his assailants. At the street entrance to the tunnel, he looked quickly in both directions, but his men were not in sight. Pursuit was futile. Slowly he turned back. He thought of notifying the police, but, after all, he was none the worse off—except for his promise to Poritol and Alcatrante, now involuntarily broken. 57 He must explain to them as best he could. The marked bill had been of no consequence to him except as a focus of adventure. And he had had about as much adventure as he could expect for one evening. 57 But the secret of the bill still tantalized him. Blindfolded, he had played in a game at which the others saw. It seemed unfair—as if he had some right to know the meaning of all these mysterious incidents. Why had Poritol wanted the bill so badly? Why had the desire to possess it driven the two Japanese to such extreme measures? Orme crossed the court and entered the lobby. The clerk looked at him curiously. “Mr. Orme,” he said, “there is a young lady in the reception-room, waiting to see you.” “Me?” Orme looked his surprise. “Yes, sir. She gave no name.” “Has she been waiting long?” “Nearly an hour.” Without further questioning, Orme turned to the door of the little green-and-gold room. At the threshold he paused in bewilderment. Arising to meet him, smiling frankly, was the girl of the car. 58 CHAPTER IV THE GIRL OF THE CAR “Oh,” she said, with a little gasp of recognition, “are you Mr. Orme?” Her cheeks flushed softly. He bowed; his heart was beating furiously, and for the moment he dared not try to speak. “Then we do meet again,” she exclaimed—“and as usual I need your help. Isn’t it queer?”
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