walk. He could think better in the open air. He took up his hat and cane, and descended in the elevator. 40

40

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 Japanese.” 

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

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CHAPTER III

THE SHADOWS

Orme walked north along the Lake Shore 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 Japanese at the Père 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 Japanese, 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 Japanese. For Orme was convinced that he stood on the edge of a significant situation. 

Suddenly he took notice of a figure a short 42 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. 

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Orme let his eyes travel still farther ahead. He observed two men actively conversing. 

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