“I mean that man, and you, and the woman. I’ll send someone for the others. If you’re the fellow that did the sluggin’ on the campus last night, you won’t get away from me again.”
“What’s the use of dragging the young lady into this?” demanded Orme.
“None o’ your business.”
“Can I speak to her a minute, first?”
“No, you can’t. There’s been too many Chicago hold-up men around here lately, and I won’t take chances with you.” The policeman made this explanation apparently in deference to Orme’s appearance, which, in spite of the evidence of struggle, was that of a gentleman. “Looks don’t always tell,” he continued.
That the girl should be taken to the station and held, under such suspicious circumstances was simply not to be thought of.
Doubtless she could quickly set in motion forces that would liberate her, but the disgrace of detention was something she must be saved from at any cost.
She was known in Evanston. Her identity once established, the story of her arrest would be sure to spread. Her position would then be the more painful, because the circumstances of the case were such that she was unwilling to explain them.
Moreover, Orme realized that, if he and Arima were held, the care of the girl would be his first thought, and the recovery of the papers would be forced into second place. That would not be according to her wish. Assuredly, if he was to get the papers, he could do better alone.
She sat in the car, not more than six feet from him, her face the picture of mingled emotions. Orme saw that he must reassure her as to himself before he carried out the plan which had suddenly come to his mind.