The Girl and The Bill Part 22

The woman glared. "What you a botherin' about? Why don't you leave well enough alone?"

Orme smiled. "Tell me one thing," he said, "do you know a j.a.panese that lives hereabouts?"

"Oh," said the woman, "so you're one of the gentlemen he was expectin', eh? Well, it's the front flat, two flights up."

"Thank you," said Orme. He walked out to the street, whence a backward glance showed him the woman again concealed in her newspaper.

At one side of the shop he found the entrance to a flight of stairs which led to the floors above. In the little hallway, just before the narrow ascent began, was a row of electric b.u.t.tons and names, and under each of them a mail-box. "3a" had a card on which was printed:

"Arima, Teacher of Original Kano Jiu-Jitsu."

Should he go boldly up and present himself as a prospective pupil? If Arima were the one who had so effectively thrown him the night before, he would certainly remember the man he had thrown and would promptly be on his guard. Also, the woman in the shop had said, "you are _one_ of the gentlemen he was expectin'." Others were coming.

Prudence suggested that he conceal himself in an entry across the street and keep an eye out for the persons who were coming to visit Arima. He a.s.sumed that their coming had something to do with the stolen paper. But he had no way of knowing who the athlete's guests would be. There might be no one among them whom he could recognize. And even if he saw them all go in, how would his own purpose be served by merely watching them? In time, no doubt, they would all come out again, and one of them would have the papers in his possession, and Orme would not know which one.

For all he was aware, some of the guests had already arrived. They might even now be gathering with eager eyes about the unfolded doc.u.ments. No, Orme realized that his place was not on the sidewalk. By some means he must get where he could discover what was going on in the front flat on the third floor. Standing where he now was, there was momentary danger of being discovered by persons who would guess why he was there. Maku might come.

Orme looked to see who lived in "4a," the flat above the j.a.panese. The card bore the name:

"Madame Alia, Clairvoyant and Trance Medium."

"I think I will have my fortune told," muttered Orme, as he pressed Madame Alia's bell and started up the stairs.

At the top of the second flight he looked to the entrance of the front apartment. It had a large square of ground gla.s.s, with the name "Arima"

in black letters. He continued upward another flight and presently found himself before two blank doors--one at the front and one a little at one side. The side door opened slowly in response to his knock.

Before him stood a blowsy but not altogether unprepossessing woman of middle years. She wore a cheap print gown. A gipsy scarf was thrown over her head and shoulders, and her ears held loop earrings. Her inquiring glance at Orme was not unmixed with suspicion.

"Madame Alia?" inquired Orme.

She nodded and stood aside for him to enter. He pa.s.sed into a cheap little reception-hall which looked out on the street, and then, at her silent direction went through a door at one side and found himself in the medium's sanctum.

The one window gave on a dimly lighted narrow s.p.a.ce which apparently had been cut in from the back of the building. Through the dusty gla.s.s he could see the railing of a fire-escape platform, and cutting diagonally across the light, part of the stairs that led to the platform above.

There was a closed door, which apparently opened into the outer hall. In the room were dirty red hangings, two chairs, a couch, and a small square center-table.

Madame Alia had already seated herself at the table and was shuffling a pack of cards. "Fifty-cent reading?" she asked, as he took the chair opposite her.

Orme nodded. His thoughts were on the window and the fire-escape, and he hardly heard her monotonous sentences, though he obeyed mechanically her instructions to cut and shuffle.

"You are about to engage in a new business," she was saying. "You will be successful, but there will be some trouble about a dark man.--Look out for him.--He talks fair, but he means mischief.--There is a woman, too.--This man will try to prejudice her against you." And all the time Orme was saying to himself, "How can I persuade her to let me use the fire-escape?"

Suddenly he was conscious that the woman had ceased speaking and was running the cards through her fingers and looking at him searchingly.

"You are not listening," she said, as he met her gaze.

He smiled apologetically. "I know--I was preoccupied."

"I can't help you if you don't listen."

Orme inferred that she took pride in her work. He sighed and looked grave. "I am afraid," he said slowly, "that my case is too serious for the cards."

She brightened. "You'd ought to have a trance-reading--two dollars."

"I'd take any kind of reading that would help me, but I'm afraid the situation is too difficult."

"Then why did you come?" Again the look of suspicion.

"I came because you could help me, but not by a reading."

"What do you mean?" Plainly she was frightened. "I don't put people away.

That's out of my line. Honest!"

"Do I look as if I wanted anything crooked done?" Orme smiled.

"It's hard to tell what folks want," she muttered. "You're a fly-cop, aren't you?"

"What makes you think that?"

"The way you been sizing things up. You aren't going to do anything, are you? I pay regular for my protection every month--five dollars--and I work hard to get it, too."

Orme hesitated. He had known at the outset that he was of a cla.s.s different from the ordinary run of her clients. The difference undoubtedly had both puzzled and frightened her. He might disabuse her of the notion that he had anything to do with the police, but her misapprehension was an advantage that he was loath to lose. Fearing him, she might grant any favor.

"Now, listen to me," he said at last. "I don't mean you any harm, but I want you to answer a few questions."

She eyed him furtively.

"Do you know the man in the flat below?" he demanded.

"Mr. Arima? No. He's a j.a.p. I see him in the halls sometimes, but I don't do no more than bow, like any neighbor."

"He's noisy, isn't he?"

"Only when he has pupils. But he goes out to do most of his teaching. Is he wanted?"

"Not exactly. Now look here. I believe you're a well-meaning woman. Do you make a good thing out of this business?"

"Fair." She smiled faintly. "I ain't been in Chicago long, and it takes time to work up a good trade. I got a daughter to bring up. She's with friends. She don't know anything about what I do for a living."

"Well," said Orme, "I'm going to give you five dollars toward educating your girl."

He took a bill from his pocket-book and handed it to her. She accepted it with a deprecating glance and a smile that was tinged with pathetic coquetry. Then she looked at it strangely. "What's the writing?" she asked.

Orme started. He had given her the marked five-dollar bill. "I didn't mean to give you that one," he said, taking it from her fingers.

She stared at him. "Is it phony?"

"No--but I want it. Here's another." As he took a fresh bill from his pocket-book he discovered to his surprise that the marked bill, together with the few dollars in change he had received after his purchase in the shop below, was all that he now had left in his pocket. He remembered that he had intended to draw on his funds that morning. His departure from New York had been hurried, and he had come away with little ready cash.

Madame Alia slipped the bill into her bosom and waited. She knew well enough that her visitor had some demand to make.