While the car was turning Orme noted that Alcatrante had stopped short and was watching them. It was some reason for surprise that he was not hunting for a motor in which to follow.
Perhaps his plans were so completely balked that he was giving up altogether. No, that would not be like Alcatrante. Orme now realized that in all likelihood the minister had foreseen some such circumstance and had made plans accordingly.
He was more and more inclined to believe that Alcatrante had but half expected to keep him long imprisoned in Wallingham’s office. Then what had been the purpose underlying the trick? Probably the intention was to make Orme prisoner for as long a period as possible and, in any event, to gain time enough to communicate with Poritol and the Japanese and whatever other persons might be helping in the struggle to regain the papers. The probabilities were that Alcatrante had been using the last two hours to get in touch with his friends.
And now those friends would be informed promptly that Orme and the girl were setting out by motor. This analysis apparently accounted for Alcatrante’s nonchalance. Orme and the girl seemed to be escaping, but in truth, if they approached their destination at all, they must run into the ambuscade of other enemies. Then the nearer the goal, the greater the danger.
As the motor slid smoothly northward on La Salle Street, Orme looked back. Alcatrante had made no move. The last glimpse that Orme had of him showed that slight but sinister figure alone on the sidewalk of the deserted business street.
They crossed the Clark Street bridge. “Keep on out North Clark Street until you can cross over to Lincoln Park,” said Orme to the chauffeur.
The only indication that the order had been heard was a bending forward of the bowed figure on the front seat.
Orme explained to the girl. “It will be better not to take the Lake Shore Drive. They may be watching the Père Marquette.”
“You are right,” she said. “As a precaution, we’d better not pass the hotel.”
“How surprised I was to find you waiting for me there last evening,” mused Orme—“and how glad!”