CHAPTER VIII
THE TRAIL OF MAKU
When for the second time that night he bade the girl adieu and saw herenter the house of her friends, Orme went briskly to the electric-carline.
He had not long to wait. A car came racing down the tracks and stopped athis corner. Swinging aboard at the rear platform, he glanced within.There were four passengers--a man and woman who, apparently, werereturning from an evening party of some sort, since he was in eveningdress and she wore an opera-cloak; a spectacled man, with a blackportfolio in his lap; a seedy fellow asleep in one corner, his headsagging down on his breast, his hands in his trousers pockets; and--wasit possible? Orme began to think that Fate had indeed changed her facetoward him, for the man who sat huddled midway of the car, staringstraight before him with beady, expressionless eyes, was Maku.
Under the brim of his dingy straw hat a white bandage was drawn tightaround his head--so tight that from its under edge the coarse black hairbristled out in a distinct fringe. The blow of the wrench, then, musthave cut through the skin.
Well--that would mean one more scar on the face of the Japanese.
The other scar, how had Maku come by that? Perhaps in some battle withthe Russians in Manchuria. He seemed to be little more than a boy, butthen, one never could guess the age of a Japanese, and for that matter,Orme had more than once been told that the Japanese had begun to impressvery young soldiers long before the battle of Mukden.
While making these observations, Orme had drawn his hat lower over hiseyes. He hoped to escape recognition, for this opportunity to track Makuto his destination was not to be missed. He also placed himself in such aposition on the platform that his own face was partly concealed by thecross-bars which protected the windows at the end of the car.
In his favor was the fact that Maku would not expect to see him.Doubtless the Japanese was more concerned with his aching head than withany suspicion of pursuit, though his somewhat indeterminate profile, asvisible to Orme, gave no indication of any feeling at all. So Orme stoodwhere he could watch without seeming to watch, and puzzled over theproblem of following Maku from the car without attracting attention.
The refusal of the other Japanese to accept the girl's offer of money forthe papers had given Orme a new idea of the importance of the quest. Makuand his friend must be Japanese government agents--just as Poritol andAlcatrante were unquestionably acting for their government. This, atleast, was the most probable explanation that entered Orme's mind. Thesyndicate, then,--or concession, or whatever it was--must be of genuineinternational significance.
Though Orme continued to smother his curious questionings as to themeaning of the secret, he could not ignore his general surmises. To puthis confidence in the girl--to act for her and for her alone--that wasenough for him; but it added to his happiness to think that she might beleading him into an affair which was greater than any mere tangle ofprivate interests. He knew too, that, upon the mesh of private interests,public interests are usually woven. The activity of a Russian syndicatein Korea had been the more or less direct cause of the Russo-JapaneseWar; the activity of rival American syndicates in Venezuela had been, buta few years before, productive of serious international complications. Inthe present instance, both South Americans and Japanese were interested.But Orme knew in his soul that there could be nothing unworthy in anyaction in which the girl took part. She would not only do nothingunworthy; she would understand the situation clearly enough to knowwhether the course which offered itself to her was worthy or not.
In events such as she had that night faced with him, any other girl Ormehad ever met would have shown moments of weakness, impatience, or fear.But to her belonged a calm which came from a clear perception of thecomparative unimportance of petty incident. She was strong, not as a manis strong, but in the way a woman should be strong.
The blood went to his cheeks as he remembered how tenderly he had spokento her in the boat, and how plain he had made his desire for her. Whatshould he call his feeling? Did love come to men as suddenly as this? Shehad not rebuked him--there was that much to be thankful for; and she musthave known that his words were as involuntary as his action in touchingher shoulder with his hand.
But how could she have rebuked him? She was, in a way, indebted to him.The thought troubled him. Had he unintentionally taken advantage of hergratitude by showing affection when she wished no more than comradeship?And had she gently said nothing, because he had done something for her?If her patience with him were thus to be explained, it must have beenbased upon her recognition of his unconsciousness.
Still, the more he pondered, the more clearly he saw that she was not agirl who, under the spell of friendly good will, would permit a falsesituation to exist. Her sincerity was too deep for such a glossing offact. He dared assume, then, that her sympathy with him went even so faras to accept his attitude when it was a shade more than friendly.
More than friendly! Like a white light, the truth flashed upon him as hestood there on the rocking platform of the car. He and she would have tobe more than friendly! He had never seen her until that day. He did noteven know her name. But all his life belonged to her, and would belong toher forever. The miracle which had been worked upon him, might it notalso have been worked upon her? He felt unworthy, and yet she mightcare--might already have begun to care--But he put the daring hope out ofhis mind, and looked again at Maku.
The Japanese had not moved. His face still wore its racial look ofpatient indifference; his hands were still crossed in his lap. He sat onthe edge of the seat, in order that his feet might rest on the floor, forhis legs were short; and with every lurch of the car, he swayed easily,adapting himself to the motion with an unconscious ease that betrayedsupple muscles.
The car stopped at a corner and the man and woman got out, but Maku didnot even seem to glance at them. Orme stepped back to make way for themon the platform, and as they descended and the conductor rang the bell,he looked out at the suburban landscape, with its well-lighted,macadamized streets, its vacant lots, and its occasional houses, whichseemed to be of the better class, as nearly as he could judge in theuncertain rays of the arc-lamps. He turned to the conductor, who met hisglance with the look of one who thirsts to talk.
"People used to go to parties in carriages and automobiles," said theconductor, "but now they take the car when they've any distance to go.It's quicker and handier."
"I should think that _would_ be so, here in the suburbs," said Orme.
"Oh, this ain't the suburbs. We crossed the city limits twenty minutesago."
"You don't carry many passengers this time of night."
"That depends. Sometimes we have a crowd. To-night there's hardly anyone.Nobody else is likely to get on now."
"Why is that?"
"Well, it's only a short way now to the connection with the elevatedroad. People who want to go the rest of the way by the elevated, wouldwalk. And after we pass the elevated there's other car-lines they're morelikely to take, where the cars run frequenter."
"Do you go to the heart of the city?"
"No, we stop at the barns. Say, have you noticed that Jap in there?"
The conductor nodded toward Maku.
"What about him?"
"He was put aboard by a cop. Looks as though somebody had slugged him."
"That's so," commented Orme. "His head is bandaged."
"Judging from the bandage, it must have been a nasty crack," continuedthe conductor. "But you wouldn't know he'd been hurt from his face. Say,you can't tell anything about those Johns from their looks, can you,now?"
"You certainly can't," replied Orme.
The conductor glanced out. "There's the elevated," he said. "I'll have togo in and wake that drunk. He gets off here."
Orme watched the conductor go to the man who was sleeping in the cornerand shake him. The man nodded his head vaguely, and settled back intoslumber. Through the open door came the conductor's voice: "Wakeup!"--Shake--"You get off here!"--Shake--"Wake up, there!" But
the manwould not awaken.
Maku was sitting but a few feet from the sleeping man. He had notappeared to notice what was going on, but now, just as the conductorseemed about to appeal to the motorman for help, the little Japanese slidalong the seat and said to the conductor: "I wake him."
The conductor stared, and scratched his head. "If you can," he remarked,"it's more'n I can do."
Maku did not answer, but putting his hand behind the sleeping man's back,found some sensitive vertebra. With a yell, the man awoke and leaped tohis feet. The conductor seized him by the arm and led him to theplatform.
The car was already slowing down, but without waiting for it to stop, thefellow launched himself into the night, being preserved from falling bythe god of alcohol, and stumbled away toward the sidewalk.
"Did you see the Jap?" exclaimed the conductor. "Stuck a pin into him,that's what he did."
"Oh, I guess not," laughed Orme. "He touched his spine, that was all."
The car stopped. The spectacled passenger with the portfolio arose andgot off by way of the front platform. Would Maku also take the elevated?If he did, unless he also got off the front platform, Orme would have toact quickly to keep out of sight.
But Maku made no move. He had returned to his former position, and onlythe trace of an elusive smile on his lips showed that he had notforgotten the incident in which he had just taken part. Meantime Orme hadmaintained his partial concealment, and though Maku had turned his headwhen he went to the conductor's help, he had not appeared to glancetoward the back platform.
The conductor rang the bell, and the car started forward again with itstwo passengers--Maku within, Orme without--the pursuer and the pursued.
"I thought the motorman and I was going to have to chuck that chap off,"commented the conductor. "If the Jap hadn't stuck a pin into him----"
"I don't think it was a pin. The Japanese know where to touch you so thatit will hurt."
"An' I didn't even like to rub the fellow's ears for fear of hurtin' him.I heard of a man that was made deaf that way. Smashed his ear-drums."
"I wonder where the Jap will get off?" said Orme.
"Oh, he'll go right through to the barns and take a Clark Street car.There's a lot of them Japs lives over that way. He'll be one of 'em, Iguess."
"Unless he's somebody's cook or valet."
"I don't believe he is. But, of course, you never know."
"That's true," said Orme. "One never knows."
As the car plunged onward, Maku suddenly put his hand in his pocket. Hedrew it out empty. On his face was an expression which may mean"surprise," among the Japanese. He then fumbled in his other pockets, butapparently he did not find what he was looking for. Orme wondered what itmight be.
The search continued. A piece of twine, a pocket-knife, a handkerchief,were produced in turn and inspected. At last he brought out a greenback,glancing at it twice before returning it to his pocket. Orme knew that itmust be the marked bill. But Maku was looking for something else. Hischeek glistened with perspiration; evidently he had lost something ofvalue. After a time, however, he stopped hunting his pockets, and seemedto resign himself to his loss--a fact from which Orme gathered that theobject of his search was nothing so valuable that it could not bereplaced.
When he had been quiet for a time, he again produced the greenback, andexamined it attentively. From the way he held it, Orme judged that he waslooking at the well-remembered legend: "Remember Person You Pay This To."Presently he turned it over and held it closer to his eyes. He was, ofcourse, looking at the abbreviated directions.
"You'd think that Jap had never seen money before," remarked theconductor.
"Perhaps he hasn't--that kind," replied Orme.
"Maybe he guesses it's a counterfeit."
"Maybe."
"Looks as though he was trying to read the fine print on it."
"Something you and I never have done, I imagine," said Orme.
"That's a fact," the conductor chuckled. "I never noticed anything abouta bill except the color of it and the size of the figure."
"Which is quite enough for most men."
"Sure! But I bet I pass on a lot of counterfeits without knowin' it."
"Very likely. The Jap has evidently finished his English lesson. See howcarefully he folds the bill before he puts it away."
"We're comin' to the barns," said the conductor. "Far as we go."
As he spoke, the car slowed down and stopped, and Maku arose from hisseat. Orme was at the top of the steps, ready to swing quickly to theground, if Maku left the car by the rear door. But the Japanese turned tothe forward entrance. Orme waited until Maku had got to the ground, thenhe, too, descended.
Maku did not turn at once toward the Clark Street car that was waiting tostart down-town. He stood hesitant in the street. After a moment, hisattention seemed to be attracted by the lights of an all-nightrestaurant, not far away, and he crossed the street and walked rapidly tothe gleaming sign.
Orme followed slowly, keeping on the other side of the street. If Makuwas hungry, why, Maku would eat, while he himself would wait outside likea starving child before a baker's window. But Maku, it seemed, was nothungry. Through the window Orme saw him walk to the cashier's desk andapparently ask a question. In answer, the woman behind the desk-pointedto a huge book which lay on the counter near by. Orme recognized it asthe city directory.
For some time Maku studied the pages. Then he seemed to appeal to thecashier for help, for she pulled the book to her, looked at him as thoughshe were asking a question, and then, rapidly running through the leaves,placed her finger at a certain part of a certain page and turned the bookaround so that the Japanese could see. He nodded and, after bowing in acurious fashion, came back to the street.
Orme had, meantime, walked on for a little way. He would have gone to therestaurant in an endeavor to find out what address Maku had wished, butfor two reasons: The cashier might refuse to tell him, or she might haveforgotten the name. In either event his opportunity to follow Maku wouldthus be lost--and to follow Maku was still his best course. Accordinglyhe watched the Japanese go back to a Clark Street car and climb aboard.
It was an open car, with transverse seats, and Maku had chosen a positionabout two-thirds of the way back. There was, as yet, only one otherpassenger. How to get aboard without being seen by Maku was a hardproblem for Orme, but he solved it by taking a chance. Walking rapidlytoward the next corner, away from the car, he got out of the direct raysof the street-lamp, and waited.
Presently the car started. It almost reached Orme's corner when hesignaled it and, hurrying into the street, swung on to the back platform.
There had been barely time for the car to slow down a little. Maku couldnot well have seen him without turning his head, and Orme had watched thelittle Japanese closely enough to know that he had continued to starestraight before him.
Safe on the back platform, a desire to smoke came to Orme. He found acigar in his case and lighted it. While he was shielding the match, helooked over his hollowed hand and saw Maku produce a cigarette and lightit. The Japanese had apparently wished the consolation of tobacco just asOrme had.
"An odd coincidence," muttered Orme. "I hope it wasn't mind-reading." Andhe smiled as he drew a mouthful of smoke.
Lincoln Park slid by them on the left. The car was getting well down intothe city. Suddenly Maku worked along to the end of his seat and got downon the running-board. The conductor pulled the bell. The car stopped andthe Oriental jumped off.
The action had been so quick that Orme, taken off his guard, had not hadtime to get off first. He, therefore, remained on the car, which began tomove forward again. Looking after Maku, he saw that the Japanese,glancing neither to right nor to left, was making off down the sidestreet, going west; so he in turn stepped to the street, just as Makudisappeared beyond the corner. He hurried quickly to the side street andsaw Maku, half a block ahead, walking with short, rapid steps. How hadMaku got so far? He must have run while Orme was retrac
ing the way to thecorner. And yet Maku seemed to have had no suspicion that he was beingfollowed.
The chase led quickly to a district of poor houses and shops--anill-looking, ill-smelling district, where every shadow seemed ominous.Whenever they approached a corner, Orme hurried forward, running on histoes, to shorten the distance in the event that Maku turned, but thecourse continued straight until Orme began to wonder whether they werenot getting near to the river, one branch of which, he knew, ran norththrough the city.
At last Maku turned into an alley, which cut through the middle of ablock. This was something which Orme had not expected. He ran forward andpeered down the dark, unpleasant passage. There was his man, barelyvisible, picking a careful way through the ash-heaps and avoiding thepestilential garbage-cans.
Orme followed, and when Maku turned west again at the next street, swungrapidly after him and around the corner, with the full expectation ofseeing him hurrying along, half a block away. But no one was in sight.Had he slipped into one of the near-by buildings?
While Orme was puzzling, a voice at his elbow said, "Hello!"
He turned with a start. Flattened in a shadowed niche of the wall besidehim was Maku!
"Hello!" the Japanese said again.
"Well?" exclaimed Orme sharply, trying to make the best of the situation.
"You mus' not follow me." The Japanese spoke impassively.
"Follow you?"
"I saw you in a mirror at the other end of car."
So that was it! Orme remembered no mirror, but the Japanese might applythe word to the reflecting surface of one of the forward windows.
"You lit a match," continued Maku. "I saw. Then I come here, to find ifyou follow."
Orme considered. Now that he was discovered, it would be futile tocontinue the chase, since Maku, naturally, would not go to hisdestination with Orme at his heels. But he said:
"You can't order me off the streets, Maku."
"I know. If you follow, then we walk an' walk an' walk--mebbe till nex'week." Orme swore under his breath. It was quite clear that the littleJapanese would never rejoin the man who had the papers until he was surethat he had shaken off his pursuer. So Orme simply said:
"Good-night."
Disappointed, baffled, he turned eastward and walked with long stridesback toward the car-line. He did not look to see whether Maku was behindhim. That did not matter now. He had missed his second opportunity sincethe other Japanese escaped him in the university campus.
Crossing North Clark Street a block north of the point at which he andMaku had left the car, he continued lakeward, coming out on the driveonly a short distance from the Pere Marquette, and a few minutes later,after giving the elevator-boy orders to call him at eight in the morning,he was in his apartment, with the prospect of four hours of sleep.
But there was a final question: Should he return to the all-nightrestaurant near the car-barns and try to learn from the cashier theaddress which Maku had sought? Surely she would have forgotten the nameby this time. Perhaps it was a Japanese name, and, therefore, the harderto remember. True, she might remember it; if it were a peculiarcombination of letters, the very peculiarity might have fixed it in hermind. And if he hesitated to go back there now, the slim chance that thename remained with her would grow slimmer with every added moment ofdelay. He felt that he ought to go. He was dog-tired, but--he rememberedthe girl's anxiety. Yes, he would go; with the bare possibility that thecashier would remember and would be willing to tell him what sheremembered, he would go.
He took up his hat and stepped toward the door. At that moment he heard asound from his bedroom. It was an unmistakable snore. He tip-toed to thebedroom door and peered within. Seated in an arm-chair was a man. He wasdistinctly visible in the light which came in from the sitting-room, andit was quite plain that he was sound asleep and breathing heavily. Andnow for the second time his palate vibrated with the raucous voice ofsleep.
Orme switched on the bedroom lights. The man opened his eyes and startedfrom the chair.
"Who are you?" demanded Orme.
"Why--the detective, of course."
"Detective?"
"Sure--regular force."
"Regular force?"
The stranger pulled back his coat and displayed his nickeled star.
"But what are you doing here?" gasped Orme, amazed.
"Why, a foreign fellow came to the chief and said you wanted a man tokeep an eye on your quarters to-night--and the chief sent me. I wasdozing a bit--but I'm a light sleeper. I wake at the least noise."
Orme smiled reminiscently, thinking of the snore. "Tell me," he said,"was it Senhor Alcatrante who had you sent?"
"I believe that _was_ his name." He was slowly regaining hissleep-benumbed wits. "That reminds me," he continued. "He gave me a notefor you."
An envelope was produced from an inside pocket. Orme took it and tore itopen. The sheet within bore the caption, "Office of The Chief of Police,"and the few lines, written beneath in fine script, were as follows:
"Dear Mr. Orme:
"You will, I am sure, pardon my seeming over-anxiety for your safety, and the safety of Poritol's treasure, but I cannot resist using my influence to see that you are well-protected to-night by what you in America call 'a plain-clothes man.' I trust that he will frighten away the Yellow Peril and permit you to slumber undisturbed. If you do not wish him inside your apartment, he will sit in the hall outside your door.
"With all regard for your continued good health, believe me, dear Mr. Orme,
"Yours, etc., etc.,
"Pedro Alcatrante."
In view of everything that had happened since the note was penned, Ormesmiled a grim smile. Alcatrante must have been very anxious indeed; andyet, considering that the minister knew nothing of Orme's encounter withthe Japanese and his meeting with the girl, the sending of the detectivemight naturally have been expected to pass as an impressive, butfriendly, precaution.
The detective was rapidly losing his self-assurance. "I had only beenasleep for a moment," he said.
"Yes?" Orme spoke indifferently. "Well, you may go now. There is nolonger any need of you here."
"But my instructions----"
"Were given under a misapprehension. My return makes your presenceunnecessary. Good-night--or good-morning, rather." He nodded toward thedoor.
The detective hesitated. "Look a here!" he suddenly burst out. "I neversaw you before."
"Nor I you," replied Orme.
"Then how do I know that you are Mr. Orme? You may be the very chap I wasto keep out, far as I know."
"Sure enough, I may be," said Orme dryly, adding--"But I am not. Now go."
The detective narrowed his eyebrows. "Not without identification."
"Ask the night-clerk," exclaimed Orme impatiently. "Can't you see that Idon't wish to be bothered any longer?"
He went over to the door and threw it open.
"Come," he continued. "Well, here then"--as the detective did notmove--"here's my card. That ought to do you."
He took a card from his pocket-case and offered it to the detective, who,after scrutinizing it for a moment, let it fall to the floor.
"Oh, it's all right, I guess," he said. "But what shall I say to thechief?"
"Simply say that I didn't need you any longer."
The detective picked up his hat and went.
"Thank Heaven!" exclaimed Orme as he closed the door. "But I wonder why Ididn't notice his hat. It was lying here in plain sight."
He went to the telephone and spoke to the clerk. "Did you let thatdetective into my apartment?" he asked.
"Why, yes, Mr. Orme. He was one of the regular force, and he said thatyou wanted him here. I called up the chief's office, and the order wascorroborated. I meant to tell you when you came in, but you passed thedesk just while I was down eating my supper. The elevator-boy let you in,didn't he?"
"Yes. Never mind, it's all rig
ht. Good-night."
But when Orme examined his traveling-bag, he found that someone hadevidently made a search through it. Nothing had been taken, but theorderly arrangement of his effects had been disturbed. His conclusion wasthat Alcatrante had bribed the fellow to go much farther than officialzeal demanded. Doubtless the minister had paid the detective to hunt fora marked five-dollar bill and make a copy of whatever was written onit--which would have been quite a safe proceeding for the detective, ifhe were not caught at the task. A subtle man, Alcatrante; but no subtlerthan the Japanese.
Dismissing the incident from his mind, Orme again made ready to return tothe all-night restaurant. He paused at the door, however, to give thesituation a final analysis. Maku had lost something. After hunting for itvainly, he had gone to the city directory for information which appearedto satisfy him. Then what he lost must have been an address. How would hehave been likely to lose it?
Orme's fatigue was so great that he repeated the question to himselfseveral times without seeing any meaning in it. He forced his tired brainback to the first statement. Maku had lost something. Yes, he had lostsomething. What was it he had lost? Oh, yes, a paper.
It was futile. His brain refused to work.
Maku had lost a paper. A paper?
"Ah!" Orme was awake now.
"How stupid!" he exclaimed.
For he had entirely forgotten the paper which he had taken from thepocket of the unconscious Maku, there on the campus! He had thrust itinto his pocket without looking at it, and in the excitement of his lateradventures it had passed utterly from his memory.
Another moment and he had the paper in his hand. His fingers shook as heunfolded it, and he felt angry at his weakness. Yes, there it was--theaddress--written in an unformed hand. If he had only thought of the paperbefore, he would have been saved a deal of trouble--would have had moresleep. He read it over several times--"Three forty-one, North ParkerStreet"--so that he would remember it, if the paper should be lost.
"I'm glad Maku didn't write it in Japanese!" he exclaimed.