But when Orme examined his traveling-bag, he found that someone had evidently made a search through it. Nothing had been taken, but the orderly arrangement of his effects had been disturbed. His conclusion was that Alcatrante had bribed the fellow to go much farther than official zeal demanded. Doubtless the minister had paid the detective to hunt for a marked five-dollar bill and make a copy of whatever was written on it--which would have been quite a safe proceeding for the detective, if he were not caught at the task. A subtle man, Alcatrante; but no subtler than the Japanese. Dismissing the incident from his mind, Orme again made ready to return to the all-night restaurant. He paused at the door, however, to give the situation a final analysis. Maku had lost something. After hunting for it vainly, he had gone to the city directory for information which appeared to satisfy him. Then what he lost must have been an address. How would he have been likely to lose it? Orme's fatigue was so great that he repeated the question to himself several times without seeing any meaning in it. He forced his tired brain back to the first statement. Maku had lost something. Yes, he had lost something. What was it he had lost? Oh, yes, a paper. It was futile. His brain refused to work. Maku had lost a paper. A paper? "Ah!" Orme was awake now. "How stupid!" he exclaimed. For he had entirely forgotten the paper which he had taken from the pocket of the unconscious Maku, there on the campus! He had thrust it into his pocket without looking at it, and in the excitement of his later adventures it had passed utterly from his memory. Another moment and he had the paper in his hand. His fingers shook as he unfolded it, and he felt angry at his weakness. Yes, there it was--the address--written in an unformed hand. If he had only thought of the paper before, he would have been saved a deal of trouble--would have had more sleep. He read it over several times--"Three forty-one, North Parker Street"--so that he would remember it, if the paper should be lost. "I'm glad Maku didn't write it in Japanese!" he exclaimed. CHAPTER IX NUMBER THREE FORTY-ONE When Orme was aroused by the ringing of his telephone-bell the next morning and heard the clerk's voice, saying over the wire, "Eight o'clock, sir," it seemed as if he had been asleep but a few minutes. During breakfast he reviewed the events of the preceding evening. Strange and varied though they had been, his thoughts chiefly turned to the girl herself, and he shaped all his plans with the idea of pleasing her. The work he had set for himself was to get the envelope and deliver it to the girl. This plan involved the finding of the man who had escaped from the tree.