ound to meet--you and I," he said. "I have been waiting all my
life just for you."

"But even now you don't know who I am. I may be a--a political
adventuress--or a woman detective--or----"

"You may be," he said, "but you are the woman I love. Your name--your
business, if you have one--those things don't matter. I know you, and I
love you."

She leaned closer to him. "Dear," she whispered impulsively, "I am going
to tell you everything--who I am, and about the papers----"

"Wait!" He held his hand before her mouth. "Don't tell me now. Do as you
planned to do. Be simply 'Girl' to me for a while longer."

She moved closer to him. Their errand, the danger, were for the time
forgotten, and the motor hummed along with a burden of happiness.

"You haven't looked at the papers yet," said Orme, after a time. They
were turning east toward Lincoln Park.

"Do I need to?"

"Perhaps not. I took them from the envelope which you saw at Arima's. But
here they are. I did not look at them, of course."

He drew the parchments from within his coat and placed them in her hand.

While she examined them, he looked straight ahead, that he might not see.
He could hear them crackle as she unfolded them--could hear her sigh of
content.

And then something occurred that disquieted him to a degree which seemed
unwarranted. The chauffeur suddenly turned around and glanced swiftly
through his goggles at the girl and the papers. The action was, perhaps,
natural; but there was an assured expectancy in the way he turned--Orme
did not like it. Moreover, there was something alarmingly familiar in the
manner of the movement.

Somewhere Orme had seen a man move his body like that. But before his
suspicions could take form, the chauffeur had turned again.

The girl handed the papers back to Orme. "These are the right papers,"
she said. "Oh, my dear, if you only knew how much they mean."

He held them for a moment in his hand. Then, after returning them to his
pocket with as little noise as possible, he caught the girl's eye and,
with a significant glance toward the chauffeur, said in a distinct voice:

"I will slip them under the seat cushion. They will be safer there."

Did the chauffeur lean farther back, as if to hear better? or was the
slight movement a false record by Orme's imagination?

Orme decided to be on the safe side, so he slipped under the cushion of
the extra seat another mining prospectus which he had in his pocket,
placi