"Ah, you know about that, do you? No"--as Orme made a movement--"stand where you are." He drew his revolver. During this colloquy, Arima had edged nearer and nearer to the papers. Orme's sudden step was involuntary; it was due to the fact that he had seen Arima stoop swiftly and pick up the papers and thrust them into his pocket. "Keep quiet," continued the policeman. "And you, there"--he nodded toward Arima--"come here." Arima hesitated, but the muzzle of the revolver turned toward him, and he came and stood a few feet away. "There's somethin' mighty funny about this," continued the policeman. "We'll just get into one of these cars and go to the station." "This man and me?" asked Orme. He had visions of no great difficulty in satisfying the questions of the local justice, but he knew that an arrest would mean delay, perhaps of hours. And Arima had the papers. "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. "You will make a mistake, officer, if you detain me," he said, speaking distinctly, so that the girl would be sure to hear. "Cut it out," said the policeman. "A little telephoning will set me free in an hour," Orme continued, bending to pick up his hat, which had fallen to the ground at the beginning of the fight. "You can't do anything except take me to the station and find out that you have bungled."