The better to study the mystery, Orme copied the inscription on a sheet of note-paper, which he found in the table drawer. From the first he decided that there was no cipher. The letters undoubtedly were abbreviations. "Evans" must be, as he had already determined, a man's name. "Chi" might be, probably was, "Chicago." "100 N. 210 E." looked like "100 (feet? paces?) north, 210 (feet? paces?) east." The "A." and the "T." bothered him. "A." might be the place to which "S. R. Evans" was directed, or at which he was to be found--a place sufficiently indicated by the letter. Now as to the "T."--was it "treasure"? Or was it "time"? Or "true"? Orme had no way of telling. It might even be the initial of the person who had penned the instructions. Without knowing where "A." was, Orme could make nothing of the cryptogram. For that matter, he realized that unless the secret were criminal it was not his affair. But he knew that legitimate business information is seldom transmitted by such mysterious means. Again and again he went over the abbreviations, but the more closely he studied them, the more baffling he found them. The real meaning appeared to hinge on the "A." and the "T." Eventually he was driven to the conclusion that those two letters could not be understood by anyone who was not already partly in the secret, if secret it was. It occurred to him to have the city directory sent up to him. He might then find the address of "S. R. Evans," if that person happened to be a Chicagoan. But it was quite likely that the "Chi." might mean something other than that "Evans" lived in Chicago. Perhaps, in the morning he would satisfy his curiosity about "S. R. Evans," but for the present he lacked the inclination to press the matter that far. In the midst of his puzzling, the telephone-bell rang. He crossed the room and put the receiver to his ear. "Yes?" he questioned. The clerk's voice answered. "Senhor Poritol to see Mr. Orme." "Who?" "S-e-n-h-o-r--P-o-r-i-t-o-l," spelled the clerk. "I don't know him," said Orme. "There must be some mistake. Are you sure that he asked for me?" There was a pause. Orme heard a few scattered words which indicated that the clerk was questioning the stranger. Then came the information: "He says he wishes to see you about a five-dollar bill." "Oh!" Orme realized that he had no reason to be surprised. "Well, send him up." He hung up the receiver and, returning to the table, put the marked bill back into his pocket-book and slipped into a drawer the paper on which he had copied the inscription. CHAPTER II SENHOR PORITOL