When Orme answered the knock at the door a singular young man stood at the threshold. He was short, wiry, and very dark. His nose was long and complacently tilted at the end. His eyes were small and very black. His mouth was a wide, uncertain slit. In his hand he carried a light cane and a silk hat of the flat-brimmed French type. And he wore a gray sack suit, pressed and creased with painful exactness. "Come in, Senhor Poritol," said Orme, motioning toward a chair. The little man entered, with short, rapid steps. He drew from his pocket a clean pocket-handkerchief, which he unfolded and spread out on the surface of the table. Upon the handkerchief he carefully placed his hat and then, after an ineffectual effort to make it stand against the table edge, laid his cane on the floor. Not until all this ceremony had been completed did he appear to notice Orme. But now he turned, widening his face into a smile and extending his hand, which Orme took rather dubiously--it was supple and moist. "Oh, this is Mr. Orme, is it not?" "Yes," said Orme, freeing himself from the unpleasant handshake. "Mr. _Robert_ Orme?" "Yes, that is my name. What can I do for you?" For a moment Senhor Poritol appeared to hover like a timid bird; then he seated himself on the edge of a chair, only the tips of his toes touching the floor. His eyes danced brightly. "To begin with, Mr. Orme," he said, "I am charmed to meet you--very charmed." He rolled his "r's" after a fashion that need not be reproduced. "And in the second place," he continued, "while actually I am a foreigner in your dear country, I regard myself as in spirit one of your natives. I came here when a boy, and was educated at your great University of Princeton." "You are a Portuguese--I infer from your name," said Orme. "Oh, dear, no! Oh, no, no, no!" exclaimed Senhor Poritol, tapping the floor nervously with his toes. "My country he freed himself from the Portuguese yoke many and many a year ago. I am a South American, Mr. Orme--one of the poor relations of your great country." Again the widened smile. Then he suddenly became grave, and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. "But this is not the business of our meeting, Mr. Orme." "No?" inquired Orme. "No, my dear sir. I have come to ask of you about the five-dollar bill which you received in the hat-shop this afternoon." He peered anxiously. "You still have it? You have not spent it?" "A marked bill, was it not?" "Yes, yes. Where is it, my dear sir, where is it?" "Written across the face of it were the words, 'Remember person you pay this to.'" "Oh, yes, yes." "And on the back of it----" "On the back of it!" gasped the little man. "Was a curious cryptogram." "Do not torture me!" exclaimed Senhor Poritol. "Have you got it?" His fingers worked nervously. "Yes," said Orme slowly, "I still have it."