Orme's impulse to declare himself was almost irresistible. A man whose instincts were less cautious would have thrown the table over and ranged himself beside the girl. Orme was not fearful, but he knew that the chances of a successful outcome would be lessened by exposure. Even if he and the girl got safely from the room, there would be a pursuit, and the risk of losing the papers would be great. As for the girl, she clearly was in no danger. These men would not harm her. But would the assertion of the Japanese lead her to doubt Orme? Would she believe that he had actually recovered the papers the night before and kept them for his own purposes? He remembered that he had given her only the scantiest account of his adventure at the tree, for he had wished to spare her the details of an incident that meant her disappointment as well as his own. She might now readily attribute his reticence to a desire to conceal something. And then came her voice. Her first words brought a glow to Orme's heart: "I know that you are mistaken. No American has those papers." Orme breathed his relief. Then she added the dubious word--"Unless----" So she did doubt him after all. Well, he could not blame her. The scene in the room--the frankness of the Japanese, which could only be attributed to discomfiture; the empty envelope; the torn prospectuses on the floor, all these conditions pointed to the truth of the explanation she had heard. On the other hand, there was his appearance on the lake, an hour or more after the episode on the campus. Might it not occur to her that, had he already secured the papers, he would have had no object in the further pursuit of the Japanese? But, perhaps she would think that he was seeking Arima to sell the papers back to him; or that, in spite of his appearance of surprise, he had been a witness of her abduction and had gone out on the water to save her. There were so many things she might think! Indeed, that dubious word "unless" might even signify, "unless he has secured the papers since I last saw him." But no; she would gather from the situation in which she found her enemies that the envelope had not been out of their possession since it was taken from the tree. Orme shut his lips together hard. Her doubt of him would have to be endured, even though it shattered his pleasant dream of her complete and sympathetic understanding. Alcatrante, meantime, was studying the girl with curious eyes. His look was both perplexed and admiring. "Do you mind telling me how you happened to come to this place?" he asked. She answered indifferently: "Supposing that the Japanese had stolen the papers, I searched Maku's room at our house. There was a torn envelope there, with the name 'Arima' printed in the corner." Alcatrante bowed. "You are cleverer than most Americans, my dear young lady," he said. His lips curved into a smile that disclosed his fangs.