“What papers do you want?” demanded Orme.
“You know.” Arima’s voice sounded less patient.
“But I have nothing that you care anything about,” repeated Orme.
At that Arima began rapidly to search Orme’s pockets. There was sufficient light from the lamps of the two cars to illuminate the scene.
Arima’s left hand still held Orme’s right forearm, and his right hand was free to hunt for the papers. Maku, on the other side, had meantime strengthened his grip on Orme’s left arm, at the same time raising one knee so that Orme could feel it pressing against the small of his back.
“What this!” asked Arima, taking a long envelope from the inner pocket of Orme’s coat and holding it up for inspection.
“A blank contract,” said Orme. “Do you want it?”
Arima took the paper from the envelope and examined it. Then with an exclamation of disgust he replaced it in Orme’s pocket and continued his search.
“You see,” said Orme calmly, “there is nothing here.”
The Japanese, muttering in his own tongue, ran his hands over Orme’s body and even looked into his hat. Nothing was found.