He wondered whether she could guess how relentlessly he was planning to deal with Alcatrante. Would she justify the course he had in mind? As to her attitude, he felt doubtful. Perhaps she did not agree with the South American that murder was sometimes necessary in the service of one’s country.
Moreover, while Alcatrante was undoubtedly serving the interest of his country, Orme had no real certainty that he himself was in a similar position. He had every reason to infer that the papers were of importance to the United States Government, but after all he could only go by inference. The affairs of some private corporation in the United States might have a serious bearing on problems in South America and the Far East. He decided to sound the girl for information that would be more definite.
But first the question as to their next move must be answered.
“Do you know where we can get a motor?” he said.
“No”—she prolonged the word doubtfully. “We may have to take a motor-cab.”
“It would be safer than the railroad or the electric line.” Then he asked with great seriousness “Girl, dear, I don’t know much about the meaning and value of these papers in my pocket, and I don’t care to know any more than you choose to tell me. But let me know just this much: Are they as important to you as they are to our enemies? Have you really been justified in the risks you have run?”
“You have seen how far Alcatrante and the Japanese have been willing to go,” she replied, gravely. “I am sure that they would not hesitate to kill us, if it seemed necessary to them in their effort to get possession of the papers. Now, my dear, they are even much more important to my father.”
“In his business interests?”
“Much more than that.”
They were walking along the glimmering cañon of La Salle Street, which was now almost deserted in the dusk. A motor-car swept slowly around the corner ahead and came toward them. It had but one occupant, a chauffeur, apparently. He wore a dust-coat, a cap, and goggles which seemed to be too large for him.