The Girl and the Bill, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  SENHOR PORITOL

  When Orme answered the knock at the door a singular young man stood atthe threshold. He was short, wiry, and very dark. His nose was long andcomplacently tilted at the end. His eyes were small and very black. Hismouth was a wide, uncertain slit. In his hand he carried a light cane anda silk hat of the flat-brimmed French type. And he wore a gray sack suit,pressed and creased with painful exactness.

  "Come in, Senhor Poritol," said Orme, motioning toward a chair.

  The little man entered, with short, rapid steps. He drew from his pocketa clean pocket-handkerchief, which he unfolded and spread out on thesurface of the table. Upon the handkerchief he carefully placed his hatand then, after an ineffectual effort to make it stand against the tableedge, laid his cane on the floor.

  Not until all this ceremony had been completed did he appear to noticeOrme. But now he turned, widening his face into a smile and extending hishand, which Orme took rather dubiously--it was supple and moist.

  "Oh, this is Mr. Orme, is it not?"

  "Yes," said Orme, freeing himself from the unpleasant handshake.

  "Mr. _Robert_ Orme?"

  "Yes, that is my name. What can I do for you?"

  For a moment Senhor Poritol appeared to hover like a timid bird; then heseated himself on the edge of a chair, only the tips of his toes touchingthe floor. His eyes danced brightly.

  "To begin with, Mr. Orme," he said, "I am charmed to meet you--verycharmed." He rolled his "r's" after a fashion that need not bereproduced. "And in the second place," he continued, "while actually I ama foreigner in your dear country, I regard myself as in spirit one ofyour natives. I came here when a boy, and was educated at your greatUniversity of Princeton."

  "You are a Portuguese--I infer from your name," said Orme.

  "Oh, dear, no! Oh, no, no, no!" exclaimed Senhor Poritol, tapping thefloor nervously with his toes. "My country he freed himself from thePortuguese yoke many and many a year ago. I am a South American, Mr.Orme--one of the poor relations of your great country." Again the widenedsmile. Then he suddenly became grave, and leaned forward, his hands onhis knees. "But this is not the business of our meeting, Mr. Orme."

  "No?" inquired Orme.

  "No, my dear sir. I have come to ask of you about the five-dollar billwhich you received in the hat-shop this afternoon." He peered anxiously."You still have it? You have not spent it?"

  "A marked bill, was it not?"

  "Yes, yes. Where is it, my dear sir, where is it?"

  "Written across the face of it were the words, 'Remember person you paythis to.'"

  "Oh, yes, yes."

  "And on the back of it----"

  "On the back of it!" gasped the little man.

  "Was a curious cryptogram."

  "Do not torture me!" exclaimed Senhor Poritol. "Have you got it?" Hisfingers worked nervously.

  "Yes," said Orme slowly, "I still have it."

  Senhor Poritol hastily took a fresh five-dollar bill from his pocket."See," he said, jumping to the floor, "here is another just as good abill. I give this to you in return for the bill which was paid to youthis afternoon." He thrust the new bill toward Orme, and waved his otherhand rhetorically. "That, and that alone, is my business with you, dearsir."

  Orme's hand went to his pocket. The visitor watched the motion eagerly,and a grimace of disappointment contracted his features when the handcame forth, holding a cigar-case.

  "Have one," Orme urged.

  In his anxiety the little man almost danced. "But, sir," he broke forth,"I am in desperate hurry. I must meet a friend. I must catch a train."

  "One moment," interrupted Orme. "I can't very well give up that billuntil I know a little better what it means. You will have to show me thatyou are entitled to it--and"--he smiled--"meantime you'd better smoke."

  Senhor Poritol sighed. "I can assure you of my honesty of purpose, sir,"he said. "I cannot tell you about it. I have not the time. Also, it isnot my secret. This bill, sir, is just as good as the other one."

  "Very likely," said Orme dryly. He was wondering whether this was somenew counterfeiting dodge. How easily most persons could be induced tomake the transfer!

  A counterfeiter, however, would hardly work by so picturesque andnoticeable a method, unless he were carefully disguised--hardly eventhen. Was Senhor Poritol disguised? Orme looked at him more closely. No,he could see where the roots of the coarse black hair joined the scalp.And there was not the least evidence of make-up on the face.Nevertheless, Orme did not feel warranted in giving up the marked billwithout a definite explanation. The little man was a comic figure, buthis bizarre exterior might conceal a dangerous plot. He might be a thief,an anarchist, anything.

  "Please, my dear sir, please do not add to my already very greatanxiety," pleaded the visitor.

  Orme spoke more decisively. "You are a stranger, Senhor Poritol. I don'tknow what all this mystery conceals, but I can't give you that billunless I know more about it--and I won't," he added, as he saw SenhorPoritol open his mouth for further pleading.

  "Very well," sighed the little man. He hesitated for an instant, thenadded: "I do not blame you for insisting, and I suppose I must say to youeverything that you demand. No, I do not smoke the cigar, please. But ifyou do not object--" He produced a square of cigarette paper and sometobacco from a silver-mounted pouch, and deftly rolled a cigarette withone hand, accepting a match from Orme with the other. Closing his eyes,he inhaled the smoke deeply, breathing it out through his nostrils.

  "Well--" he hesitated, his eyes roving about the room as if in search ofsomething--"Well, I will explain to you why I want the bill."

  Orme lighted a fresh cigar, and settled himself to hear the story. SenhorPoritol drew a second handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his dampbrow.

  "You must know, my very dear sir," he began, "that I come from a countrywhich is very rich in the resources of nature. In the unsettled interiorare very great mineral deposits which are little known, and since the daywhen the great Vega made the first exploration there has been the beliefthat the Urinaba Mountains hide a great wealth in gold. Many men forthree hundred years have risked their most precious lives to go look forit. But they have not found it. No, my dear sir, they have not found ituntil--But have patience, and you shall hear everything.

  "A few days ago a countryman of mine sent word that he was about to die.He asked that I, his early friend, should come to him immediately andreceive news of utmost importance. He was lying sick in the hotel of asmall city in Wisconsin. He was a tobacco agent and he had been attackedby Death while he was on a business trip.

  "Filled with the heartbroken hope to see him once more before he died, Iwent even as I was, to a train and made all haste to his bedside."

  "What was his name?" asked Orme.

  "Lopez," replied Senhor Poritol promptly; and Orme knew that the answermight as well have been Smith. But the little man returned quickly to hisstory.

  "My friend had no strength left. He was, oh, so weak that I wept to seehim. But he sent the doctor and the priest out of the room, and then--andthen he whispered in my ear a secret. He had discovered rich gold in theUrinaba country. He had been trying to earn money to go back and dig upthe gold. But, alas! now he was dying, and he wished to give the secretto me, his old friend.

  "Tears streamed on my cheek." Senhor Poritol's eyes filled, seemingly atthe remembrance. "But I took out my fountain-pen to write down thedirections he wished to give. See--this was the pen." He produced agold-mounted tube from his waistcoat.

  "I searched my pockets for a piece of paper. None could I discover. Therewas no time to be lost, for my friend was growing weaker, oh, very fast.In desperation I took a five-dollar bill, and wrote upon it thedirections he gave me for finding the gold. Even as I finished it, dearLopez breathed his last breath."

  Orme puffed at his cigar. "So the bill carries directions for finding arich deposit in the Urinaba Mountains?"

  "Yes, my dear sir. But you woul
d not rob me of it. You could notunderstand the directions."

  "Oh, no." Orme laughed. "I have no interest in South American goldmines."

  "Then accept this fresh bill," implored Senhor Poritol, "and give me backthe one I yearn for."

  Orme hesitated. "A moment more," he said. "Tell me, how did you losepossession of the marked bill?"

  The South American writhed in his chair and leaned forward eagerly. "Thatis the most distressing part of all," he exclaimed. "I had left Chicagoat a time when my presence in this great city was very important indeed.Nothing but the call from a dying friend would have induced me to goaway. My whole future in this country depended upon my returning in timeto complete certain business.

  "So, after dear Lopez was dead, I rushed to the local railroad station. Atrain was coming in. I searched my pocket for my money to buy my ticket.All I could find was the five-dollar bill!

  "It was necessary to return to Chicago; yet I could not lose the bill. Ahappy thought struck me. I wrote upon the face of it the words you haveseen, and paid it to the ticket-agent. I called his attention to thewriting and implored him to save the bill if he could until I returned,and if not, to be sure to remember the person he gave it to."

  Orme laughed.

  "It does seem funny," said Senhor Poritol, rolling another cigarette,"but you cannot imagine my most frantic desperation. I returned toChicago and transacted my business. Then I hastened back to the Wisconsincity. Woe is me! The ticket-agent had paid the bill to a Chicago citizen.I secured the name of this man and finally found him at his office on LaSalle Street. Alas! he, too, had spent the bill, but I tracked it fromperson to person, until now, my dear sir, I have found it? So----" hepaused and looked eloquently at Orme.

  "Do you know a man named Evans?" Orme asked.

  Senhor Poritol looked at him in bewilderment.

  "S. R. Evans," insisted Orme.

  "Why, no, dear sir--I think not--But what has that to do----?"

  Orme pushed a sheet of paper across the table. "Oblige me, SenhorPoritol. Print in small capitals the name, 'S. R. Evans.'"

  Senhor Poritol was apparently reluctant. However, under the compulsion ofOrme's eye, he finally took out his fountain-pen and wrote the name inflowing script. He then pushed the paper back toward Orme, with aninquiring look.

  "No, that isn't what I mean," exclaimed Orme. "Print it. Print it incapital letters."

  Senhor Poritol slowly printed out the name.

  Orme took the paper, laying it before him. He then produced the covetedbill from his pocket-book. Senhor Poritol uttered a little cry of delightand stretched forth an eager hand, but Orme, who was busily comparing theletters on the paper with the letters on the bill, waved him back.

  After a few moments Orme looked up. "Senhor Poritol," he said, "whydidn't you write the secret on a time-table, or on your ticket, beforeyou gave the bill to the agent?"

  Senhor Poritol was flustered. "Why," he said uncertainly, "I did notthink of that. How can we explain the mistakes we make in moments ofgreat nervousness?"

  "True," said Orme. "But one more point. You did not yourself write yourfriend's secret on the bill. The letters which you have just printed aredifferently made."

  Senhor Poritol said nothing. He was breathing hard.

  "On the other hand," continued Orme, turning the bill over and eyeing theinscription on its face, "your mistake in first writing the name insteadof printing it, shows me that you did write the words on the _face_ ofthe bill." He returned the bill to his pocket-book. "I can't give you thebill," he said. "Your story doesn't hold together."

  With a queer little scream, the South American bounded from his chair andflung himself at Orme. He struck no blow, but clawed desperately atOrme's pocket. The struggle lasted only for a moment. Orme, seizing thelittle man by the collar, dragged him, wriggling, to the door.

  "Now get out," said Orme. "If I find you hanging around, I'll have youlocked up."

  Senhor Poritol whispered: "It is my secret. Why should I tell you thetruth about it? You have no right to know."

  Orme retained his hold. "I don't like your looks, my friend," he said."There may have been reason why you should lie to me, but you will haveto make things clear." He considered. After all, he must make allowance;so he said: "Come back to-morrow with evidence that you are entitled tothe bill, and you shall have it." He released Senhor Poritol.

  The little man had recovered his composure. He went back to the table andtook up his hat and cane, refolding the handkerchief and slipping it intohis pocket. Once more he was the Latin fop. He approached Orme, and hismanner was deprecatory.

  "My most abject apologies for attacking you, sir. I was beside myself.But if you will only permit me, I will bring up my friend, who is waitingbelow. He will, as you say, vouch for me."

  "Who is he?"

  "A very, very distinguished man."

  Orme pondered. The adventure was opening up, and he felt inclined to seeit through. "Bring him," he said shortly.

  When Senhor Poritol had disappeared Orme telephoned to the clerk. "Sendme up a porter," he ordered, "and have him stand just outside my door,with orders to enter if he hears any disturbance." He waited at the doortill the porter appeared, then told him to remain in a certain placeuntil he was needed, or until the visitors left.

  Senhor Poritol remained downstairs for several minutes. Evidently he wasexplaining the situation to his friend. But after a time Orme heard theclang of the elevator door, and in response to the knock that quicklyfollowed, he opened his own door. At the side of his former visitor stooda dapper foreigner. He wore a long frock coat and carried a glossy hat,and his eyes were framed by large gold spectacles.

  "This is the Senhor Alcatrante," explained Senhor Poritol.

  The newcomer bowed with suave dignity.

  "Senhor Alcatrante? The name is familiar," said Orme, smiling.

  Poritol assumed an air. "He is the minister from my country to theseUnited States."

  Orme understood. This was the wary South American diplomat whose name hadlately been so prominent in the Washington dispatches. What was he doingin Chicago?

  "I am glad to meet you," said Orme.

  Alcatrante smiled, displaying a prominent row of uneven teeth.

  "My young friend, Poritol," he began, "tells me that you have in yourpossession the record of a secret belonging to him. What that secret is,is immaterial to you and me, I take it. He is an honorable youngman--excitable, perhaps, but well-meaning. I would suggest that you givehim the five-dollar bill he desires, accepting from him another inexchange. Or, if you still doubt him, permit me to offer you a bill frommy own pocket." He drew out a fat wallet.

  The situation appeared to be simplified. And yet Orme was dubious. Therewas mischief in the bill; so much he felt sure of. Alcatrante'sreputation was that of a fox, and as for Poritol, he was, to say theleast, a person of uncertain qualities. Orme could not but admire thesubtle manner in which Alcatrante sought delicately to limit his doubtsto the mere possibility that Poritol was trying to pass spurious money.He decided not to settle the question at this moment.

  "This seems to be rather a mixed-up affair, Senhor Alcatrante," he said."There is much more in it than appears. Call on me to-morrow morning, andyou shall have my decision."

  Alcatrante and Poritol looked at each other. The minister spoke:

  "Will you engage not to give the bill to anyone else in the interval?"

  "I will promise that," said Orme. "It is only fair. Yes, I will keep thebill until to-morrow morning."

  "One other suggestion," continued Alcatrante. "You may not be willing togive up the bill, but is there any reason why you should refuse to letSenhor Poritol copy the writing that is on it?"

  "Only my determination to think the whole matter over before I doanything at all," Orme replied.

  "But the bill came into your hands by chance," insisted the minister."The information means nothing to you, though obviously it means a greatdeal to my young friend, here. May I ask wh
at right you have to deny thisrequest?"

  "What right?" Orme's eyes narrowed. "My right is that I have the bill andthe information, and I intend to understand the situation better before Igive the information to anyone else."

  "But you recognized Senhor Poritol's handwriting on the bill," exclaimedthe minister.

  "On the face of it, yes. He did not write the abbreviations on the back."

  "Abbreviations!" exclaimed Poritol.

  "Please let the matter rest till morning," said Orme stubbornly. "I havetold you just what I would do."

  Poritol opened his mouth, to speak, but Alcatrante silenced him with afrown. "Your word is sufficient, Mr. Orme," he said. "We will callto-morrow morning. Is ten o'clock too early?"

  "Not at all," said Orme. "Doubtless I shall be able to satisfy you. Imerely wish to think it over."

  With a formal bow, Alcatrante turned to the door and departed, Poritolfollowing.

  Orme strolled back to his window and stood idly watching the lights ofthe vessels on the lake. But his mind was not on the unfolded view beforehim. He was puzzling over this mystery in which he had so suddenly becomea factor. Unquestionably, the five-dollar bill held the key to someserious problem.

  Surely Alcatrante had not come merely as the friend of Poritol, for thedifference in the station of the two South Americans was marked. Poritolwas a cheap character--useful, no doubt, in certain kinds of work, butvulgar and unconvincing. He might well be one of those promoters who hangon at the edge of great projects, hoping to pick up a commission here andthere. His strongest point was his obvious effort to triumph over his owninsignificance, for this effort, by its comic but desperate earnestness,could not but command a certain degree of respect.

  Alcatrante, on the other hand, was a name to make statesmen knit theirbrows. A smooth trouble-maker, he had set Europe by the ears in thematter of unsettled South American loans, dexterously appealing to themuch-overworked Monroe Doctrine every time his country was threatened bya French or German or British blockade. But his mind was of no smallcaliber. He could hold his own not only at his own game of internationalchess, but in the cultured discussion of polite topics. Orme knew of himas a clever after-dinner speaker, a man who could, when he so desired,please greatly by his personal charm.

  No, Alcatrante was no friend of Poritol's; nor was it likely that, asprotector of the interests of his countrymen, he would go so far as toaccompany them on their errands unless much was at stake. Perhaps Poritolwas Alcatrante's tool and had bungled some important commission. Itoccurred to Orme that the secret of the bill might be connected with thenegotiation of a big business concession in Alcatrante's country. "S. R.Evans" might be trying to get control of rubber forests or mines--in theUrinaba Mountains, perhaps, after all.

  In any event, he felt positive that the secret of the bill did notrightfully belong to Poritol. If the bill had been in his possession, heshould have been able to copy the abbreviated message. Indeed, the liesthat he had told were all against the notion of placing any confidence inhim. The two South Americans were altogether too eager.

  Orme decided to go for a walk. He could think better in the open air. Hetook up his hat and cane, and descended in the elevator.

  In the office the clerk stopped him.

  "A man called to see you a few minutes ago, Mr. Orme. When I told himthat 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 ofhim?