"Mr. Orme," he said, "there is a young lady in the reception-room, waiting to see you." "Me?" Orme looked his surprise. "Yes, sir. She gave no name." "Has she been waiting long?" "Nearly an hour." Without further questioning, Orme turned to the door of the little green-and-gold room. At the threshold he paused in bewilderment. Arising to meet him, smiling frankly, was the girl of the car. CHAPTER IV THE GIRL OF THE CAR "Oh," she said, with a little gasp of recognition, "are _you_ Mr. Orme?" Her cheeks flushed softly. He bowed; his heart was beating furiously, and for the moment he dared not try to speak. "Then we do meet again," she exclaimed--"and as usual I need your help. Isn't it queer?" "Any service that I"--Orme began haltingly--"of course, anything that I can do----" The girl laughed--a merry ripple of sound; then caught herself and changed her manner to grave earnestness. "It is very important," she said. "I am looking for a five-dollar bill that was paid to you to-day." Orme started. "What? You, too?" "I, too? Has--has anybody else----?" Her gravity was more intense. "Why, yes," said Orme--"a little man from South America." "Oh,--Mr. Poritol?" Her brows were knit in an adorable frown. "Yes--and two Japanese." "Oh!" Her exclamation was apprehensive. "The Japanese got it," added Orme, ruefully. That she had the right to this information it never occurred to him to question. The girl stood rigidly. "Whatever shall I do now?" she whispered. "My poor father!" She looked helplessly at Orme. His self-possession had returned, and as he urged her to a chair, he condemned himself for not guessing how serious the loss of the bill must be to her. "Sit down," he said. "Perhaps I can help. But you see, I know so little of what it all means. Tell me everything you can." With a sigh, she sank into the chair. Orme stood before her, waiting. "That bill tells, if I am not mistaken," she said, wearily, "where certain papers have been hidden. My father is ill at our place in the country. He must have those papers before midnight to-morrow, or----" Tears came into her eyes. Orme would have given much for the right to comfort her. "So much depends upon finding them," she added--"more even than I can begin to tell you." "Let me help," said Orme, eager to follow those papers all over Chicago, if only it would serve her. "Hear my story first." Rapidly he recounted the adventures of the evening. She listened, eyes intent, nodding in recognition of his description of Poritol and Alcatrante. When he came to the account of the fight in the porter's office and spoke of the Japanese with the scar on his forehead, she interrupted. "Oh! That was Maku," she exclaimed. "Maku?" "Our butler. He must have overheard my father and me." "Then he knew the value of the papers." "He must have. I am sorry, Mr. Orme, that you have been so roughly used."