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.