The situation appeared to be simplified. And yet Orme was dubious. There was mischief in the bill; so much he felt sure of. Alcatrante’s reputation was that of a fox, and as for Poritol, he was, to say the least, a person of uncertain qualities. Orme could not but admire the subtle manner in which Alcatrante sought delicately to limit his doubts to the mere possibility that Poritol was trying to pass spurious money. He decided not to settle the question at this moment.
“This seems to be rather a mixed-up affair, Senhor Alcatrante,” he said. “There is much more in it than appears. Call on me to-morrow morning, and you shall have my decision.”
Alcatrante and Poritol looked at each other. The minister spoke:
“Will you engage not to give the bill to anyone else in the interval?”
“I will promise that,” said Orme. “It is only fair. Yes, I will keep the bill until to-morrow morning.”
“One other suggestion,” continued Alcatrante. “You may not be willing to give up the bill, but is there any reason why you should refuse to let Senhor Poritol copy the writing that is on it?”
“Only my determination to think the whole matter over before I do anything at all,” Orme replied.
“But the bill came into your hands by chance,” insisted the minister. “The information means nothing to you, though obviously it means a great deal to my young friend, here. May I ask what right you have to deny this request?”
“What right?” Orme’s eyes narrowed. “My right is that I have the bill and the information, and I intend to understand the situation better before I give the information to anyone else.”
“But you recognized Senhor Poritol’s handwriting on the bill,” exclaimed the minister.