentlemen," he said.
With a slight bow, Orme went into the hall. It dawned upon him why
Alcatrante had invented so remarkable a story. Without question, the
minister had feared that Orme would enlist aid in the office, or that at
least he would manage to deposit the coveted papers in safety while he
found other means to get rid of his shadow. Hence the sudden effort to
discredit Orme.
In the long corridor Orme gave no further attention to Alcatrante, who
was pattering along beside him. The course he now had in mind was to hire
a cab and ride out of the city--all the way to Arradale, if possible. The
distance could not be much greater than fifteen miles. If Alcatrante
chose to pursue, well and good. There would be ways of disposing of him.
Then an audacious notion flashed into Orme's mind. Why not let Alcatrante
ride with him? Why not take the minister all the way to his destination
and at the end turn him over as a prisoner?
The idea was hardly practicable. He might meet other enemies, and in that
event he would not care to have an enemy already at his side. It came to
him for the first time that the nearer he approached his goal, the
greater would be the opposition he would have to overcome. Whatever else
the South Americans and Japanese might do, they would have their guards
about the house of the girl's father. Hitherto he had assumed that, once
free of Alcatrante and safe on the train to Arradale, he would have plain
going; but now he realized that the dangers would pile up higher as he
advanced. In any event, he must get rid of Alcatrante, and as they
approached the elevator grills, he spoke.
"Senhor," he said, "unless you stop following me, I shall be obliged to
hurt you. I give you fair warning."
Alcatrante laughed. "If you hurt me, as you threaten, you will find
yourself in difficulties. You will be arrested, and you will have no
opportunity to deliver the documents on time. My position as minister--my
extra-territoriality--will make it very difficult for you to extricate
yourself."
Orme looked grimly down into the sallow face. "My fist against your
chin," he said, "might do it."
Alcatrante did not lose his smile. "You will hardly try that, I think.
There would not be time for you to get away. People in these passing
elevators would see you."
Orme turned away and pressed the "down" button, and a few seconds later a
descending car stopped. He pushed his way in, Alcatrante after him.
The elevator was crowded. Clerks and stenographers were beginning to
leave their offices, for the hour was nearly five. Orme wedged his way in
at one side and, in order to gain a momentary sense of seclusion, turned
his back upon the persons who were pressing against him and stood with
face to the side of the cage, looking through the scroll-work of the
grating to the swiftly ascending cables in the next well. He was
conscious that Alcatrante stood close to him as the car began to slip
downward. It was all very ridiculous, this persistent pursuit of him.
Suddenly Alcatrante's voice burst out, "Stop the car! I've been robbed!
Stop the car!"
There was immediate commotion; a girl screamed, and the swaying of the
huddled group made the car rattle. The elevator-man quickly threw over
his lever. The car stopped with a jerk, between floors.
Orme had started to turn with the others, but with a quick exclamation he
checked his movement and pressed his face again to the grating. A
remarkable thing had happened. The ascending car in the next well had
stopped at Alcatrante's outcry. The few passengers it was carrying, eager
to see what was happening, hurried to the side nearest to Orme. Less than
two feet from his face was the face of a girl. Almost before he saw her
at all he knew her. He forgot that he had given her apparent cause to
doubt him; he did not stop to wonder what she was doing in this building.
"Girl!" he whispered.
Her lips parted; her eyes opened wider.
"Girl! Go to Tom Wallingham's office. I'll come up there. Keep out of
sight when you hear me coming. Alcatrante is with me."
She nodded.
"I have the papers," he added, and his heart thumped happily when he saw
joy and gratitude flash into her eyes.
From his position and manner he might have been explaining to her what
was happening in his own car. But now, conscious of the necessity of
taking part in the discussion about him, he reluctantly turned away from
the girl.
Alcatrante was still exclaiming volubly. His purse had disappeared. It
had been in his pocket just before he entered the car. Therefore someone
in the car must have taken it. He did not accuse any single person,
though he flashed suspicious glances at Orme, who recognized, of course,
that the move was directed against himself.
To embarrass Orme with arrest and detention would well suit the purposes
of Alcatrante. At this late hour such an event would prevent the delivery
of the papers. Orme wondered whether the minister had realized that the
papers might be found by the police and disposed of properly. The
explanation of this apparent oversight on the part of Alcatrante was not
difficult, however, for, perhaps it was not a part of the plan that Orme
should be actually thrown into a cell. It was more likely that an arrest
would be followed, after as much delay as Alcatrante could secure, by a
refusal to prosecute. One advantage to Alcatrante would be the
opportunity of getting assistance while Orme was in the hands of the
police so that after the prisoner was released he would have more than
one person to contend with. Alcatrante would give up acting alone.
"Somebody has my purse!" Alcatrante was shouting. "Somebody here! You
must not let anybody out!"
The elevator-boy had been gaping in seeming paralysis, but now several of
the passengers--men who doubtless were sure of their positions--were
angrily ordering him to take the car down. Some of them had trains to
catch.
"No! No!" screamed Alcatrante.
Orme had kept out of the discussion, but now he spoke quietly. "I think,
Senhor Alcatrante"--he uttered the name distinctly, knowing that the
South American probably did not wish himself identified--"I think that,
if the boy will take the car almost to the bottom, the starter will help
you."
There was a chorus of seconds to this suggestion. The boy pulled the
lever and let the car descend slowly, while Alcatrante continued to
exclaim.
How would the South American try to throw suspicion where he wished it?
Orme puzzled over this question, for certainly the police would not
arrest all the passengers. And then he suddenly remembered how Alcatrante
had crowded against him when they entered the car.
A cold wave of horror swept over him. Was it possible that----?
He put his hand into the left side pocket of his coat. Something was
there that did not belong there--a smooth, bulging purse. Alcatrante had
put it there.
Orme fingered the purse. He would have to get rid of it, but he dared not
to drop it to the floor, and if he thrust it through the grating and let
it fall into the elevator well, someone would be almost certain to detect
the action. There was only a moment left before the car would stop. He
looked down at Alcatrante, who was close in front of him. Then his face
relaxed and in spite of the gravity of his situation he smiled; for he
had found a solution. Promptly he acted upon it.
The car halted just below the ceiling of the first floor. "What's the
matter with you?" called a voice--the voice of the starter.
"Man robbed," said the elevator-boy.
"Bring the car down."
"No!" shouted Alcatrante. "The thief is in the car. He must not escape."
"I won't let him out. Bring the car down."
The boy let the car descend to the floor level. The starter placed
himself against the gate. "Now then, who was robbed?" he demanded.
Alcatrante crowded forward. "It was I. My purse is gone. I had it just
before I got in."
"Oh, it was you, was it?" The starter remembered the trouble Alcatrante
had made a few minutes before. "Sure you didn't drop it?"
"I am certain that I did not."
The passengers were shuffling their feet about, in a vain effort to touch
the lost property. A young girl was giggling hysterically.
"Perhaps you put it in the wrong pocket, and didn't look careful enough."
"I looked, I looked," exclaimed Alcatrante. "Do you think I would not
know. See! I put it in this pocket, which now is empty."
He thrust his hand into the pocket which he had indicated. Suddenly his
expression changed to astonishment.
"Find it?" grinned the starter.
With the blankest of looks Alcatrante pulled the purse from his pocket.
"It was not there two minutes ago," he muttered.
"You've been dreamin'," remarked the starter, opening the gate with a
bang. "All out!"
Orme chuckled to himself. In a moment Alcatrante would realize how the
purse had been replaced in his pocket, and he would be furious. Meantime
Orme entered another elevator, to go back to the eighth floor, and, as he
had expected, the minister followed him.
When they were outside the office of the Wallingham Company, Orme paused,
his hand on the door. "Senhor Alcatrante," he said, "this business must
end. I shall simply have to call the police."
"At your own risk," said Alcatrante. Then an ugly light flashed in his
eyes and his upper lip lifted above his yellow teeth. "You got the better
of me there in the elevator," he snarled. "You won't get the better
again."
Orme opened the office-door. He glanced about the reception-room, to see
whether the girl had hidden herself. She was not in view; indeed, there
was even no one at the inquiry-window. Orme reasoned that at this hour
some of the clerks might be leaving--which would mean, perhaps, that they
were first putting away their books. At least they would not be expecting
business callers.
The door of the great sample refrigerator was ajar only two or three
feet. When Orme was there a few minutes before it had been wide open. He
wondered whether the girl had chosen it as her hiding-place. If she had,
his plan of action would be simplified, for he would slip the papers in
to her, then get Alcatrante from the room.
In a casual way he folded his arms. He could now put his hand into his
inside coat-pocket and the motion would hardly be noticed.
For a moment he stood as though waiting for someone to appear at the
inquiry-window. Though Alcatrante was watching him closely, Orme
continued to act as if he were the only person in the room.
And now the dial of the big thermometer in the outer wall of the
refrigerator appeared to catch his eye, and he strolled over to it. This
placed him almost in the open doorway. Apparently his eyes were on the
dial, but in reality he was glancing sidewise into the chamber of the
refrigerator. He glimpsed a moving figure in there--heard a faint
rustling. Thrusting his hand into the inside of his coat, he was about to
take out the precious papers to pass them in to her.
Then he received a violent push from behind. He plunged forward, tripped
with one foot on the sill of the refrigerator doorway, and went in
headlong, sprawling on the tiled floor. His clutching hand caught the
fold of a woman's skirt. Then, though he remained conscious, everything
suddenly turned black.
Bewildered as he was, several seconds passed before he realized that the
massive door had been closed--that he and the girl were prisoners.