o
Walsh's cell, and called him to the grating. I made Mr. Poritol stand
back at the other side of the corridor so that he couldn't hear us talk.

"I asked the man what he had done with the papers. He insisted that he
had seen none. Then I promised to have him freed, if he would only return
them. He looked meditatively over my shoulders and after a moment
declined the offer, again insisting that he didn't understand what I was
talking about. 'I took the other things, miss,' he said, 'and I suppose
I'll get time for it. But so help me, I didn't see no papers.'"

The girl paused and looked at Orme. "This seems like wasting minutes when
we might be searching."

Orme was pleased to hear the "we."

"Well," she went on, "I knew that the man was not telling the truth. He
was too hesitant to be convincing. So I began to promise him money. At
every offer he looked past my shoulder and then repeated his denials. The
last time he raised his eyes I had an intuition that something was going
on behind me. I turned quickly. There stood Mr. Poritol, extending his
fingers in the air and forming his mouth silently into words. He was
raising my bids!

"It flashed upon me that the papers would be of immense value to Mr.
Poritol--for certain reasons. If only I had thought of it before! I spoke
to him sharply and told him to go outside. It always seemed natural to
order him about, like a little dog."

"However, little dogs have the sharpest teeth," remarked Orme.

"That is true. He replied that he couldn't think of leaving me alone in
such a place. So there was nothing for me to do except to go. I would
have to return later without Mr. Poritol. 'Come along,' I said. 'My
errand is done.'

"Mr. Poritol smiled at me in a way I didn't like. The burglar, meantime,
had gone to a little table at the back of his cell. There was an
ink-bottle there and he seemed to be writing. Looking into the cell, Mr.
Poritol said: 'The poor fellow has very unpleasant quarters.' Then he
said to Walsh: 'Can't we do something to make your enforced stay here
more comfortable, my very dear sir?'"

Orme smiled at the unconscious mimicry of her accent.

"Walsh came back to the grating. He held in his hand a five-dollar
bill--the one that has made so much trouble. It had been smuggled in to
him in some way. 'You might get me some "baccy,"' he said, thrusting the
bill through the bars and grinning.

"Now I understood what was going on. I reached for the bill, a