Alcatrante was still exclaiming volubly. His purse had disappeared. It had been in his pocket just before he entered the car. Therefore someone in the car must have taken it. He did not accuse any single person, though he flashed suspicious glances at Orme, who recognized, of course, that the move was directed against himself.
To embarrass Orme with arrest and detention would well suit the purposes of Alcatrante. At this late hour such an event would prevent the delivery of the papers. Orme wondered whether the minister had realized that the papers might be found by the police and disposed of properly. The explanation of this apparent oversight on the part of Alcatrante was not difficult, however, for, perhaps it was not a part of the plan that Orme should be actually thrown into a cell. It was more likely that an arrest would be followed, after as much delay as Alcatrante could secure, by a refusal to prosecute. One advantage to Alcatrante would be the opportunity of getting assistance while Orme was in the hands of the police so that after the prisoner was released he would have more than one person to contend with. Alcatrante would give up acting alone.
“Somebody has my purse!” Alcatrante was shouting. “Somebody here! You must not let anybody out!”
The elevator-boy had been gaping in seeming paralysis, but now several of the passengers—men who doubtless were sure of their positions—were angrily ordering him to take the car down. Some of them had trains to catch.
“No! No!” screamed Alcatrante.
Orme had kept out of the discussion, but now he spoke quietly. “I think, Senhor Alcatrante”—he uttered the name distinctly, knowing that the South American probably did not wish himself identified—“I think that, if the boy will take the car almost to the bottom, the starter will help you.”
There was a chorus of seconds to this suggestion. The boy pulled the lever and let the car descend slowly, while Alcatrante continued to exclaim.
How would the South American try to throw suspicion where he wished it? Orme puzzled over this question, for certainly the police would not arrest all the passengers. And then he suddenly remembered how Alcatrante had crowded against him when they entered the car.
A cold wave of horror swept over him. Was it possible that——?
He put his hand into the left side pocket of his coat. Something was there that did not belong there—a smooth, bulging purse. Alcatrante had put it there.