He knew what she meant. He had met her need, because he had known its greatness without her telling him. His recognition of her plight had been unaccompanied by any suggestion of ignored conventions. No gushing thanks would have pleased him half so much. He smiled at her wistfully. "Does it all end here?" "No," she said, "I will not let it end here. We are friends already; in fact, Mr. Orme, as soon as I can do so, I will see that we are friends in name. Can you accept as little a promise as that?" "I can accept any promise from you," he said gravely. "And now shall I take you home?" "Not home. It is too far. But I have some friends a few blocks away who will take me in. Turn here, please." Under her guidance he took the car through several streets, drawing up at last before a large, comfortable-looking place, set back from the street, with a wide, shrub-dotted lawn before it. Several windows were still lighted. He descended to help her out. She hesitated. "I hate to ask it, Mr. Orme," she finally said, "but you can catch the trolley back to Chicago. They will take care of the car here." He nodded. "But one thing, Girl," he said. "I am going to find that other Japanese to-morrow. I shall get the envelope. Will you call me up at the apartment to-morrow noon? If I am not there, leave word where I can find you." "I will do that. But don't get yourself hurt." She let him help her to the ground. "At noon," he said. "At noon. Good-night, my friend." She offered her hand. "Good-night, Girl," he said, and then he bent over and kissed her fingers gently. He stood by the car until she had crossed the lawn and ascended the steps--until the door opened and admitted her. CHAPTER VI A CHANCE LEAD To follow the girl's suggestion and return at once to Chicago was Orme's intention when he said good-night to her. The hour was close to midnight, and the evening had been crowded so full with bewildering adventure that he was tired. Moreover, he looked forward to a morning that might well test his endurance even more strenuously. He had now committed himself definitely to continue in the field against the Japanese. Except for his desire to serve this wonderful girl who had come so suddenly into his life, he doubtless would have permitted the mystery of the marked bill to remain unsolved. But since the recovery of the stolen papers was so important to her, he was prepared to run any risk in the struggle. Who was she? But no, that was a question she did not wish him to ask. She was simply "Girl"--beautiful, tender, comprehending--his ideal incarnate. As he stood there, hesitant, before the house into which she had disappeared, he pictured her again--even to the strand of rebellious hair which had blown across her cheek. He could discover no fault in her perfection.