“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?” His fingers 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 a bill. I give this to you in return for the bill which was paid to you this afternoon.” He thrust the new bill toward Orme, and waved his other hand rhetorically. “That, and that alone, is my business with you, dear sir.”
Orme’s hand went to his pocket. The visitor watched the motion eagerly, and a grimace of disappointment contracted his features when the hand came 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.”