“Air-tight?” Alcatrante was clearly disconcerted. “I did not suppose that it was air-tight. Also, I did not dream that the young lady was there. But this game is a serious game, Mr. Orme. You do not appear to understand. When one is working for his country, many strange things are justified.”
“Even murder?”
“Even murder—sometimes.”
Orme had an inspiration. “Thank you for the truth, Senhor,” he said. “I, too, am working for my country. If you continue to follow us, I shall assume that you have murder in your mind, and I shall act accordingly.”
Alcatrante smiled coolly.
“This is fair warning,” continued Orme.
He glanced to the drug store and saw the girl coming out of the telephone-booth. Hastening across the street, he met her at the door.
“If father had had any idea of such complications when we came West,” she said, “there would have been plenty of men near by to help us. As it is, we shall have to act alone. It is not a matter for detectives—or for the police, I—I almost wish it were,” she faltered.
Orme wondered again whether this father could have realized what dangers the girl was encountering. But, as if divining his sudden anger against the man who could let his daughter run such risks, she added: “He doesn’t know, of course, the details of our adventures. I have permitted him to think that it is simply a matter of searching.”
“And now he is reassured.”