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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/1913-0.txt b/1913-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dedd597 --- /dev/null +++ b/1913-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10795 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Drums Of Jeopardy, by Harold MacGrath + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Drums Of Jeopardy + +Author: Harold MacGrath + +Posting Date: October 10, 2008 [EBook #1913] +Release Date: October, 1999 +Last Updated: March 16, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DRUMS OF JEOPARDY *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer + + + + + +THE DRUMS OF JEOPARDY + +By Harold MacGrath + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +A fast train drew into Albany, on the New York Central, from the West. +It was three-thirty of a chill March morning in the first year of peace. +A pall of fog lay over the world so heavy that it beaded the face and +hands and deposited a fairy diamond dust upon wool. The station +lights had the visibility of stars, and like the stars were without +refulgence--a pale golden aureola, perhaps three feet in diameter, and +beyond, nothing. The few passengers who alighted and the train itself +had the same nebulosity of drab fish in a dim aquarium. + +Among the passengers to detrain was a man in a long black coat. The high +collar was up. The man wore a derby hat, well down upon his head, after +the English mode. An English kitbag, battered and scarred, swung heavily +from his hand. He immediately strode for the station wall and stood with +his back to it. He was almost invisible. He remained motionless until +the other detrained passengers swam past, until the red tail lights of +the last coach vanished into the deeps; then he rushed for the exit to +the street. + +Away toward the far end of the platform there appeared a shadowy patch +in the fog. It grew and presently took upon itself the shape of a man. +For one so short and squat and thick his legs possessed remarkable +agility, for he reached the street just as the other man stopped at the +side of a taxicab. + +The fool! As if such a movement had not been anticipated. Sixteen +thousand miles, always eastward, on horses, camels, donkeys, trains, and +ships; down China to the sea, over that to San Francisco, thence across +this bewildering stretch of cities and plains called the United States, +always and ever toward New York--and the fool thought he could escape! +Thought he was flying, when in truth he was being driven toward a wall +in which there would be no breach! Behind and in front the net was +closing. Up to this hour he had been extremely clever in avoiding +contact. This was his first stupid act--thought the fog would serve as +an impenetrable cloak. + +Meantime, the other man reached into the taxicab and awoke the sleeping +chauffeur. + +“A hotel,” he said. + +“Which one?” + +“Any one will do.” + +“Yes, sir. Two dollars.” + +“When we arrive. No; I'll take the bag inside with me.” Inside the cab +the fare chuckled. For those who fished there would be no fish in the +net. This fog--like a kindly hand reaching down from heaven! + +Five minutes later the taxicab drew up in front of a hotel. The unknown +stepped out, took a leather purse from his pocket and carefully counted +out in silver two dollars and twenty cents, which he poured into the +chauffeur's palm. + +“Thank you, sir.” + +“You are an American?” + +“Sure! I was born in this burg.” + +“Like the idea?” + +“Huh?” + +“The idea of being an American?” + +“I should say yes! This is one grand little gob o' mud, believe me! It's +going to be dry in a little while, and then it will be some grand little +old brick. Say, let me give you a tip! The gas in this joint is extra if +you blow it out!” + +Grinning, the chauffeur threw on the power and wheeled away into the +fog. + +His late fare followed the vehicle with his gaze until it reached the +vanishing point, then he laughed. An American cockney! He turned and +entered the hotel. He marched resolutely up to the desk and roused +the sleeping clerk, who swung round the register. The unknown without +hesitance inscribed his name, which was John Hawksley. But he hesitated +the fraction of a second before adding his place of residence--London. + +“A room with a bath, if you please; second flight. Have the man call me +at seven.” + +“Yes, sir. Here, boy!” + +Sleepily the bellboy lifted the battered kitbag and led the way to the +elevator. + +“Bawth!” said the night clerk, as the elevator door slithered to the +latch. “Bawth! The old dear!” + +He returned to his chair, hoping that he would not be disturbed again +until he was relieved. + +What do we care, so long as we don't know? What's the stranger to us but +a fleeting shadow? The Odysseys that pass us every day, and we none the +wiser! + +The clerk had not properly floated away into dreams when he was again +roused. Resentfully he opened his eyes. A huge fist covered with a +fell of black hair rose and fell. Attached to this fist was an arm, +and joined to that were enormous shoulders. The clerk's trailing, +sleep-befogged glance paused when it reached the newcomer's face. The +jaws and cheeks and upper lip were blue-black with a beard that required +extra-tempered razors once a day. Black eyes that burned like opals, a +bullet-shaped head well cropped, and a pudgy nose broad in the nostrils. +Because this second arrival wore his hat well forward the clerk was +not able to discern the pinched forehead of the fanatic. Not wholly +unpleasant, not particularly agreeable; the sort of individual one +preferred to walk round rather than bump into. The clerk offered the +register, and the squat man scratched his name impatiently, grabbed the +extended key, and trotted to the elevator. + +“Ah,” mused the clerk, “we have with us Mr. Poppy--Popo--” He stared at +the signature close up. “Hanged if I can make it out! It looks like +some new brand of soft drink we'll be having after July first. Greek +or Bulgarian. Anyhow, he didn't awsk for a bawth. Looks as if he needed +one, too. Here, boy!” + +“Ye-ah!” + +“Take a peek at this John Hancock.” + +“Gee! That must be the guy who makes that drugstore drink--Boolzac.” + +The clerk swung out, but missed the boy's head by a hair. The boy stood +off, grinning. + +“Well, you ast me!” + +“All right. If anybody else comes in tell 'em we're full up. I'll be a +wreck to-morrow without my usual beauty sleep.” The clerk dropped into +his chair again and elevated his feet to the radiator. + +“Want me t' git a pillow for yuh?” + +“No back talk!”--drowsily. + +“Oh! boy, but I got one on you!” + +“What?” + +“This Boolzac guy didn't have no baggage, and yuh give 'im the key +without little ol' three-per in advance.” + +“No grip?” + +“Nix. Not a toot'brush in sight.” + +“Well, the damage is done. I might as well go to sleep.” + +It was not premeditated on the part of the clerk to give the squat man +the room adjoining that of Hawksley's. The key had been nearest his +hand. But the squat man trembled with excitement when he noted that it +was stamped 214. He had taken particular pains to search the register +for Hawksley's number before rousing the clerk. He hadn't counted on any +such luck as this. His idea had been merely to watch the door of Room +212. + +He had the feline foot, as they say. He moved about lightly and without +sound in the dark. Almost at once he approached one of the two doors +and put his ear to the panel. Running water. The fool had time to take a +bath! + +A plan flashed into his head. Why not end the affair here and now, and +reap the glory for himself? What mattered the net if the fish swam into +your hand? Wasn't this particularly his affair? It was the end, not the +means. A close touch in Hong-Kong, but the fool had slipped away. But +there, in the next room, assured that he had escaped--it would be +easy. The squat man tiptoed to the window. Luck of luck, there was a +fire-escape platform! He would let half an hour pass, then he would +act. The ape, with his British mannerisms! Death to the breed, root and +branch! He sat down to wait. + +On the other side of the wall the bather finished his ablutions. His +body was graceful, vigorous, and youthful, tinted a golden bronze. His +nose was hawky; his eyes a Latin brown, alert and roving, though there +was a hint of weariness in them, the pressure of long, racking hours of +ceaseless vigilance. His top hair was a glossy black inclined to curl; +but the four days' growth of beard was as blond as a ripe chestnut burr. +In spite of this mark of vagabondage there were elements of beauty +in the face. The expanse of the brow and the shape of the head were +intellectual. The mouth was pleasure-loving, but the nose and the jaw +neutralized this. + +After he had towelled himself he reached down for a brown leather pouch +which lay on the three-legged bathroom stool. It was patently a tobacco +pouch, but there was evidently something inside more precious than +Saloniki. He held the pouch on his palm and stared at it as if it +contained some jinn clamouring to be let out. Presently he broke away +from this fascination and rocked his body, eyes closed--like a man +suffering unremitting pain. + +“God's curse on them!” he whispered, opening his eyes. He raised the +pouch swiftly, as though he intended dashing it to the tiled floor; but +his arm sank gently. After all, he would be a fool to destroy them. They +were future bread and butter. + +He would soon have their equivalent in money--money that would bring +back no terrible recollections. + +Strange that every so often, despite the horror, he had to take them out +and gaze at them. He sat down upon the stool, spread a towel across his +knees, and opened the pouch. He drew out a roll of cotton wool, which he +unrolled across the towel. Flames! Blue flames, red, yellow, violet, and +green--precious stones, many of them with histories that reached back +into the dim centuries, histories of murder and loot and envy. The +young man had imagination--perhaps too much of it. He saw the stones +palpitating upon lovely white and brown bosoms; he saw bloody and greedy +hands, the red sack of towns; he heard the screams of women and the +raucous laughter of drunken men. Murder and loot. + +At the end of the cotton wool lay two emeralds about the size of half +dollars and half an inch in thickness, polished, and as vividly green +as a dragonfly in the sun, fit for the turban of Schariar, spouse of +Scheherazade. + +Rodin would have seized upon the young man's attitude--the limp body, +the haggard face--hewn it out of marble and called it Conscience. The +possessor of the stones held this attitude for three or four minutes. +Then he rolled up the cotton wool, jammed it into the pouch, which he +hung to his neck by a thong, and sprang to his feet. No more of this +brooding; it was sapping his vitality; and he was not yet at his +journey's end. + +He proceeded to the bedroom, emptied the battered kitbag, and began to +dress. He put on heavy tan walking shoes, gray woollen stockings, gray +knickerbockers, gray flannel shirt, and a Norfolk jacket minus the third +button. + +Ah, that button! He fingered the loose threads which had aforetime +snugged the button to the wool. The carelessness of a tailor had saved +his life. Had that button held, his bones at this moment would be +reposing on the hillside in far-away Hong-Kong. Evidently Fate had some +definite plans regarding his future, else he would not be in this room, +alive. But what plans? Why should Fate bother about him further? She had +strained the orange to the last drop. Why protect the pulp? Perhaps +she was only making sport of him, lulling him into the belief that +eventually he might win through. One thing, she would never be able to +twist his heart again. You cannot fill a cup with water beyond the brim. +And God knew that his cup had been full and bitter and red. + +His hand swept across his eyes as if to brush away the pictures suddenly +conjured up. He must keep his thoughts off those things. There was a +taint of madness in his blood, and several times he had sensed the brink +at his feet. But God had been kind to him in one respect: The blood of +his glorious mother predominated. + +How many were after him, and who? He had not been able to recognize the +man that night in Hong-Kong. That was the fate of the pursued: one never +dared pause to look back, while the pursuers had their man before them +always. If only he could have broken through into Greece, England would +have been easy. The only door open had been in the East. It seemed +incredible that he should be standing in this room, but three hours from +his goal. + +America! The land of the free and the brave! And the irony of it was +that he must seek in America the only friends he had in the world. +All the Englishmen he had known and loved were dead. He had never made +friends with the French, though he loved France. In this country alone +he might successfully lose himself and begin life anew. The British were +British and the French were French; but in this magnificent America they +possessed the tenacity of the one and the gayety of the other--these +joyous, unconquered, speed-loving Americans. + +He took up the overcoat. Under the light it was no longer black but +a very deep green. On both sleeves there were narrow bands of a still +deeper green, indicating that gold or silver braid had once befrogged +the cuffs. Inside, soft silky Persian lamb; and he ran his fingers over +the fur thoughtfully. The coat was still impregnated with the strong +odour of horse. He cast it aside, never to touch it again. From the +discarded small coat he extracted a black wallet and opened it. That +passport! He wondered if there existed another more cleverly forged. It +would not have served an hour west of the Hindenburg Line; but in the +East and here in America no one had questioned it. In San Francisco they +had scarcely glanced at it, peace having come. Besides this passport the +wallet contained a will, ten bonds, a custom appraiser's receipt and +a sheaf of gold bills. The will, however, was perhaps one of the most +astonishing documents conceivable. It left unreservedly to Capt. John +Hawksley the contents of the wallet! + +Within three hours of his ultimate destination! He knew all about great +cities. An hour after he left the train, if he so willed, he could lose +himself for all time. + +From the bottom of the kitbag he dug up a blue velours case, which after +a moment's hesitation he opened. Medals incrusted with precious stones; +but on the top was the photograph of a charming girl, blonde as ripe +wheat, and arrayed for the tennis court. It was this photograph he +wanted. Indifferently he tossed the case upon the centre table, and it +upset, sending the medals about with a ring and a tinkle. + +The man in the next room heard this sound, and his eye roved +desperately. Some way to peer into yonder room! But there was no +transom, and he would not yet dare risk the fire escape. The young man +raised the photograph to his lips and kissed it passionately. + +Then he hid it in the lining of his coat, there being a convenient rent +in the inside pocket. + +“I must not think!” he murmured. “I must not!” + +He became the hunted man again. He turned a chair upend and placed +it under the window. He tipped another in front of the door. On the +threshold of the bathroom door he deposited the water carafe and the +glasses. His bed was against the connecting door. No man would be +able to enter unannounced. He had no intention of letting himself fall +asleep. He would stretch out and rest. So he lit his pipe, banked the +two pillows, switched out the light, and lay down. Only the intermittent +glow of his pipe coal could be seen. Near the journey's end; and no more +tight-rope walking, with death at both ends, and death staring up from +below. Queer how the human being clung to life. What had he to live +for? Nothing. So far as he was concerned, the world had come to an end. +Sporting instinct; probably that was it; couldn't make up his mind to +shuffle off this mortal coil until he had beaten his enemies. English +university education had dulled the bite of his natural fatalism. To +carry on for the sport of it; not to accept fate but to fight it. + +By chance his hand touched his spiky chin. Nevertheless, he would have +to enter New York just as he was. He had left his razor in a Pullman +washroom hurriedly one morning. He dared not risk a barber's chair, +especially these American chairs, that stretched one out in a most +helpless manner. + +Slowly his pipe sank toward his breast. The weary body was overcoming +the will. A sound broke the pleasant spell. He sat up, tense. Someone +had entered through the window and stumbled over the chair! Hawksley +threw on the light. + + + +CHAPTER II + + +When the day clerk arrived the night clerk sleepily informed him that +the guest in Room 214 was without baggage and had not paid in advance. + +“Lave a call?” + +“No. I thought I'd put you wise. I didn't notice that the man had no +grip until he was in the elevator.” + +“All right. I'll send the bell-hop captain up with a fake call to see if +the man's still there.” + +When the captain--late of the A.E.F. in France--returned to the office +he was mildly excited. + +“Gee, there's been a whale of a scrap in Room 212. The chambermaid let +me in.” + +“Murder?” whispered the clerks in unison. + +“Murder your granny! Naw! Just a fight between 212 and 214, because +both of 'em have flown the roost. But take a peek at what I found on the +table.” + +It was a case of blue velours. The boy threw back the lid dramatically. + +“War medals?” + +“If they are I never piped 'em before. They ain't French or British.” + The captain of the bell-boys scratched his head ruminatively. “Gee, I +got it! Orders, that's what they all 'em. Kings pay 'em out Saturdays +when the pay roll is nix. Will you pipe the diamonds and rubies? There's +your room rents, monseer.” + +The day clerk, who considered himself a judge, was of the opinion that +there were two or three thousand dollars tied up in the stones. It was +a police affair. Some ambassador had been robbed, and the Britisher and +the Greek or Bulgarian were mixed up in it. Loot. + +“I thought the war was over,” said the night clerk. + +“The shootin' is over, that's all,” said the captain of the bellboys, +sagely. + +What had happened in Room 212? A duel of wits rather than of physical +contact. Hawksley realized instantly that here was the crucial moment. +Caught and overpowered, he was lost. If he shouted for help and it came, +he was lost. Once the police took a hand in the affair, the newspaper +publicity that would follow would result in the total ruin of all his +hopes. There was only one chance--to finish this affair outside the +hotel, in some fog-dimmed street. There leaped into his mind, obliquely +and queerly, a picture in one of Victor Hugo's tales--Quasimodo. And +there he stood, in every particular save the crooked back. And on the +top of this came the recollection that he had seen the man before.... +The torches! The red torches and the hobnailed boots! + +There began an odd game, a dancing match, which the young man led +adroitly, always with his thought upon the open window. There would be +no shooting; Quasimodo would not want the police either. Half a dozen +times his fingers touched futilely the dancing master's coat. Back +and forth across the room, over the bed, round the stand and chairs. +Persistently, as if he understood the young man's manoeuvres, the squat +individual kept to the window side of the room. + +An inspiration brought the affair to an end. Hawksley snatched up the +bedclothes and threw them as the ancient retiarius threw his net. He +managed to win to the lower platform of the fire escape before Quasimodo +emerged. + +There was a fourteen-foot drop to the street, and the man with the +golden stubble on his chin and cheeks swung for a moment to gauge his +landing. Quasimodo came after with the agility of an ape. The race down +the street began with about a hundred yards in between. + +Down the hill they went, like phantoms. The distance did not widen. +Bears will run amazingly fast and for a long while. The quarry cut into +Pearl Street for a block, turned a corner, and soon vaguely espied the +Hudson River. He made for this. + +To the mind of Quasimodo this flight had but one significance--he was +dealing with an arrant coward; and he based his subsequent acts upon +this premise, forgetting that brave men run when need says must. It +would have surprised him exceedingly to learn that he was not driving, +that he was being led. Hawksley wanted his enemy alone, where no one +would see to interfere. Red torches and hobnailed boots! For once the +two bloods, always more or less at war, merged in a common purpose--to +kill this beast, to grind the face of him into pulp! Red torches and +hobnailed boots! + +Presently one of the huge passenger boats, moored for the winter, loomed +up through the fog; and toward this Hawksley directed his steps. He made +a flying leap aboard and vanished round the deckhouse to the river side. + +Quasimodo laughed as he followed. It was as if the tobacco pouch and +the appraiser's receipt were in his own pocket; and broad rivers made +capital graveyards. They two alone in the fog! He whirled round the +deckhouse--and backed on his heels to get his balance. Directly in +front, in a very understandable pose, was the intended victim, his jaw +jutting, his eyelids narrowed. + +Quasimodo tried desperately to reach for his pistol; but a bolt of +lightning stopped the action. There is something peculiar about a blow +on the nose, a good blow. The Anglo-Saxon peoples alone possess the +counterattack--a rush. To other peoples concentration of thought is +impossible after the impact. Instinctively Quasimodo's hands flew to his +face. He heard a laugh, mirthless and terrible. Before he could drop +his hands from his face-blows, short and boring, from this side and from +that, over and under. The squat man was brave enough; simply he did not +know how to fight in this manner. He was accustomed to the use of steel +and the hobnails on his boots. He struck wildly, swinging his arms like +a Flemish mill in a brisk wind. + +Some of his blows got home, but these provoked only sardonic laughter. + +Wild with rage and pain he bored in. He had but one chance--to get this +shadow in his gorilla-like arms. He lacked mental flexibility. An idea, +getting into his head, stuck; it was not adjustable. Like an arrow sped +from the bowstring, it had to fulfill its destiny. It never occurred to +him to take to his heels, to get space between himself and this enemy he +had so woefully underestimated. Ten feet, and he might have been able to +whirl, draw his pistol, and end the affair. + +The coup de grace came suddenly: a blow that caught Quasimodo full on +the point of the jaw. He sagged and went sprawling upon his face. The +victor turned him over and raised a heel.... No! He was neither Prussian +nor Sudanese black. He was white; and white men did not stamp in the +faces of fallen enemies. + +But there was one thing a white man might do in such a case without +disturbing the ethical, and he proceeded about it forthwith: Draw the +devil's fangs; render him impotent for a few hours. He deliberately +knelt on one of the outspread arms and calmly emptied the insensible +man's pockets. He took everything--watch, money, passport, letters, +pistol, keys--rose and dropped them into the river. He overlooked +Quasimodo's belt, however. The Anglo-Saxon idea was top hole. His fists +had saved his life. + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Hawksley heard the panting of an engine and turned his head. Dimly he +saw a giant bridge and a long drab train moving across it. He picked up +the fallen man's cap and tried it on. Not a particularly good fit, but +it would serve. He then trotted round the deckhouse to the street side, +jumped to the wharf, and sucking the cracked knuckles of his right hand +fell into a steady dogtrot which carried him to the station he had left +so hopefully an hour and a half gone. + +An accommodation train eventually deposited him in Poughkeepsie, where +he purchased a cap and a sturdy walking stick. The stubble on his chin +and cheeks began to irritate him intensely, but he could not rid himself +of the idea that a barber's chair would be inviting danger. He was now +tolerably certain that from one end of the continent to the other his +presence was known. His life and his property, they would be after both. +Even now there might be men in this strange town seeking him. The closer +he got to New York, the more active and wide-awake they would become. + +He walked the streets, his glance constantly roving. But apparently no +one paid the least attention to him. Finally he returned to the railway +station; and at six o'clock that evening he left the platform of the +125th Street Station, and appraised covertly the men who accompanied him +to the street. He felt assured that they were all Americans. Probably +they were; but there are still some stray fools of American birth who +cannot accept the great American doctrine as the only Ararat visible +in this present flood. Perhaps one of these accompanied Hawksley to the +street. Whatever he was, one had upon order met every south-going train +since seven o'clock that morning, when Quasimodo, paying from the +gold hidden in his belt, had sent forth the telegraphic alarm. The man +hurried across the street and followed Hawksley by matching his steps. +His business was merely to learn the other's destination and then to +report. + +Across the earth a tempest had been loosed; but Ariel did not ride +it, Caliban did. The scythe of terror was harvesting a type; and the +innocent were bending with the guilty. + +Suddenly Hawksley felt young, revivified, free. He had arrived. +Surmounting indescribable hazards and hardships he walked the pavement +of New York. In an hour the mutable quicksands of a great city would +swallow him forever. Free! He wanted to stroll about, peer into shop +windows, watch the amazing electric signs, dally; but he still had much +to accomplish. + +He searched for a telephone sign. It was necessary that he find one +immediately. He had once spent six weeks in and about this marvellous +city, and he had a vague recollection of the blue-and-white enamel +signs. Shortly he found one. It was a pay station in the rear of a news +and tobacco shop. + +He entered a booth, but discovered that he had no five-cent pieces in +his purse. He hurried out to the girl behind the cigar stand. She was +exhibiting a box of cigars to a customer, who selected three, paid for +them, and walked away. Hawksley, boiling with haste to have his affair +done, flung a silver coin toward the girl. + +“Five-cent pieces!” + +“Will you take them with you or shall I send them?” asked the girl, +earnestly. + +“I beg pardon!” + +“Any particular kind of ribbon you want the box tied with?” + +“I beg your pardon!” repeated Hawksley, harried and bewildered. “But I'm +in a hurry--” + +“Too much of a hurry to leave out the bark when you ask a favour? I make +change out of courtesy. And you all bark at me Nickel! Nickel! as if +that was my job.” + +“A thousand apologies!”--contritely. + +“And don't make it any worse by suggesting a movie after supper. My +mother never lets me go out after dark.” + +“I rather fancy she's quite sensible. Still, you seem able to take care +of yourself. I might suggest--” + +“With that black eye? Nay, nay! I'll bet somebody's brother gave it to +you.” + +“Venus was not on that occasion in ascendancy. Thank you for the +change.” Hawksley swung on his heel and reentered the booth. + +A great weariness oppressed him. A longing, almost irresistible, came to +him to go out and cry aloud: “Here I am! Kill me! I am tired and done!” + For he had recognized the purchaser of the cigars as one of the men who +had left the 125th Street Station at the same time as he. He remembered +distinctly that this man had been in a hurry. Perhaps the whole dizzy +affair was reacting upon his imagination psychologically and turning +harmless individuals into enemies. + +“Hello!” said a man's voice over the wire. + +“Is Mr. Rathbone there?” + +“Captain Rathbone is with his regiment at Coblenz, sir.” + +“Coblenz?” + +“Yes, sir. I do not expect his return until near midsummer, sir. Who is +this talking?” + +“Have you opened a cable from Yokohama?” + +“This is Mr. Hawksley!” The voice became excited. + +“Oh, sir! You will come right away. I alone understand, sir. You will +remember me when you see me. I'm the captain's butler, sir--Jenkins. +He cabled back to give you the entire run of the house as long as you +desired it. He advised me to notify you that he had also prepared his +banker against your arrival. Have your luggage sent here at once, sir. +Dinner will be at your convenience.” + +Hawksley's body relaxed. A lump came into his throat. Here was a friend, +anyhow, ready to serve him though he was thousands of miles away. + +When he could trust himself to speak he said: “Sorry. It will be +impossible to accept the hospitality at present. I shall call in a few +days, however, to establish my identity. Thank you. Good evening.” + +“Just a moment, sir. I may have an important cable to transmit to you. +It would be wise to leave me your address, sir.” + +Hawksley hesitated a moment. After all, he could trust this perfect old +servant, whom he remembered. He gave the address. + +As he came out of the booth the girl stretched forth an arm to detain +him. He stopped. + +“I'm sorry I spoke like that,” she said. “But I'm so tired! I've been on +my feet all day, and everybody's been barking and growling; and if I'd +taken in as many nickels as I've passed out in change the boss would be +rich.” + +“Give me a dozen of those roses there.” She sold flowers also. “The pink +ones. How much?” he asked. + +“Two-fifty.” + +He laid down the money. “Never mind the box. They are for you. Good +evening.” + +The girl stared at the flowers as Ali Baba must have stared at the cask +with rubies. + +“For me!” she whispered. “For nothing!” + +Her eyes blurred. She never saw Hawksley again; but that was of no +importance. She had a gentle deed to put away in the lavender of +recollection. + +Outside Hawksley could see nothing of the man who had bought the cigars. +At any rate, further dodging would be useless. He would go directly +to his destination. Old Gregor had sent him a duplicate key to the +apartment. He could hide there for a day or two; then visit Rathbone's +banker at his residence in the night to establish his identity. Gregor +could be trusted to carry the wallet and the pouch to the bank. Once +these were walled in steel half the battle would be over. He would have +nothing to guard thereafter but his life. He laughed brokenly. Nothing +but the clothes he stood in. He never could claim the belongings he had +been forced to leave in that hotel back yonder. But there was loyal old +Gregor. Somebody would be honestly glad to see him. The poor old chap! +Astonishing, but of late he was always thinking in English. + +He hailed the first free taxicab he saw, climbed in, and was driven +downtown. He looked back constantly. Was he followed? There was no way +of telling. The street was alive with vehicles tearing north and south, +with frequent stoppage for the passage of those racing east and west. +The destination of Hawksley's cab was an old-fashioned apartment house +in Eightieth Street. + +Gregor would have a meal ready; and it struck Hawksley forcibly that he +was hungry, that he had not touched food since the night before. Gregor, +valeting in a hotel, pressing coats and trousers and sewing on buttons! +Groggy old world, wasn't it? Gregor, pressing the trousers of the +hoi polloi! Gregor, who could have sent New York mad with that old +Stradivarius of his! But Gregor was wise. Safety for him lay in +obscurity; and what was more obscure than a hotel valet? + +He did not seek the elevator but mounted the first flight of stairs. He +saw two doors, one on each side of the landing. He sought one, stooped +and peered at the card over the bell. Conover. Gregor's was opposite. +Having a key he did not knock but unlocked the door and stepped into the +dark hall. + +“Stefani Gregor?” he called, joyously. “Stefani, my old friend, it is +I!” + +Silence. But that was understandable. Either Gregor had not returned +from his labours or he was out gathering the essentials for the evening +meal. Judging from the variety of odours that swam the halls of this +human warren many suppers were in the process of making, and the top +flavour was garlic. He sniffed pleasurably. Not that the smell of garlic +quickened his hunger. It merely sent his thought galloping backward +a score of years. He saw Stefani Gregor and a small boy in mountain +costume footing it sturdily along the dizzy goat paths of the rugged +hills; saw the two sitting on some ruddy promontory and munching black +bread rubbed with garlic. Ambrosia! His mother's horror, when she smelt +his breath--as if garlic had not been one of her birthrights! His uncle, +roaring out in his bull's voice that black bread and garlic were good +for little boys' stomachs, and made the stuff of soldiers. Black bread +and garlic and the Golden Age! + +After he had flooded the hall with light he began a tour of inspection. +The rooms were rather bare but clean and orderly. Here and there were +items that kept the homeland green in the recollection. He came to the +bedroom last. He hesitated for a moment before opening the door. The +lights told him why Gregor had not greeted his entering hail. + +The overturned reading lamp, the broken chair, the letters and papers +strewn about the floor, the rifled bureau drawers--these things spoke +plainly enough. Gregor was a prisoner somewhere in this vast city; or he +was dead. + +Hawksley stood motionless for a space. And he must remain here at least +for a night and a day! He would not dare risk another hotel. He could, +of course, go to the splendid Rathbone place; but it would not be fair +to invite tragedy across that threshold. + +A ball of crushed paper at his feet attracted his attention. He kicked +it absently, followed and picked it up, his thought on other things. +He was aimlessly smoothing it out when an English word caught his eye. +English! He smoothed the crumpled sheet and read: + + If you find this it is the will of God. I have been watched + for several days, and am now convinced that they have always + known I was here but were leaving me alone for some unknown + purpose. I roll this ball because anything folded and left + in a conspicuous place would be useless should they come for + me. I understand. It is you, poor boy. They are watching + me in hopes of catching you, and I've no way to warn you not + to come here. It was after I sent you the key that I learned + the truth. God bless you and guard you! + STEFANI. + + +Hawksley tore the note into scraps. Food and sleep. He walked toward the +kitchen, musing. What an odd mixture he was! Superficially British, with +the British outlook; and yet filled with the dancing blood of the Latin +and the cold, phlegmatic blood of the Slav. He was like a schoolmaster +with two students too big for him to handle. Always the Latin was +dispossessing the Slav or the Slav was ousting the Latin. With +fatalistic confidence that nevermore would he look upon the kindly face +of Stefani Gregor, alive, he went in search of food. + +Not a crust did he find. In the ice-chest there was a bottle of +milk--soured. Hungry; and not a crumb! And he dared not go out in search +of food. No one had observed his entrance to the apartment, but it was +improbable that such luck would attend him a second time. + +He returned to the bedroom. He did not turn on the light because a novel +idea had blossomed unexpectedly--a Latin idea. There might be food on +some window ledge. He would leave payment. He proceeded to the window, +throwing up both it and the curtain, and looked out. Ripping! There was +a fire escape. + +As he slipped a leg over the sill a golden square sprang into existence +across the way. Immediately he forgot his foraging instincts. In a +moment he was all Latin, always susceptible to the enchantment of +beauty. + +The distance across the court was less than forty feet. He could see the +girl quite plainly as she set about the preparation of her evening meal. +He forgot his danger, his hunger, his code of ethics, which did not +permit him to gaze at a young woman through a window. + +Alone. He was alone and she was alone. A novel idea popped into his +head. He chuckled; and the sound of that chuckle in his ears somehow +brought back his resolve to carry on, to pass out, if so he must, +fighting. He would knock on yonder window and ask the beautiful lady +slavey for a bit of her supper! + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Kitty Conover had inherited brains and beauty, and nothing else but the +furniture. Her father had been a famous reporter, the admiration of +cubs from New York to San Francisco; handsome, happy-go-lucky, generous, +rather improvident, and wholly lovable. Her mother had been a comedy +actress noted for her beauty and wit and extravagance. Thus it will be +seen that Kitty was in luck to inherit any furniture at all. + +Kitty was twenty-four. A body is as old as it is, but a brain is as old +as the facts it absorbs; and Kitty had absorbed enough facts to carry +her brain well into the thirties. + +Conover had been dead twenty years; and Kitty had scarcely any +recollections of him. Improvident as the run of newspaper writers are, +Conover had fulfilled one obligation to his family--he had kept up his +endowment policies; and for eighteen years the insurance had taken care +of Kitty and her mother, who because of a weak ankle had not been able +to return to the scenes of her former triumphs. In 1915 this darling +mother, whom Kitty loved to idolatry, had passed on. + +There was enough for the funeral and the cleaning up of the bills; but +that was all. The income ceased with Mrs. Conover's demise. Kitty saw +that she must give up writing short stories which nobody wanted, and +go to work. So she proceeded at once to the newspaper office where +her father's name was still a tradition, and applied for a job. It was +frankly a charity job, but Kitty was never to know that because she fell +into the newspaper game naturally; and when they discovered her wide +acquaintance among theatrical celebrities they switched her into the +dramatic department, where she had astonishing success as a raconteur. +She was now assistant dramatic editor of the Sunday issue, and her pay +envelope had four crisp ten-dollar notes in it each Monday. + +She still remained in the old apartment; sentiment as much as anything. +She had been born in it and her happiest days had been spent there. She +lived alone, without help, being one of that singular type of womanhood +that is impervious to the rust of loneliness. Her daily activities +sufficed the gregarious instincts, and it was often a relief to move +about in silence. + +Among other things Kitty had foresight. She had learned that a little +money in the background was the most satisfying thing in existence. So +many times she and her mother had just reached the insurance check, with +grumbling bill collectors in the hall, that she was determined never to +be poor. She had to fight constantly her love of finery inherited from +her mother, and her love of good times inherited from her father. So she +established a bank account, and to date had not drawn a check against +it; which speaks well for her will power, an attribute cultivated, not +inherited. + +Kitty was as pleasing to the eye as a basket of fruit. Her beauty was +animated. There was an expression in her eyes and on her lips that spoke +of laughter always on tiptoe. An enviable inheritance, this, the desire +to laugh, to be searching always for a vent to laughter; it is something +money cannot buy, something not to be cultivated; a true gift of +the gods. This desire to laugh is found invariably in the tender and +valorous; and Kitty was both. Brown hair with running threads of +gold that was always catching light; slate-blue eyes with heavy black +fringe-Irish; colour that waxed and waned; and a healthy, shapely body. +Topped by a sparkling intellect these gifts made Kitty desirable of men. + +Kitty had no beau. After the adolescent days beaux ceased to interest +her. This would indicate that she was inclined toward suffrage. Nothing +of the kind. Intensely romantic, she determined to await the grand +passion or go it alone. No experimental adventures for her. Be assured +that she weighed every new man she met, and finding some flaw discarded +him as a matrimonial possibility. Besides, her unusual facilities to +view and judge men had shown her masculine phases the average woman +would have discovered only after the fatal knot was tied. She did not +suspect that she was romantical. She attributed her wariness to common +sense. + +If there is one place where a pretty young woman may labour without +having to build a wall of liquid air about her to fend off amatory +advances that place is the editorial room of a great metropolitan daily. +One must have leisure to fall in love; and only the office boys could +assemble enough idle time to call it leisure. + +Her desk faced Burlingame's; and Burlingame was the dramatic editor, a +scholar and a gentleman. He liked to hear Kitty talk, and often he lured +her into the open; and he gathered information about theatrical folks +that was outside even his wide range of knowledge. + +A drizzly fog had hung over New York since morning. Kitty was finishing +up some Sunday special. Burlingame was reading proofs. All day +theatrical folks had been in and out of this little ten-by-twelve +cubby-hole; and now there would be quiet. + +But no. The door opened and an iron-gray head intruded. + +“Will I be in the way?” + +“Lord, no!” cried Burlingame, throwing down his proofs. “Come along in, +Cutty.” + +The great war correspondent came in and sat down, sighing gratefully. + +Cutty was a nickname; he carried and smoked--everywhere they +would permit him--the worst-looking and the worst-smelling pipe in +Christendom. You may not realize it, but a nickname is a round-about +Anglo-Saxon way of telling a fellow you love him. He was Cutty, but +only among his dear intimates, mind you; to the world at large, to +presidents, kings, ambassadors, generals, and capitalists he is known by +another name. You will find it on the roster of the Royal Geographical; +on the title page of several unique books on travel, jewels, and drums; +in magazines and newspapers; on the membership roll of the Savage in +London and the Lambs in New York. But you will not find it in this +story; because it would not be fair to set his name against the unusual +adventures that crossed his line of life with that of the young man who +wore the tobacco pouch suspended from his neck. + +Tall, bony, graceful enough except in a chair, where his angles became +conspicuous; the ruddy, weather-bitten complexion of a deep-sea sailor, +and a sailor man's blue eye; the brow of a thinker and the mouth of a +humourist. Men often call another man handsome when a woman knows they +mean manly. Among men Cutty was handsome. + +Kitty considerately rose and gathered up her manuscript. + +“No, no, Kitty! I'd rather talk to you than Burly, here. You're always +reminding me of that father of yours. Best comrade I ever had. You laugh +just like him. Did your mother ever tell you that old Cutty is your +godfather?” + +“Good gracious!” + +“Fact. I told your dad I'd watch over you.” + +“And a fat lot of watching you've done to date,” jeered Burlingame. + +“Couldn't help that. But I can be on the job until I return to the +Balkans.” + +Kitty laughed joyously and sat down, perhaps a little thrilled. She had +always admired Cutty from afar, shyly. Once in a blue moon he had in +the old days appeared for tea; and he and Mrs. Conover would spend +the balance of the afternoon discussing the lovable qualities of Tommy +Conover. Kitty had seen him but twice during the war. + +“Every so often,” began Cutty, “I have to find listeners. Fact. I +used to hate crowds, listeners; but those ten days in an open boat, a +thousand miles from anywhere, made me gregarious. I'm always wanting +company and hating to go to bed, which is bad business for a man of +fifty-two.” Cutty's ship had been torpedoed. + +To Kitty, with his tired eyes and weather-bitten face, his bony, +gangling body, he had the appearance of a lazy man. Actually she knew +him to be a man of tremendous vitality and endurance. Eagles when they +roost are heavy-lidded and clumsy. She wondered if there was a corner on +the globe he had not peered into. + +For thirty years he had been following two gods--Rumour and War. For +thirty years he had been the slave of cables and telegrams. Even now he +was preparing to return to the Balkans, where the great fire had started +and where there were still some threatening embers to watch. + +Cutty was not well known in America; his reputation was European. He +played the game because he loved it, being comfortably fortified with +worldly goods. He was a linguist of rare attainments, specializing in +the polyglot of southeastern Europe. He came and went like cloud shadow. +His foresight was so keen he was seldom ordered to go here or there; he +was generally on the spot when the orders arrived. + +He was interested in socialism and its bewildering ramifications, +but only as an analytical student. He could fit himself into any +environment, interview a prime minister in the afternoon and take +potluck that night with the anarchist who was planning to blow up the +prime minister. + +Burlingame, an intimate, often exposed for Kitty's delectation the +amazing and colourful facets of Cutty's diamond-brilliant mind. Cutty +wrote authoritatively on famous gems and collected drums. He had one +of the finest collections of chrysoprase in the world. He loved +these semi-precious stones because of their unmatchable, translucent +green--like the pulp of a grape. From Burlingame Kitty had learned +that Cutty, rather indifferent to women, carried about with him the +photographs--large size--of famous professional beauties and a case +filled with polished chrysoprase. He would lay a photograph on a table +and adorn the lovely throat with astonishing necklaces and the head with +wonderful tiaras, all the while his brain at work with some intricate +political puzzle. + +And he collected drums. The walls of his apartment--part of the loft of +a midtown office building--were covered with a most startling assortment +of drums: drums of war, of the dance, of the temples of the feast, +ancient and modern, some of them dreadful looking objects, as Kitty had +cause to remember. + +Though Cutty had known her father and mother intimately, Kitty was a +comparative stranger. He recollected seeing her perhaps a dozen times. +She had been a shy child, not given to climbing over visitors' knees; +not the precocious offspring of the average theatrical mother. So in +the past he had somewhat overlooked her. Then one day recently he had +dropped in to see Burlingame and had seen Kitty instead; which accounts +for his presence here this day. Neither Kitty nor Burlingame suspected +the true attraction. The dramatic editor accepted the advent as a +peculiar compliment to himself. And it is to be doubted if Cutty himself +realized that there was a true magnetic pole in this cubbyhole of a +room. + +Kitty, however, had vivid recollections. Actually the first strange man +she had ever met. But not having been visible on her horizon, except in +flashes, she knew of the man only what she had read and what Burlingame +had casually offered during discussions. + +“Well, anyhow,” said Burlingame, complacently, “the war is over.” + +Cutty smiled indulgently. “That's the trouble with us chaps who tramp +round the world for news. We can't bamboozle ourselves like you folks +who stay at home. The war was only the first phase. There's a mess over +there; wanting something and not knowing exactly what, those millions; +milling cattle, with neither shed nor pasture. The Lord only knows how +long it will take to clarify. Would you mind if I smoked?” + +“Wow!” cried Burlingame. + +“Not at all,” answered Kitty. “I don't see how any pipe could be worse +than Mr. Burlingame's.” + +“I apologize,” said the dramatic editor, humbly. + +“You needn't,” replied the girl. She turned to the war correspondent. +“Any new drums?” + +“I remember that day. You were scared half to death at my walls.” + +“Small wonder! I was only twelve; and I dreamed of cannibals for weeks.” + +“Drums! I wonder if any living man has heard a greater variety than +I? What a lot of them! I have heard them calling a jehad in the Sudan. +Tumpi-tum-tump! tumpitum-tump! Makes a white man's hair stand up when he +hears it in the night. I don't know what it is, but the sound drives the +Oriental mad. And that reminds me--I've had them in mind all day--the +drums of jeopardy!” + +“What an odd phrase! And what are the drums of jeopardy?” asked +Kitty, leaning on her arms. Odd, but suddenly she felt a longing to go +somewhere, thousands and thousands of miles away. She had never been +west of Chicago or east of Boston. Until this moment she had never +felt the call of the blood--her father's. Cocoanut palms and birds of +paradise! And drums in the night going tumpi-tum-tump! tumpi-tum-tump! + +“I've always been mad over green things,” began Cutty. “A wheat field in +the spring, leafing maples. It's Nature's choice and mine. My passion is +emeralds; and I haven't any because those I want are beyond reach. +They are owned by the great houses of Europe and Asia, and lie in royal +caskets; or did. If I could go into a mine and find an emerald as big +as my fist I should be only partly happy if it chanced to be of fine +colour. In a little while I should lose interest in it. It wouldn't be +alive, if you can get what I mean. Just as a man would rather have a +homely woman to talk to than a beautiful window dummy to admire. A +stone to interest me must have a story--a story of murder and loot, of +beautiful women, palaces. + +“Br-r-r!” cried Burlingame. + +“Why, I've seen emeralds I would steal with half a chance. I couldn't +help it. Fact,” declared Cutty, earnestly. “Think of the loot in the +Romanoff palaces! What's become of all those magnificent stones? In a +little while they'll be turning up in Amsterdam to be cut--some of them. +Or maybe Mister Bolsheviki's inamorata will be stringing them round her +neck. Loot.” + +“But the drums of jeopardy!” said Kitty. + +“Emeralds, green as an English lawn in May after a shower, Kitty. By the +way, do you mind if I call you Kitty? I used to.” + +“And I've always thought of you as Cutty. Fifty-fifty.” + +“It's a bargain. Well, the drums to my thinking are the finest two +examples of the green beryl in the world. Polished, of course, as +emeralds always should be. I should say that they were about the size of +those peppermint chocolate drops there.” + +“Have one?” said Kitty. + +“No. Spoil the taste of the pipe.” + +“You ought to spoil that taste once in a while,” was Burlingame's +observation. “But go on.” + +“I suppose originally there was a single stone, later cut into halves, +because they are perfect matches. The drums proper are exquisitely +carved ivory statuettes, of Hindu or Mohammedan drummers, squatting, +the golden base of the drums between the knees, and the drumheads the +emeralds. Lord, how they got to me! I wanted to run off with them. The +history of murder and loot they could tell! Some Delhi mogul owned them +first. Then Nadir Shah carried them off to Persia, along with the famous +peacock throne. I saw them in a palace on the Caspian in 1912. Russia +was very strong in Persia at one time. Perhaps they were gifts; perhaps +they were stolen--these emeralds. Anyhow, I'd never heard of them until +that year. And I travelled all the way up from Constantinople to get +a glimpse of them if it were possible. I had to do some mighty fine +wire-pulling. For one of those stones I would give half of all I own. To +see them in the possession of another man would be a supreme test to my +honesty.” + +“You old pirate!” said Burlingame. + +“But why the word jeopardy?” persisted Kitty, who was intrigued by the +phrase. + +“Probably some Hindu trick. It is a language of flowery metaphors. It +means, I suppose, that when you touch the drums they bite. In journeying +from one spot to another they always leave misfortune behind, as I +understand it. Just coincidence; but you couldn't drive that into an +Oriental skull. This is what makes the study of precious stones so +interesting. There is always some enchantment, some evil spell. To +handle the drums is to invite a minor accident. Call it twaddle; +probably is; and yet I have reason to believe that there's something to +the superstition.” + +Burlingame sniffed. + +“I can prove it,” Cutty declared. “I held those drums in my hands one +day. I carried them to a window the better to observe them. On my return +to the hotel I was knocked down by a horse and laid up in bed for a +week. That same night someone tried to kill the man who showed me the +emeralds. Coincidence? Perhaps. But these days I'm shying at thirteen, +the wrong side of the street, ladders, and religious curses.” + +“An old hard-boiled egg like you?” Burlingame threw up his hands in mock +despair. + +“I laugh, too; but I duck, nevertheless. The chap who showed me +the stones was what you'd call the honorary custodian; a privileged +character because of his genius. Before approaching him I sent him a +copy of my monograph on green stones. I found that he was quite as crazy +over green as I. That brought us together; and while I drew him out I +kept wondering where I had seen him before. Both his name and his face +were vaguely familiar. It seems a superstition had come along with the +stones, from India to Persia, from there to Russia. A maid fortunate +enough to see the drums would marry and be happy. The old fellow +confessed that occasionally he secretly admitted a peasant maid to gaze +upon the stones. But he never let the male inmates of the palace find +this out. He knew them a little too intimately. A bad lot.” + +“And this palace?” asked Kitty. + +“Not one stone on another. The proletariat rose up and destroyed it. To +mobs anything beautiful is offensive. Palaces looted, banks, museums, +houses. The ignorant toying with hand grenades, thinking them sceptres. +All the scum in the world boiling to the top. After the Red Day comes +the Red Night.” + +“Whatever will become of them--the little kings and princes and dukes?” + After all, thought Kitty, they were human beings; they would not suffer +any the less because they had been born to the purple. + +“Maybe they'll go to work,” said Cutty, dryly. “Sooner or later, all +parasites will have to work if they want bread. And yet I've met some +men among them, big in the heart and the mind, who would have made +bully farmers and professors. The beautiful thing about the Anglo-Saxon +education is that the whole structure is based upon fair play. In +eastern and southeastern Europe few of them can play solitaire without +cheating. But I would give a good deal to know what has happened to +those emeralds--the drums of jeopardy. They'll probably be broken up and +sold in carat weights. The whole family was wiped out in a night.... I +say, will you take lunch with me to-morrow?” + +“Gladly.” + +“All right. I'll drop in here at half after twelve. Here's my telephone +number, should anything alter your plans. If I'm going to be godfather I +might as well start right in.” + +“The drums of jeopardy; what a haunting phrase!” + +“Haunting stones, too, Kitty. For picking them up in my hands I went to +bed with a banged-up leg. I can't forget that. We Occidentals laugh at +Orientals and their superstitions. We don't believe in the curse. And +yet, by George, those emeralds were accursed!” + +“Piffle!” snorted Burlingame. “Mush! It's greed, pure and simple, that +gives precious stones their sinister histories. You'd have been hit by +that horse if you had picked up nothing more valuable than a rhinestone +buckle. Take away the gold lure, and precious stones wouldn't sell at +the price of window glass.” + +“Is that so? How about me? It isn't because a stone is worth so much +that makes me want it. I want it for the sheer beauty; I want it for the +tremendous panorama the sight of it unfolds in my mind. I imagine what +happened from the hour the stone was mined to the hour it came into my +possession. To me--to all genuine collectors--the intrinsic value is +nil. Can't you see? It is for me what Balzac's La Peau de Chagrin would +be to you if you had fallen on it for the first time--money, love, +tragedy, death.” + +An interruption came in the form of one of the office boys. The chief +was on the wire and wanted Cutty at once. + +“At half after twelve, Kitty. And by the way,” added Cutty as he rose, +“they say about the drums that a beautiful woman is immune to their +danger.” + +“There's your chance, Kitty,” said Burlingame. + +“Am I beautiful?” asked Kitty, demurely. + +“Lord love the minx!” shouted Cutty. “A corner in Mouquin's.” + +“Rain or shine.” After Cutty had departed Kitty said: “He's the most +fascinating man I know. What fun it would be to jog round the world with +a man like that, who knew everybody and everything. As a little girl I +was violently in love with him; but don't you ever dare give me away.” + +“You'll probably have nightmare to-night. And honestly you ought not to +live in that den alone. But Cutty has seen things,” Burlingame admitted; +“things no white man ought to see. He's been shot up, mauled by animals, +marooned, torpedoed at sea, made prisoner by old Fuzzy-Wuzzy. An +ordinary man would have died of fatigue. Cutty is as tough and strong +as a gorilla and as active as a cat. But this jewel superstition is all +rot. Odd, though; he'll travel halfway round the world to see a ruby or +an emerald. He says no true collector cares a cent for a diamond. Says +they are vulgar.” + +“Except on the third finger of a lady's left hand; and then they are +just perfectly splendid!” + +“Oho! Well, when you get yours I hope it's as big as the Koh-i-noor.” + +“Thank you! You might just as well wish a brick on me!” + +Kitty left the office at a quarter of six. The phrase kept running +through her head--the drums of jeopardy. A little shiver ran up her +spine. Money, love, tragedy, death! This terrible and wonderful old +world, of which she had seen little else than city streets, suddenly +exhibited wide vistas. She knew now why she had begun to save--travel. +Just as soon as she had a thousand she would go somewhere. A great +longing to hear native drums in the night. + +Even as the wish entered her mind a new sound entered her ears. The +Subway car wheels began to beat--tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! Fudge! +She opened her evening paper and scanned the fashions, the dramatic +news, and the comics. Being a woman she read the world news last. On the +front page she saw a queer story, dated at Albany: Mysterious guests at +a hotel; how they had fought and fled in the early morning. There had +been left behind a case with foreign orders incrusted with several +thousand dollars' worth of gems. Bolsheviki, said the police; just as +they said auto bandits a few years ago when confronted with something +they could not understand. The orders had been turned over to the +Federal authorities from whom it was learned that they were all royal +and demi-royal. Neither of the two guests had returned up to noon, and +one had fled, leaving even his hat and coat. But there was nothing to +indicate his identity. + +“Loot!” murmured Kitty. “All the scum in the world rising to the +top”--quoting Cutty. “Poor things!” as she thought of the gentle ladies +who had died horribly in bedrooms and cellars. + +Kitty was beginning to cast about for more congenial quarters. There +were too many foreigners in the apartments, and none of them especially +good housekeepers. Always, nowadays, somebody had a washing out on the +line, the odour of garlic was continuously in the air, and there were +noisy children under foot in the halls. The families she and her mother +had known were all gone; and Kitty was perhaps the oldest inhabitant in +the block. + +The living-room windows faced Eightieth Street; bedrooms, dining room, +and kitchen looked out upon the court. From the latter windows one could +step out upon the fire-escape platform, which ran round the three sides +of the court. + +Among the present tenants she knew but one, an old man by the name of +Gregory, who lived opposite. The acquaintance had never ripened into +friendship; but sometimes Kitty would borrow an egg and he would borrow +some sugar. In the summertime, when the windows were open at night, she +had frequently heard the music of a violin swimming across the court. +Polish, Russian, and Hungarian music, always speaking with a tragic +note; nothing she had ever heard in concerts. Once, however, she had +heard him begin something from Thais, and stop in the middle of it; and +that convinced her that he was a master. She was fond of good music. One +day she asked Gregory why he did not teach music instead of valeting +at a hotel. His answer had been illuminative. It was only his body that +pressed clothes; but it would have torn his soul to listen daily to the +agonized bow of the novice. Kitty was lonely through pride as much as +anything. As for friends, she had a regiment of them. But she rarely +accepted their hospitality, realizing that she could not return it. No +young men called because she never invited them. All this, however, was +going to change when she moved. + +As she turned on the hail light she saw an envelope on the floor. +Evidently it had been shoved under the door. It was unstamped. She +opened it, and stepped out of the humdrum into the whirligig. + + DEAR MISS CONOVER: + If anything should happen to me all the things in my apartment + I give to you without reservation. + STEPHEN GREGORY. + +She read the letter a dozen times to make sure that it meant exactly +what it said. He might be ill. After she had cooked her supper she would +run round and inquire. The poor lonely old man! + +She went into the kitchen and took inventory. There was nothing but +bacon and eggs and coffee. She had forgotten to order that morning. She +lit the gas range and began to prepare the meal. As she broke an egg +against the rim of the pan the nearby Elevated train rushed by, +drumming tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! She laughed, but it wasn't honest +laughter. She laughed because she was conscious that she was afraid +of something. Impulse drove her to the window. Contact with men--her +unusual experiences as a reporter--had developed her natural +fearlessness to a point where it was aggressive. As she pressed the tip +of her nose against the pane, however, she found herself gazing squarely +into a pair of exceedingly brilliant dark eyes; and all the blood in her +body seemed to rush violently into her throat. + +Tableau! + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Kitty gasped, but she did not cry out. The five days' growth of blondish +stubble, the discoloured eye--for all the orb itself was brilliant--and +the hawky nose combined to send through her the first great thrill of +danger she had ever known. + +Slowly she backed away from the window. The man outside immediately +extended his hands with a gesture that a child would have understood. +Supplication. Kitty paused, naturally. But did the man mean it? Might it +not be some trick to lure her into opening the window? And what was he +doing outside there anyhow? Her mind, freed from the initial hypnosis +of the encounter, began to work quickly. If she ran from the kitchen to +call for help he might be gone when she returned, only to come back when +she was again alone. + +Once more the man executed that gesture, his palms upward. It was Latin; +she was aware of that, for she was always encountering it in the halls. +Another gesture. She understood this also. The tips of the fingers +bunched and dabbed at the lips. She had seen Italian children make the +gesture and cry: “Ho fame!” Hungry. But she could not let him into the +kitchen. Still, if he were honestly hungry--She had it! + +In the kitchen-table drawer was an imitation revolver--press the +trigger, and a fluted fan was revealed--a dance favour she had received +during the winter. + +She plucked it out of the drawer and walked bravely to the window, which +she threw up. + +“What do you want? What are you doing out there on the fire escape?” she +instantly demanded to know. + +“My word, I am hungry! I was looking out of the window across the way +and saw you preparing your dinner. A bit of bread and a glass of milk. +Would you mind, I wonder?” + +“Why didn't you come to the door then? What window?” Kitty was resolute; +once she embarked upon an enterprise. + +“That one.” + +“Where is Mr. Gregory?” Kitty recalled that odd letter. + +“Gregory? I should very much like to know. I have come many miles to +see him. He sent me a duplicate key. There was not even a crust in the +cupboard.” + +Gregory away? That letter! Something had happened to that poor, kindly +old man. “Why did you not seek some restaurant? Or have you no money?” + +“I have plenty. I was afraid that I might not be able conveniently to +return. I am a stranger. My actions might be viewed with suspicion.” + +“Indeed! Describe Mr. Gregory.” + +Not of the clinging kind, evidently, he thought. A raving beauty--Diana +domesticated! + +“It is four years since I saw him. He was then gray, dapper, and erect. +A mole on his chin, which he rubs when he talks. He is a valet in one +of the fashionable hotels. He is--or was--the only true friend I have in +New York.” + +“Was? What do you mean?” + +“I'm afraid something has happened to him. I found his bedroom things +tossed about.” + +“What could possibly happen to a harmless old man like Mr. Gregory?” + +“Pardon me, but your egg is burning!” + +Kitty wheeled and lifted off the pan, choking in the smother of smoke. +She came right-about face swiftly enough. The man had not moved; and +that decided her. + +“Come in. I will give you something to eat. Sit in that chair by the +window, and be careful not to stir from it. I'm a good shot,” lied +Kitty, truculently. “Frankly, I do not like the looks of this.” + +“I do look like a burglar, what?” He sat down in the chair meekly. Food +and a human being to talk to! A lovely, self-reliant American girl, +able to take care of herself. Magnificent eyes--slate blue, with thick, +velvety black lashes. Irish. + +In a moment Kitty had three eggs and half a dozen strips of bacon frying +in a fresh pan. She kept one eye upon the pan and the other upon the +intruder, risking strabismus. At length she transferred the contents of +the pan to a plate, backed to the ice chest, and reached for a bottle +of milk. She placed the food at the far end of the table and retreated +a few steps, her arms crossed in such a way as to keep the revolver in +view. + +“Please do not be afraid of me. + +“What makes you think I am?” + +“Any woman would be.” + +Kitty saw that he was actually hungry, and her suspicions began to ebb. +He hadn't lied about that. And he ate like a gentleman. Young, not more +than thirty; possibly less. But that dreadful stubble and that black +eye! The clothes would have passed muster on any fashionable golf links. +A fugitive? From what? + +“Thank you,” he said, setting down the empty milk bottle. + +“Your accent is English.” + +“Which is to say?” + +“That your gestures are Italian.” + +“My mother was Italian. But what makes you believe I am not English?” + +“An Englishman--or an American, for that matter--with money in his +pocket would have gone into the street in search of a restaurant.” + +“You are right. The fundamentals of the blood will always crop out. +You can educate the brain but not the blood. I am not an Englishman; I +merely received my education at Oxford.” + +“A fugitive, however, of any blood might have come to my window.” + +“Yes; I am a fugitive, pursued by the god of Irony. And Irony is never +particular; the chase is the thing. What matters it whether the quarry +be wolf or sheep?” + +Kitty was impressed by the bitterness of the tone. “What is your name?” + +“John Hawksley.” + +“But that is English!” + +“I should not care to call myself Two-Hawks, literally. It would be +embarrassing. So I call myself Hawksley.” + +A pause. Kitty wondered what new impetus she might give to the +conversation, which was interesting her despite her distrust. + +“How did you come by that black eye?” she asked with embarrassing +directness. + +Hawksley smiled, revealing beautifully white teeth. “I say, it is a bit +off, isn't it! I received it”--a twinkle coming into his eyes--“in a +situation that had moribund perspectives.” + +“Moribund perspectives,” repeated Kitty, casting the phrase about in her +mind in search of an equivalent less academic. + +“I am young and healthy, and I wanted to live,” he said, gravely. “I am +curious to know what is going to happen to-morrow and other to-morrows.” + +Somewhere near by a door was slammed violently. Kitty, every muscle in +her body tense, jumped convulsively, with the result that her finger +pressed automatically the trigger of her pistol. The fan popped out +gayly. + +Hawksley stared at the fan, quite as astonished as Kitty. Then he broke +into low, rollicking laughter, which Kitty, because her basic corpuscle +was Irish, perforce had to join. For all her laughter she retreated, +furious and alarmed. + +“Fancy! I say, now, you're jolly plucky to face a scoundrel like me with +that.” + +“I don't just know what to make of you,” said Kitty, irresolutely, +flinging the fan into a corner. + +“You have revivified a celestial spark--my faith in human beings. I beg +of you not to be afraid of me. I am quite harmless. I am very grateful +for the meal. Yours is the one act of kindness I have known in weeks. I +will return to Gregor's apartment at once. But before I go please accept +this. I rather suspect, you know, that you live alone, and that fan is +amusing and not particularly suitable.” He rose and unsmilingly laid +upon the table one of those heavy blue-black bull-dogs of war, a +regulation revolver. Kitty understood what this courteous act signified; +he was disarming himself to reassure her. + +“Sit down,” she ordered. Either he was harmless or he wasn't. If he +wasn't she was utterly at his mercy. She might be able to lift that +terrible-looking engine of murder, battle, and sudden death with the aid +of both hands, but to aim and fire it--never in this world! “As I came +in to-night I found a note in the hall from Mr. Gregory. I will fetch +it. But you call him Gregor?” + +“His name is Stefani Gregor; and years and years ago he dandled me on +his knees. I promise not to move until you return.” + +Subdued by she knew not what, no longer afraid, Kitty moved out of the +kitchen. She had offered Gregory's letter as an excuse to reach the +telephone. Once there, however, she did not take the receiver off the +hook. Instead she whistled down the tube for the janitor. + +“This is Miss Conover. Come up to my apartment in ten minutes.... No; +it's not the water pipes.... In ten minutes.” + +Nothing very serious could happen inside of ten minutes; and the janitor +was reliable and not the sort one reads about in the comic weeklies. Her +confidence reenforced by the knowledge that a friend was near, she took +the letter into the kitchen. Apparently her unwelcome guest had not +stirred. The revolver was where he had laid it. + +“Read this,” she said. + +The visitor glanced through it. “It is Gregor's hand. Poor old chap! I +shall never forgive my self.” + +“For what?” + +“For dragging him into this. They must have intercepted one of my +telegrams.” He stared dejectedly at the strip of oilcloth in front of +the range. “You are an American?” + +“Yes.” + +“God has been exceedingly kind to your country. I doubt if you will ever +know how kind. I'll take myself off. No sense in compromising you.” + He laid a folded handkerchief inside his cap which he put on. “Know +anything about this?”--indicating the revolver. + +“Nothing whatever.” + +“Permit me to show you. It is loaded; there are five bullets in the +clip. See this little latch? So, it is harmless. So, and you kill with +it.” + +“It is horrible!” cried Kitty. “Take it with you please. I could not +keep my eyes open to shoot it.” + +“These are troublous times. All women should know something about small +arms. Again I thank you. For your own sake I trust that we may never +meet again. Good-bye.” He stepped out of the window and vanished. + +Kitty, at a mental impasse, could only stare into the night beyond the +window. This mesmeric state endured for a minute; then a gentle and +continuous sound dissipated the spell. It was raining. Obliquely she +saw the burnt egg in the pan. The thing had happened; she had not been +dreaming. + +Her brain awoke. Thought crowded thought; before one matured another +displaced it; and all as futile as the sparks from the anvil. An +avalanche of conjecture; and out of it all eventually emerged one +concrete fact. The man Was honest. His hunger had been honest; his +laughter. Who was he, what was he? For all his speech, not English; for +all his gestures, not Italian. Moribund perspectives. Somewhere that day +he had fought for his life. John Two-Hawks. + +And there was the mysterious evanishment of old Gregory, whose name was +Stefani Gregor. In a humdrum, prosaic old apartment like this! + +Kitty had ideas about adventure--an inheritance, though she was not +aware of that. There had to be certain ingredients, principally mystery. +Anything sordid must not be permitted to edge in. She had often gone +forth upon semi-perilous enterprises as a reporter, entered sinister +houses where crimes had been committed, but always calculating how much +copy at eight dollars a column could be squeezed out of the affair. But +this promised to be something like those tales which were always clear +and wonderful in her head but more or less opaque when she attempted to +transfer them to paper. A secret society? Vengeance? An echo of the war? + +“Johnny Two-Hawks,” she murmured aloud. “And he hopes we'll never meet +again!” + +There was a mirror over the sink, and she threw a glance into it. Very +well; if he thought like that about it. + +Here the doorbell tinkled. That would be the faithful janitor. She ran +to the door. + +“Whadjuh wanta see me about, Miz Conover?” + +“What has happened to old Mr. Gregory?” + +“Him? Why, some amb'lance fellers carted him off this afternoon. Didn't +know nawthin' was the matter with 'im until I runs into them in the +hall.” + +“He'd been hurt?” + +“Couldn't say, miz. He was on a stretcher when I seen 'im. Under a +sheet.” + +“But he might have been dead!” + +“Nope. I ast 'em, an' they said a shock of some sort.” + +“What hospital?” + +“Gee, I forgot t'ast that!” + +“I'll find out. Good-night.” + +But Kitty did not find out. She called up all the known private and +public hospitals, but no Gregor or Gregory had been received that +afternoon, nor anybody answering his description. The fog had swallowed +up Stefani Gregor. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +The reportorial instinct in Kitty Conover, combined with her natural +feminine curiosity, impelled her to seek to the bottom of affair. Her +newspaper was as far from her as the poles; simply a paramount desire to +translate the incomprehensible into sequence and consequence. Harmless +old Gregor's disappearance and the advent of John Two-Hawks--the +absurdity of that name!--with his impeccable English accent, his Latin +gestures, and his black eye, convinced her that it was political; an +electrical cross current out of that broken world over there. Moribund +perspectives. What did that signify save that Johnny Two-Hawks had +fought somewhere that day for his life? Had Gregor been spirited away so +as to leave Two-Hawks without support, to confuse and discourage him +and break down his powers of resistance? Or had there been something of +great value in the Gregor apartment, and Johnny Two-Hawks had come too +late to save his friend? + +A word slipped into her mind like a whiff of miasma off an evil swamp. +As she recognized the word she felt the same horror and repugnance one +senses upon being unexpectedly confronted by a cobra. Internationalism. +The scum of the world boiling to the top. A half-blind viper striking +venomously at everything--even itself! A destroyer who tore down but +who knew not how or what to build. Kitty knew that lower New York was +seething with this species of terrorism--thousands of noisome European +rats trying to burrow into the granary of democracy. But she had no +particular fear of the result. The reacting chemicals of American humour +and common sense would neutralize that virus. Supposing a ripple from +this indecent eddy had touched her feet? The torch of liberty in the +hands of Anarch! + +Johnny Two-Hawks. Somehow--even if she never saw him again--she knew she +would always remember him by that name. Phases of the encounter began +to return. Fine hands; perhaps he painted or played. The oblong head of +well-balanced mentality. A pleasant voice. Breeding. To be sure, he had +laughed at that fan popping out. Anybody would have laughed. Never had +she felt so idiotic. He had gravely expressed the hope that they +might never meet again because his life was in danger. What danger? +Conceivably the enmity of a society--internationalism. The word having +found lodgment in her thoughts took root. Internationalism--Utopia while +you wait! Anarchism and Bolshevism offering nostrums for humanity's +ills! And there were sane men who defended the cult on the basis that +the intention was honest. Who can say that the rattlesnake does not +consider his intentions honourable? + +The attribute lacking in the ape to make him human is continuity of +thought and action in all things save one. He often starts out well but +he never arrives. His interest is never sustained. He drops one thing +and turns to another. The exception is his enmity, savage and cunning, +relentless and enduring. + +Kitty was awake to one fact. She could not venture to dig into this +affair alone. On the other hand, she did not want one of the men from +the city room--a reporter who would see nothing but news. If Gregor was +only a prisoner publicity might be the cause of his death; and publicity +would certainly react hardily against Johnny Two-Hawks. To whom might +she turn? + +Cutty!--with his great physical strength, his shrewd and alert +mentality, and his wide knowledge of peoples and tongues. There was the +man for her--Kitty Conover's godfather. She dumped the contents of her +handbag upon the stand in the hallway in her impatience to find Cutty's +card with his telephone number. It was not in the directory. She might +catch him before he went out for the evening. + +A Japanese voice answered her call. + +“'Souse, but he iss out.” + +“Where?” + +“No tell me.” + +“How long has he been gone?” + +“'Scuse!” + +Kitty heard the click of the receiver as it went down upon the hook. +But she wasn't the daughter of Conover for nothing. She called up the +University Club. No. The Harvard Club. No. The Players, the Lambs; and +in the latter club she found him. + +“Who is it?” Cutty spoke impatiently. + +“Kitty Conover.” + +“Oh! What's the matter? Can't you have lunch with me?” + +“Something very strange is happening in this old apartment house, Cutty. +I'm afraid it is a matter of life and death. Otherwise I shouldn't have +bothered you. Can you come up right away?” + +“As soon as a taxi can take me!” + +“Thanks.” + +Kitty then went through the apartment and turned out all the lights. +Next she drew up a chair to the kitchen window and sat down to watch. +All was dark across the way. But there was nothing singular in this +fact. Johnny Two-Hawks would have sense enough to realize that it would +be safer to move about in the dark. It was even probable that he was +lying down. + +Tumpitum-tump! Tumpitum-tump! went the racing Elevated; and Kitty's +heart raced along with it. Queer how the echo of Cutty's description +of the drums calling a jehad--a holy war--should adapt itself to that +Elevated. Drums! Perhaps the echo clung because she had been interested +beyond measure in his tale of those two emeralds, the drums of jeopardy. +Mobs sacking palaces and museums and banks and homes; all the scum of +the world boiling to the top; the Red Night that wasn't over. + +She uttered a shaky little laugh. She would tell Cutty. The real drums +of jeopardy weren't emeralds but the roll of warning that prescience +taps upon the spine, the occult sense of impending danger. That was why +the Elevated went tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! She would tell Cutty. +The drums of fear. + +He over there and she here, in darkness; both of them waiting for +something to happen; and the invisible drumsticks beating the tattoo of +fear. If he were in her thoughts might not she be a little in his? +She stood up. She would do it. Convention in a moment like this was +nonsense. Hadn't he kept his side of the line scrupulously? + +Nonchalance. It occurred to her for the first time that there must be +good material in a man who could come through in a contest with death, +nonchalant. She would fetch him and have him here to meet Cutty, this +rather forlorn Johnny Two-Hawks, with his unshaven face, his black eye, +and his nonchalance. She would fetch him at once. It would save a good +deal of time. + +There were but ten apartments in the building, two on a floor. The +living room formed an L. Kitty's buttressed Gregor's. The elevator shaft +was inside, facing the court; and the stair head was on the Gregor side +of the elevator. The two entrances faced each other across the landing. + +As Kitty opened her door to step outside she was nonplussed to see two +men issue cautiously from the Gregor door. The moment they espied her, +however, there was a mad rush for the stair head. She could hear the +thud of their feet all the way down to the ground floor; and every +footfall seemed to touch her heart. One of them carried a bundle. + +She breathed quickly, and she knew that she was afraid. Neither man was +Johnny Two-Hawks. Something dreadful had happened; she was sure of it. +Reenforcing her sinking courage with nerve energy she ran across to the +Gregor door and knocked. No answer. She knocked again; then she tried +the door. Locked. The flutter in her breast died away; she became quite +calm. She was going to enter this apartment by the way of the fire +escape. The window he had come out of was still up. She had made note of +this from the kitchen. In returning he had stepped on to the springe of +a snare. + +She hurried back to her kitchen for the automatic. She hadn't the least +idea how to manipulate it; but she was no longer afraid of it. Bravely +she stepped out on to the fire escape. To reach her objective she had +to walk under the ladder. Danger often puts odd irrelevancies into the +human brain. As she moved forward she wondered if there was anything in +the superstition regarding ladders. + +When she reached the window she leaned against the brick wall and +listened. Silence; an ominous silence. The window was open, the curtain +up. Within, what? For as long as five minutes she waited, then she +climbed in. + +Now as this bedroom was a counterpart of her own she knew where the +light button would be. She might stumble over a chair or two, but in the +end she would find the light. The fingers of one hand spread out before +her and the other clutching the impossible automatic, she succeeded in +navigating the uncharted reefs of an unfamiliar room. She blinked for a +moment after throwing on the light, and stood with her back to the wall, +the automatic wabbling at nothing in particular. The room was empty so +far as she could see. There was evidence of a physical encounter, but +she could not tell whether it was due to the former or to the latter +invasion. + +Where was he? From where she stood she could not see the floor on the +far side of the bed. Timidly she walked past the foot of the bed--and +the transient paralysis of horror laid hold of her. She became bereft of +the power to grasp and hold, and the automatic slipped from her fingers +and thudded on the carpet. + +On the floor lay poor Johnny Two-Hawks, crumpled grotesquely, a streak +of blood zigzagging across his forehead; to all appearances, dead! + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Twice before in her life Kitty had looked upon death by violence; and it +required only this present picture to convince her that she would never +be able to gaze upon it callously, without pity and terror. Newspaper +life--at least the reportorial side of it--has an odd effect upon men +and women; it sharpens their tragical instincts and perceptions and +dulls eternally the edge of tenderness and sentimentality. It was +natural for Kitty to possess the keenest perceptions of tragedy; but she +had been taken out of the reportorial field in time to preserve all +her tenderness and romanticism. Otherwise she would have seen in that +crumpled object with the sinister daub of blood on the forehead merely +a story, and would have approached it from that angle. But was he dead? +She literally forced her steps toward the body and stared. She dropped +to her knees because they were threatening to buckle in one of those +flashes of physical incoordination to which the strongest will must bow +occasionally. She was no longer afraid of the tragedy, but she feared +the great surging pity that was striving to express itself in sobs; and +she knew that if she surrendered she would forthwith become hysterical +for the rest of the evening and incompetent to carry out the plan in her +head. + +A strong, healthy young man done to death in this fashion only a few +minutes after he had left her kitchen! Somehow she could not look upon +him as a stranger. She had given him food; she had talked to him; she +had even laughed with him. He was not like those dead she had seen +in her reportorial days. Her orbit and Johnny Two-Hawks' had +indeterminately touched; she had known old Gregory, or Gregor, who had +been this unfortunate young man's friend. And he had hoped they might +never meet again! + +The murderous scoundrels had been watching. They must have entered the +apartment shortly after he had entered hers. Conceivably they would have +Gregor's key. And they had watched and waited, striking him down it may +have been at the very moment he had crossed the sill of the window. + +Her hand shook so idiotically that it was impossible for a time to tell +if the man's heart was beating. All at once a wave of hot fury rushed +over her--fury at the cowardliness of the assault--and the vertigo +passed. She laid her palm firmly over Johnny Two-Hawks' heart. Alive! +He was alive! She straightened his body and put a pillow under his head. +Then she sought water and towels. + +There was no cut on his forehead, only blood; but the top of his head +had been cruelly beaten. He was alive, but without immediate aid he +might die. The poor young man! + +There were two physicians in the block; one or the other would be in. +She ran to the door, to find it locked. She had forgotten. Next she +found the telephone wire cut and the speaking tube battered and inutile. +She would have to return to her own apartment to summon help. She dared +not leave the light on. The scoundrels might possibly return, and +the light would warn them that their victim had been discovered; and +naturally they would wish to ascertain whether or not they had succeeded +in their murderous assault. + +As she was passing the first-landing windows she saw Cutty emerging +from the elevator. She flew across the fire-escape platform with the +resilient step of one crossing thin ice. + +Probably the most astonished man in New York was the war correspondent +when the door opened and a pair of arms were flung about him, and a +voice smothered in the lapel of his coat cried: “Oh, Cutty, I never was +so glad to see any one!” + +“What in the name of--” + +“Come! We'll handle this ourselves. Hurry!” She dragged him along by the +sleeve. + +“But--” + +“It is life and death! No talk now!” + +Cutty, immaculate in his evening clothes, very much perturbed, went +along after her. As she passed through the kitchen window and beckoned +him to follow he demurred. + +“Kitty, what the deuce is going on here?” + +“I'll answer your questions when we get him into my apartment. They +tried to murder him; left him there to die!” + +Cutty possessed a great art, an art highly developed only in explorers +and newspaper reporters of the first order--adaptability; of being able +to cast aside instantly the conventions of civilization and let down the +bars to the primordial, the instinctive, and the natural. Thus the Cutty +who stepped out beside Kitty into the drizzle was not the Cutty she +had admitted into the apartment. She did not recognize this remarkable +transition until later; and then she discovered that Cutty, the suave +and lackadaisical in idleness, was a tremendous animal hibernating +behind a crackle shell. + +Ordinarily Cutty would have declined to come through this shell, thin as +it was; he liked these catnaps between great activities. But this +lovely creature was Conover's daughter, and she would have the seventh +sense-divination of the born reporter. Something big was in the air. + +“Go on!” he said, briskly. “I'm at your heels. And stoop as you pass +those hall windows. No use throwing a silhouette for somebody in those +rear houses to see.... Old Tommy Conover's daughter, sure pop!... +There you go, under the ladder! You've dished the whole affair, whatever +it is.... No, no! Just spoofing, Kitty. A long face is no good anywhere, +even at a funeral.... This window? All right. Know where the lights are? +Very good.” + +When Cutty saw the man on the floor he knelt quickly. “Nasty bang on +the head, but he's alive. What's this? His cap. Poughkeepsie. By George, +padded with his handkerchief! Must have known something was going to +fall on him. Now, what's it all about?” + +“When we get him to my apartment.” + +“Yours? Good Lord, what's the matter with this?” + +“They tried to kill him here. They might return to see if they had +succeeded. They mustn't find where he has gone. I'm strong. I can take +hold of his knees.” + +“Tut! Neither of us could walk backward over that fire escape. He looks +husky, but I'll try it. Now obey me without question or comment. You'll +have to help me get him outside the window and in through yours. +Between the two windows I can handle him alone. I only hope we shan't +be noticed, for that might prove awkward. Now take hold. That's it. +When I'm through the window just push his legs outside.” Panting, Kitty +obeyed. “All right,” said Cutty. “I like your pluck. You run along ahead +and be ready to help me in with him. A healthy beggar! Here goes.” + +With a heave and a hunch and another heave Cutty stood up, the limp body +disposed scientifically across his shoulders. Kitty was quite impressed +by this exhibition of strength in a man whom she considered as +elderly--old. There was an underthought that such feats of bodily +prowess were reserved for young men. With the naive conceit of +twenty-four she ignored the actual mathematics of fifty years of clean +living and thinking, missed the physiological fact that often men at +fifty are stronger and tougher than men in the twenties. They never +waste energy; their precision of movement and deliberation of thought +conserve the residue against the supreme moment. + +As a parenthesis: To a young woman what is a hero? Generally something +conjured out of a book she has read; the unknown, handsome young man +across the street; the leading actor in a society drama; the idol of +the movie. A hero must of necessity be handsome; that is the +first essential. If he happens to be brave and debonair, rich and +aristocratic, so much the better. Somehow, to be brave and to be heroic +are not actually accepted synonyms in certain youthful feminine minds. +For instance, every maid will agree that her father is brave; but tell +her he is a hero because he pays his bills regularly and she will accept +the statement with a smile of tolerant indulgence. + +Thus Kitty viewed Cutty's activities with a thrill of amazed wonder. Had +the young man hoisted Cutty to his shoulders her feeling would have been +one of exultant admiration. Let age crown its garnered wisdom; youth has +no objections to that; but feats of physical strength--that is poaching +upon youth's preserves. Kitty was not conscious of the instinctive +resentment. At that moment Cutty was to her the most extraordinary old +man in the world. + +“Forward!” he whispered. “I want to know why I am doing this movie +stunt.” The journey began with Kitty in the lead. She prayed that no one +would see them as they passed the two landing windows. Below and above +were vivid squares of golden light. She regretted the drizzle; no +clothes-laden lines intervened to obscure their progress. Someone in +the rear of the houses in Seventy-ninth Street might observe the +silhouettes. The whole affair must be carried off secretly or their +efforts would come to nothing. + +Once inside the kitchen Cutty shifted his burden into his arms, the way +one carries a child, and followed Kitty into the unused bedroom. He did +not wait for the story, but asked for the telephone. + +“I'm going to call for a surgeon at the Lambs. He's just back from +France and knows a lot about broken heads. And we can trust him +absolutely. I told him to wait there until I called.” + +“Cutty, you're a dear. I don't wonder father loved you.” + +Presently he turned away from the telephone. “He'll be here in a jiffy. +Now, then, what the deuce is all this about?” + +Briefly Kitty narrated the episodes. + +“Samaritan stuff. I see. Any absorbent cotton? I can wash the wound +after a fashion. Warm water and Castile soap. We can have him in shape +for Harrison.” + +Alone, Cutty took note of several apparent facts. The victim's flannel +shirt was torn at the collar and there were marks of finger nails on +the throat and chest. Upon close inspection he observed a thin red line +round the neck--the mark of a thong. Had they tried to strangle him or +had he carried something of value? Silk underwear and a clean body; well +born; foreign. After a conscientious hesitance Cutty went through the +pockets. All he found were some crumbs of tobacco and a soggy match box. +They had cleaned him out evidently. There were no tailors' labels in any +of the pockets; but there were signs that these had once existed. The +man on the bed had probably ripped them out himself; did not care to be +identified. + +A criminal in flight? Cutty studied the face on the pillow. Shorn of +that beard it would be handsome; not the type criminal, certainly. A bit +of natural cynicism edged into his thoughts: Kitty had seen through the +beard, otherwise she would have turned the affair over to the police. +Not at all like her mother, yet equally her mother's match in beauty and +intelligence. Conover's girl, whose eyes had nearly popped out of her +head at the first sight of those drum-lined walls of his. + +Two-Hawks. What was it that was trying to stir in his recollection? +Two-Hawks. He was sure he had heard that name before. Hawksley meant +nothing at all; but Two-Hawks possessed a strange attraction. He stared +off into space. He might have heard the name in a tongue other than +English. + +A sound. It came from the lips of the young man. Cutty frowned. The +poor chap wasn't breathing in a promising way; he groaned after each +inhalation. And what had become of the old fellow Kitty called Gregory? +A queer business. + +Kitty came in with a basin and a roll of absorbent cotton. + +“He is groaning!” she whispered. + +“Pretty rocky condition, I should say. That handkerchief in his cap +doubtless saved him. Now, little lady, I frankly don't like the idea +of his being here. Suppose he dies? In that event there'll be the very +devil to pay. You're all alone here, without even a maid.” + +“Am I all alone?”--softly. + +“Well, no; come to think of it, I'm no longer your godfather in theory. +Give me the cotton and hold the basin.” + +He was very tender. The wound bled a little; but it was not the kind +that bled profusely. It was less a cut than a smashing bruise. + +“Well, that's all I can do. Who was this tenant Gregory?” + +“A dear old man. A valet at a Broadway hotel. Oh, I forgot! Johnny +Two-Hawks called him Stefani Gregor.” + +“Stefani Gregor?” + +“Yes. What is it? Why do you say it like that?” + +“Say it like what?”--sparring for time. + +“As if you had heard the name before?” + +“Just as I thought!” cried Cutty, his nimble mind pouncing upon a +happy invention. “You're romantic, Kitty. You're imagining all sorts of +nonsense about this chap, and you must not let the situation intrigue +you. If I spoke the name oddly--this Stefani Gregor--it was because I +sensed in a moment that this was a bit of the overflow. Southeastern +Europe, where the good Samaritan gets kicked instead of thanked. Now, +here's a good idea. Of course we can't turn this poor chap loose upon +the public, now that we know his life is in danger. That's always the +trouble with this Samaritan business. When you commit a fine action +you assume an obligation. You hoist the Old Man of the Sea on your +shoulders, as it were. The chap cannot be allowed to remain here. So, +if Harrison agrees, we'll take him up to my diggings, where no Bolshevik +will ever lay eyes upon him.” + +“Bolshevik?” + +“For the sake of a handle. They might be Chinamen, for all I know. I can +take care of him until he is on his feet. And you will be saved all this +annoyance. + +“But I don't believe it's going to be an annoyance. I'm terribly +interested, and want to see it through.” + +“If he can be moved, out he goes. No arguments. He can't stay in this +apartment. That's final.” + +“Exactly why not?” Kitty demanded, rebelliously. + +“Because I say so, Kitty.” + +“Is Stefani Gregor an undesirable?” + +“You knew him. What do you say?” countered her godfather, evading the +trap. The innocent child! He smiled inwardly. + +Kitty was keen. She sensed an undercurrent, and her first attempt to +touch it had failed. The mere name of Stefani Gregor had not roused +Cutty's astonishment. She was quite positive that the name was not +wholly unfamiliar to her father's friend. + +Still, something warned her not to press in this direction. He would be +on the alert. She must wait until he had forgotten the incident. So she +drew up a chair beside the bed and sat down. + +Cutty leaned against the footrail, his expression neutral. He sighed +inaudibly. His delightful catnap was over. Stefani Gregor, Kitty's +neighbour, a valet in a fashionable hotel! Stefani Gregor, who, upon +a certain day, had placed the drums of jeopardy in the palms of a war +correspondent known to his familiars as Cutty. And who was this young +man on the bed? + +“There goes the bell!” cried Kitty, jumping up. + +“Wait!” + +The ring was repeated vigorously and impatiently. + +“Kitty, I don't quite like the sound of that bell. Harrison would have +no occasion to be impatient. Somebody in a hurry. Now, attend to me. I'm +going to steal out to the kitchen. Don't be afraid. Call if I'm needed. +Open the door just a crack, with your foot against it. If it's Harrison +he'll be in uniform. Call out his name. Slam the door if it is someone +you don't know.” + +Kitty opened the door as instructed, but she swung it wide because one +of the men outside was a policeman. The man behind him was a thickset, +squat individual, with puffed, discoloured eyes and a nose that reminded +Kitty of an alligator pear. + +“What's going on here?” the policeman demanded to know. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +A phrase, apparently quite irrelevant to the situation, shot into +Kitty's head. Moribund perspectives. Instantly she knew, with that +foretasting mind of hers, that the man peering over the policeman's +shoulder and Johnny Two-Hawks had met somewhere that day. She was now +able to compare the results, and she placed the victory on Two-Hawks' +brow. Yonder individual somehow justified the instinct that had prompted +her to play the good Samaritan. Whence had this gorilla come? He was +not one of the men who had issued in such dramatic haste from the Gregor +apartment. + +“This man here saw you and another carrying someone across the fire +escape. What's the rumpus?” The policeman was not exactly belligerent, +but he was dutifully determined. And though he was ready to grant that +this girl with the Irish eyes was beautiful, a man never could tell. + +“There's been a tragedy of some kind,” began Kitty. “This man certainly +did see us carrying a man across the fire escape. He had been set upon +and robbed in the apartment across the way.” + +“Why didn't you call in the police?” + +“Because he might have died before you got here.” + +“Where's the man who helped you?” + +“Gone. He was an outsider. He was afraid of getting mixed up in a police +affair and ran away.” Behind the kitchen door Cutty smiled. She would +do, this girl. + +“Sounds all right,” said the policeman. “I'll take a look at the man.” + +“This way, if you please,” said Kitty, readily. “You come, too, +sir,” she added as the squat man hesitated. Kitty wanted to watch his +expression when he saw Johnny Two-Hawks. + +Seed on rocky soil; nothing came of the little artifice. No Buddha's +graven face was less indicative than the squat man's. Perhaps his face +was too sore to permit mobility of expression. The drollery of this +thought caused a quirk in one corner of Kitty's mouth. The squat man +stopped at the foot of the bed with the air of a mere passer-by and +seemed more interested in the investigations of the policeman than in +the man on the bed. But Kitty knew. + +“A fine bang on the coco,” was the policeman's observation. “Take +anything out of his pockets?” + +“They were quite empty. I've sent for a military surgeon. He may arrive +at any moment.” + +“This fellow live across the way?” + +“That's the odd part of it. No, he doesn't.” + +“Then what was he doing there?” + +“Probably awaiting the return of the real tenant who hasn't returned up +to this hour”--with an oblique glance at the squat man. + +“Kind o' queer. Say, you stay here and watch the lady while I scout +round.” + +The squat man nodded and leaned over the foot of the bed. The policeman +stalked out. + +“I was in the kitchen,” said Kitty, confidingly. “I saw shadows on +the window curtain. It did not look right. So I started to inquire and +almost bumped into two men leaving the apartment. They took to their +heels when they saw me.” + +Again the squat man nodded. He appeared to be a good listener. + +“Where were you when we crossed the fire escape?” + +“In the yard on the other side of the fence.” There was reluctance in +the guttural voice. + +“Oh, I see. You live there.” + +As this was a supposition and not a direct query, the squat man wagged +his head affirmatively. + +Kitty, her ears strained for disquieting sounds in the kitchen, laid her +palm on the patient's cheek. It was very hot. She dipped a bit of cotton +into the water, which had grown cold, and dampened the wounded man's +cheeks and throat. Not that she expected to accomplish anything by +this act; it relieved the nerve tension. This man was no fool. If her +surmises were correct he was a strong man both in body and in mind. In a +rage he would be terrible. However, had Johnny Two-Hawks done it--beaten +the man and escaped? No doubt he had been watching all the time and +had at length stepped in to learn if his subordinates had followed his +instructions and to what extent they had succeeded. + +“If he dies it will be murder.” + +“It is a big city.” + +“And so many terrible things happen like this every day. But sooner or +later those who commit them are found out. Nemesis always follows on the +heels of vengeance.” + +For the first time there was a flash of interest in the battered eyes of +the intruder. Perhaps he saw that this was not only a pretty woman but +a keen one, and sensed the veiled threat. Moreover, he knew that she had +lied at one point. There had been no light in the room across the court. + +But what in the world was happening out there in the kitchen? Kitty +wondered. So far, not a sound. Had Cutty really taken flight? And why +shouldn't he have faced it out at her side? Very odd on Cutty's part. +Shortly she heard the heavy shoes of the policeman returning. + +“Guess it's all right, miss. I'll report the affair at the precinct and +have an ambulance sent over. You'll have to come along with me, sir.” + +“Is that legally necessary?” asked the squat man, rather perturbed. + +“Sure. You saw the thing and I verified it,” declared the policeman. “It +won't take ten minutes. Your name and address, in case this man dies.” + +“I see. Very well.” + +Kitty wasn't sure, but the policeman seemed embarrassed about something. +The directness was gone from his eyes and his speech was no longer +brisk. + +“My name is Conover,” said Kitty. + +“I got that coming in,” replied the policeman. “We'll be on our way.” + +Not once again did the squat man glance at the man on the bed. He +followed the policeman into the hall, his air that of one who had +accepted a certain obligation to community welfare and cancelled it. + +Kitty shut the door--and leaned against it weakly. Where had Cutty gone? +Even as she expressed the query she smelt burning tobacco. She ran out +into the kitchen, to behold Cutty seated in a chair calmly smoking his +infamous pipe! + +“And I thought you were gone! What did you say to that policeman?” + +“I hypnotized him, Kitty.” + +“The newspaper?” + +“No. Just looked into his eye and made a few passes with my hands.” + +“Of course, if you believe you ought not to tell me--” said Kitty, which +is the way all women start their wheedling. + +Cutty looked into the bowl of his pipe. + +“Kitty, when you throw a cobble into a pond, what happens? A splash. But +did you ever notice the way the ripples have of running on and on, until +they touch the farthest shore?” + +“Yes. And this is a ripple from some big stone cast into the pond of +southeastern Europe. I understand.” + +“That's just the difficulty. If you understood nothing it would be much +easier for me. But you know just enough to want to follow up on your own +hook. I know nothing definitely; I have only suspicions. I calmed +that policeman by showing him a blanket police power issued by the +commissioner. I want you to pack up and move out of this neighbourhood. +It's not congenial to you.” + +“I'm afraid I can't afford to move until May.” + +“I'll take care of that gladly, to get you out of this garlicky ruin.” + +“No, Cutty; I'm going to stay here until the lease is up.” + +“Gee-whiz! The Irish are all alike,” cried the war correspondent, +hopelessly. “Petticoat or pantaloon, always looking for trouble.” + +“No, Cutty; simply we don't run away from it. And there's just as much +Irish in you as there is in me.” + +“Sure! And for thirty years I've gone hunting for trouble, and never +failed to find it. I don't like this affair, Kitty; and because I don't +I'm going to risk my Samson locks in your lily-white hands. I am going +to tell you two things: I am a secret foreign agent of the United States +Government. Now don't light up that way. Dark alleys and secret papers +and beautiful adventuresses and bang-bang have nothing at all to do +with my job. There isn't a grain of romance in it. Ostensibly I am a war +correspondent. I have handled all the big events in Serbia and Bulgaria +and Greece and southwestern Russia. Boiled down, I am a census taker of +undesirables. Socialist, anarchist and Bolshevik--I photograph them +in my mental 'fillums' and transmit to Washington. Thus, when Feodor +Slopeski lands at Ellis Island with the idea of blowing up New York, he +is returned with thanks. I didn't ask for the job; it was thrust upon me +because of my knowledge of the foreign tongues. I accepted it because I +am a loyal American citizen.” + +“And you left me because you' didn't know who might be at the door!” + +“Precisely. I am known in lower New York under another name. I'm a rabid +internationalist. Down with everything! I don't go out much these days; +keep under cover as much as I can. Once recognized, my value would be +nil. In a flannel shirt I'm a dangerous codger.” + +“And Gregor and this poor young man are in some way mixed up with +internationalism!” + +“Victims, probably.” + +“What is the other thing you wish to tell me?” + +“Because your eyes are slate blue like your mother's. I loved your +mother, Kitty,” said Cutty, blinking into his pipe. “And the singular +fact is, your father knew but your mother never did. I was never able +to tell your mother after your father died. Their bodies were separated, +but not their spirits.” + +Kitty nodded. So that was it? Poor Cutty! + +“I make this confession because I want you to understand my attitude +toward you. I am going to elect myself as your special guardian so +long as I'm in New York. From now on, when I ask you to do something, +understand that I believe it best for you. If my suspicions are correct +we are not dealing with fools but with madmen. The most dangerous human +being, Kitty, is an honest man with a half-baked or crooked idea; and +that's what this world pother, Bolshevism, is--honest men with crooked +ideas, carrying the torch of anarchism and believing it enlightenment. +What makes them tear down things? Every beautiful building is only a +monument to their former wretchedness; and so they annihilate. None of +them actually knows what he wants. A thousand will-o'-the-wisps in front +of them, and all alike. A thousand years to throw off the shackles, +and they expect Utopia in ten minutes! It makes you want to weep. +Socialism--the brotherhood of man--is a beautiful thing theoretically; +but it is like some plays--they read well but do not act. Lopping off +heads, believing them to be ideas!” + +“The poor things!” + +“That's it. Though I betray them I pity them. Democracy; slowly and +surely. As prickly with faults as a cactus pear; but every year there +are less prickles. We don't stand still or retrogress; we keep going on +and up. Take this town. Think of It to-day and compare it with the town +your father knew. There's the bell. I imagine that will be Harrison. If +we can move this chap will you go to a hotel for the night?” + +“I'm going to stay here, Cutty. That's final.” + +Cutty sighed. + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +At the precinct station the squat man gave a name and an address to +the bored sergeant at the desk, passed out a cigar, lit one himself, +expressed some innocuous opinions upon one or two topics of the day, and +walked leisurely out of the precinct. He wanted to laugh. These pigheads +had never thought to question his presence in the backyard of the house +in Seventy-ninth Street. It was the way he had carried himself. +Those years in New York, prior to the war, had not been wasted. The +brass-buttoned fools! + +Serenely unconscious that he was at liberty by explicit orders, because +the Department of Justice did not care to trap a werewolf before +ascertaining where the pack was and what the kill, he proceeded +leisurely to the corner, turned, and broke into a run, which carried +him to a drug store in Eightieth Street. Here he was joined by two men, +apparently coal heavers by the look of their hands and faces. + +“They will take him to a hospital. Find where, then notify me. Remember, +this is your business, and woe to you if you fail. Where is it?” One of +the men extended an object wrapped in ordinary grocer's paper. + +“Ha! That's good. I shall enjoy myself presently. Remember: telephone me +the moment you learn where they take him. He is still alive, bunglers! +And you came away empty-handed.” + +“There was nothing on him. We searched.” + +“He has hidden them in one of those rooms. I'll attend to that later. +Watch the hospital for an hour or so, then telephone for information +regarding his condition. Is that motor for me? Very good. Remember!” + +Inside the taxicab the squat man patted the object on his knees, and +chuckled from time to time audibly. It would be worth all that journey, +all he had gone through since dawn that morning. Stefani Gregor! After +these seven long years--the man who had betrayed him! To reach into his +breast and squeeze his heart as one might squeeze a bit of cheese! Many +things to tell, many pictures to paint. He rode far downtown, wound in +and out of the warehouse district for a while, then dismissed the taxi +and proceeded on foot to his destination--a decayed brick mansion of the +40's sandwiched in between two deserted warehouses. In the hall of the +first landing a man sat in a chair under the gas, reading a newspaper. +At the approach of the squat man he sprang to his feet, but a phrase +dissipated his apprehension and he nodded toward a door. + +“Unlock it for me and see that I am not disturbed.” + +Presently the squat man stood inside the room, which was dark. He struck +a match and peered about for the candle. The light discovered a room +barren of all furniture excepting the table upon which stood the candle, +and a single chair. In this chair was a man, bound. He was small and +dapper, his gray hair swept back a la Liszt. His chin was on his breast, +his body limp. Apparently the bonds alone held him in the chair. + +The squat man laid his bundle on the table and approached the prisoner. + +“Stefani Gregor, look up; it is I!” He drummed on his chest like a +challenging gorilla. “I, Boris Karlov!” + +Slowly the eyelids of the prisoner went up, revealing mild blue eyes. +But almost instantly the mildness was replaced by an agate hardness, and +the body became upright. + +“Yes, it is Boris, whom you betrayed. But I escaped by a hair, Stefani; +and we meet again.” + +What good to tell this poor madman that Stefani Gregor had not betrayed +him, that he had only warned those marked for death? There was no longer +reason inside that skull. To die, probably in a few moments. So be it. +Had he not been ready for seven years? But that poor boy--to have come +all these thousands of miles, only to walk into a trap! Had he found +that note? Had they killed him? Doubtless they had or Boris Karlov would +not be in this room. + +“We killed him to-night, Stefani, in your rooms. We threw out the food +so he would have to seek something to eat. The last of that breed, stem +and branch! We are no longer the mud; we ourselves are the heels. We are +conquering the world. Today Europe is ours; to-morrow, America!” + +A wintry little smile stirred the lips of the man in the chair. America, +with its keen perceptions of the ridiculous, its withering humour! + +“No more the dissolute opera dancers will dance to your fiddling, +Stefani, while we starve in the town. Fiddler, valet, tutor, the rivers +and seas of Russia are red. We roll east and west, and our emblem +is red. Stem and branch! We ground our heels in their faces as for +centuries they ground theirs in ours. He escaped us there--but I was +Nemesis. He died to-night.” + +The body in the chair relaxed a little. “He was clean and honest, Boris. +I made him so. He would have done fine things if you had let him live.” + +“That breed?” + +“Why, you yourself loved him when he was a boy!” + +“Stem and branch! I loved my little sister Anna, too. But what did they +do to her behind those marble walls? Did you fiddle for her? What was +she when they let her go? My pretty little Anna! The fires of hell +for those damned green stones of yours, Stefani! She heard of them and +wanted to see them, and you promised.” + +“I? I never promised Anna! ... So that was it? Boris, I only saw her +there. I never knew what brought her. But the boy was in England then.” + +“The breed, the breed!” roared the squat man. “Ha, but you should have +seen! Those gay officers and their damned master--we left them with +their faces in the mud, Stefani; in the mud! And the women begged. Fine +music! Those proud hearts, begging Boris Karlov for their lives--their +faces in the mud! You, born of us in those Astrakhan Hills, you denied +us because you liked your fiddle and a full belly, and to play keeper +of those emeralds. The winding paths of torture and misery and death +by which they came into the possession of that house! And always the +proletariat has had to pay in blood and daughters. You, of the people, +to betray us!” + +“I did not betray you. I only tried to save those who had been kind to +me.” + +A cunning light shot into Karlov's eyes. “The emeralds!” He struck his +pocket. “Here, Stefani; and they shall be broken up to buy bread for our +people.” + +“That poor boy! So he brought them! What are you going to do with me?” + +“Watch you grow thin, Stefani. You want death; you shall want food +instead. Oh, a little; enough to keep you alive. You must learn what it +is to be hungry.” + +The squat man picked up the bundle from the table and tore off the +wrapping paper. A violin the colour of old Burgundy lay revealed. + +“Boris!” The man in the chair writhed. + +“Have I waked you, Stefani?”--tenderly. “The Stradivarius--the very +grand duke of fiddles! And he and his damned officers, how they used to +call out--'Get Stefani to fiddle for us!' And you fiddled, dragged your +genius though the mud to keep your belly warm!” + +“To save a soul, Boris--the boy's. When I fiddled his uncle forgot +to drag him into an orgy. Ah, yes; I fiddled, fiddled because I had +promised his mother!” + +“The Italian singer! She was lucky to die when she did. She did not see +the torch, the bayonet, and the mud. But the boy did--with his English +accent! How he escaped I don't know; but he died to-night, and the +emeralds are in my pocket. See!” Karlov held the instrument close to +the other's face. “Look at it well, this grand duke of fiddles. Look, +fiddler, look!” + +The huge hands pressed suddenly. There was brittle crackling, and a rare +violin became kindling. A sob broke from the prisoner's lips. What +to Karlov was a fiddle to him was a soul. He saw the madman fling the +wreckage to the floor and grind his heels into the fragments. Gregor +shut his eyes, but he could not shut his ears; and he sensed in that +cold, demoniacal fury of the crunching heel the rising of maddened +peoples. + + + +CHAPTER X + + +Meanwhile, Captain Harrison of the Medical Corps entered the Conover +apartment briskly. + +“You old vagabond, what have you been up to? I beg pardon!”--as he saw +Kitty emerge from behind Cutty's bulk. + +“This is Miss Conover, Harrison.” + +“Very pleased, I'm sure. Luckily my case was in the coat room at the +club. I took the liberty of telephoning for Miss Frances, who returned +on the same ship with me. I concluded that your friend would need a +nurse. Let me have a look at him.” + +Callously but lightly and skillfully the surgeon examined the battered +head. “Escaped concussion by a hair, you might say. Probably had his cap +on. That black eye, though, is an older affair. Who is he?” + +“I suspect he's some political refugee. We don't know a thing about him +otherwise. How soon can he be moved?” + +“He ought to be moved at once and given the best of care.” + +“I can give him that in my eagle's nest. Harrison, this chap's life is +in danger; and if we get him into my lofty diggings they won't be able +to trace him. Not far from here there's a private hospital I know. It +goes through from one street to the next. I know the doctor. We'll have +the ambulance carry the patient there, but at the rear I'll have one +of the office newspaper trucks. And after a little wait we'll shoot the +stretcher into the truck. The police will not bother us. I've seen to +that. I rather believe it falls in with some of my work. The main idea, +of course, is to rid Miss Conover of any trouble.” + +“Just as you say,” agreed the surgeon. “That's all I can do for the +present. I'll run down to the entrance and wait for The nurse.” + +“Will he live?” asked Kitty. + +“Of course he will. He is in good physical condition. Imagine he has +simply been knocked out. Serious only if unattended. Your finding him +probably saved him. Twelve hours will tell the story. May be on his feet +inside a week. Still, it would be advisable to keep him in bed as long +as possible. Fagged out, I should say, from that beard. I'll go down and +wait for Miss Frances.” + +“And ring three times when you return,” advised Cutty. + +“All right. Did they try to strangle him or did he have something round +his neck?” + +“Hanged if I know.” + +“All out of the room now. I want it dark. Just as soon as the nurse +arrives I'll return. Three rings.” Harrison left the apartment. + +Cutty spent a few minutes at the telephone, then he joined Kitty in the +living room. + +“Kitty, what was the stranger like?” + +“Like a gorilla. He spoke English as if he had a cold.” + +Cutty scowled into space. “Have a scar over an eyebrow?” + +“Good gracious, I couldn't tell! Both his eyes were black and his nose +banged dreadfully. Johnny Two-Hawks probably did it.” + +“Bully for Two-Hawks! Kitty, you're a marvel. Not a flivver from the +start. And those slate-blue eyes of yours don't miss many things.” + +“Listen!” she interrupted, taking hold of his sleeve. “Hear it?” + +“Only the Elevated.” + +“Tumpitum-tump! Tumpitum-tump! Cutty, you hypnotized me this afternoon +with your horrid drums.” + +“The emeralds?” He managed to repress the start. + +“I don't know what it is; drums, anyhow. Maybe it is the emeralds. +Something has been happening ever since you told me about them--the +misery and evil that follow their wake.” + +“But the story goes that women are immune, Kitty.” + +“Nonsense! No woman is immune where a wonderful gem is concerned. And +yet I've common sense and humour.” + +“And a lot more besides, Kitty. You're a raving, howling little beauty; +and how you've remained out of captivity this long is a puzzler to me. +Haven't you got a beau somewhere?” + +“No, Cutty. Perhaps I'm one of those who are quite willing to wait +patiently. If the one I want doesn't come--why, I'll be a jolly, +philosophical old maid. No seconds or culls for me, as the magazine +editor says.” + +“Exactly what do you want?” Cutty was keenly curious, for some reason he +could not define. He did not care for diamonds as stones; but he admired +any personality that flashed differently from each new angle exposed. + +“Oh, a man, among other things. I don't mean one of those godlike +chromos in the frontispiece of popular novels. He hasn't got to be +handsome. But he must be able to laugh when he's happy, when he's hurt. +I must be his business in life. He must know a lot about things I know. +I want a comrade who will come to me when he has a joke or an ache. A +gay man and whimsical. The law can make any man a husband, but only God +can make a good comrade.” + +“Kitty,” said Cutty, his fine eyes sparkling, “I shan't have to watch +over you so much as I thought. On the other hand, you have described me +to a dot.” + +“Quite possibly. Vanity has its uses. It keeps us in contact with +bathtubs and nice clothes. I imagine that you would make both husband +and comrade; or you would have, twenty years ago”--without intentional +cruelty. Wasn't Cutty fifty-two? + +“Kitty, you've touched a vital point. It took those twenty years to make +me companionable. Experience is something we must buy; it isn't left in +somebody's will. Let us say that I possess all the necessary attributes +save one.” + +“And what is that?” + +“Youth, Kitty. And take the word of a senile old dotard, your young man, +when you find him, will lack many of the attributes you require. On the +other hand, there is always the possibility that these will develop as +you jog along. The terrible pity of youth is that it has the habit of +conferring these attributes rather than finding them. You put garlands +on the heads of snow images, and the first glare of sunshine--pouf!” + +“Cutty, I'm beginning to like you immensely”--smiling. “Perhaps women +ought to have two husbands--one young and handsome and the other old and +wise like yourself.” + +Cutty wished he were alone in order to analyze the stab. Old! When +he knew that mentally and physically he could take and break a dozen +Two-Hawks. Old! He had never thought himself that. Fifty-two years; +they had piled up on him without his appreciation of the fullness of the +score. And yet he was more than a match for any ordinary man of thirty +in sinew and brain; and no man met the new morning with more zest than +he himself met it. But to Kitty he was old! Lavender and oak leaves were +being draped on his door knob. He laughed. + +“Why do you laugh?” + +“Oh, because--Hark!” + +The two of them ran to the bedroom door. + +“Olga! Olga!” And then a guttural level jumble of sounds. + +Kitty's quick brain reached out for a similitude--water rushing over +ragged boulders. + +“Olga!” she whispered. “He is a Russian!” + +“There are Serbian Olgas and Bulgarian Olgas and Rumanian Olgas. +Probably his sweetheart.” + +“The poor thing!” + +“Sounds like Russian,” added Cutty, his conscience pricking him. But +he welcomed that “Olga.” It would naturally put a damper on Kitty's +interest. “There's Harrison with the nurse.” + +Quarter of an hour later the patient was taken down to the ambulance +and conveyed to the private hospital. Cutty had no way of ascertaining +whether they were followed; but he hoped they would be. The knowledge +that their victim was in a near-by hospital would naturally serve to +relax the enemy vigilance temporarily; and this would permit safely and +secretly the second leg of the journey--that to his own apartment. + +He decided to let an hour go past; then Two-Hawks was taken through the +building to the rear and transferred to the truck. Cutty sat with +the driver while Captain Harrison and the nurse rode inside with the +patient. + +On the way Cutty was rather disturbed by the deep impression Kitty +Conover had made upon his heart and mind. That afternoon he had looked +upon her with fatherly condescension, as the pretty daughter of the two +he had loved most. From the altitude of his fifty-two he had gazed +down upon her twenty-four, weighing her as like all young women of +twenty-four--pleasure-loving and beau-hunting and fashion-scorched; +and in a flash she had revealed the formed mind of a woman of thirty. +Altitude. He had forgotten that relative to altitudes there are always +two angles of vision--that from the summit and that from the green +valley below. Kitty saw him beyond the tree line, but just this side +of the snows--and matched his condescension with pity! He chuckled. +Doddering old ass, what did it matter how she looked at him? + +Beautiful and young and full of common sense, yet dangerously +romantical. To wait for the man she wanted, what did that signify but +romance? And there was her Irish blood to consider. The association +of pretty nurse and interesting patient always afforded excellent +background for sentimental nonsense, the obligations of the one and the +gratitude of the other. Well, he had nipped that in the bud. + +And why hadn't he taken this Two-Hawks person--how easy it was to fall +into Kitty's way of naming the chap!--why hadn't he taken him directly +to the Roosevelt? Why all this pother and secrecy over a total stranger? +Stefani Gregor, who lived opposite Kitty and who hadn't prospered +particularly since the day he had exhibited the drums of jeopardy--he +was the reason. These were volcanic days, and a friend of Stefani +Gregor--who played the violin like Paganini--might well be worth the +trouble of a little courtesy. Then, too, there was that mark of the +thong--a charm, a military identification disk or something of value. +Whatever it was, the rogues had got it. Murder and loot. And as soon as +he returned to consciousness the young fellow would be making inquiries. + +Perhaps Kitty's point of view regarding a certain duffer aged fifty-two +was nearer the truth than the duffer himself realized. Second childhood! +As if the drums of jeopardy would ever again see light, after that +tempest of fire and death--that mud volcano! + +One thing was certain--there would be no more cat-napping. The game was +on again. He was assured of that side of it. + +Green stones, the sunlight breaking against the flaws in a shower of +golden sparks; green as the pulp of a Champagne grape; the drums of +jeopardy! Murder and loot; he could understand. + +Immediately after the patient was put to bed Cutty changed. A +nondescript suit of the day-labourer type and a few deft touches of coal +dust completed his make-up. + +“I shan't be back until morning,” he announced. “Work to do. Kuroki will +be at your service through the night, Miss Frances. Strike that Burmese +gong once, at any hour. Come along, Harrison.” + +“Want any company?” asked Harrison, with a belligerent twist to his +moustache. + +Cutty laughed. “No. You run along to your lambs. I'm running with +the wolves to-night, old scout, and you might get that spick-and-span +uniform considerably mussed up. Besides, it's raining.” + +“But what's to become of Miss Conover? She ought not to remain alone in +that apartment.” + +“Well, well! I thought of that, too. But she can take care of herself.” + +“Those ruffians may call up the hospital and learn that we tricked them. + +“And then?” + +“Try to force the truth from Miss Conover.” + +“That's precisely the wherefore of this coal dust. On your way!” + +Eleven o'clock. Kitty was in the kitchen, without light, her chair by +the window, which she had thrown up. She had gone to bed, but sleep was +impossible. So she decided to watch the Gregor windows. Sometimes the +mind is like a movie camera set for a double exposure. The whole scene +is visible, but the camera sees only half of it. Thus, while she saw +the windows across the court there entered the other side of her mind +a picture of the immaculate Cutty crossing the platform with Johnny +Two-Hawks thrown over his shoulder. The mental picture obscured the +actual. + +She had called him old. Well, he was old. And no doubt he looked upon +her as a child, wanting her to spend the night at a hotel! The affair +was over. No one would bother Kitty Conover. Why should they? But it +took strength to shoulder a man like that. What fun he and her father +must have had together! And Cutty had loved her mother! That made +Kitty exquisitely tender for a moment. All alone, at the age when new +friendships were impossible. A lovable man like that going down through +life alone! + +Census taker of alien undesirables; a queer occupation for a man so +famous as Cutty. Patriotism--to plunge into that seething revolutionary +scum to sort the dangerous madmen from the harmless mad-men. Courage and +strength and mental resource; yes, Cutty possessed these; and he would +be the kind to laugh at a joke or a hurt. + +One thing, however, was indelibly printed on her mind. Stefani +Gregor--either Cutty had met and known the man or he had heard of him. + +Suddenly she became conscious that she was blinking as one blinks +from mirror-reflected sunlight. She cast about for the source of this +phenomenon. Obliquely from between the interstices of the fire-escape +platform came a point of moving white light. She craned her neck. A +battery lamp! The round spot of light worked along the cement floor, +vanished occasionally, reappeared, and then vanished altogether. +Somebody was down there hunting for something. What? + +Kitty remained with her head out of the window for some time, unmindful +of the spatter of rain. But nothing happened. The man was gone. Of +course the incident might not have the slightest bearing upon the +previous adventures of this amazing night; still, it was suggestive. The +young man had worn something round his neck. But if his enemies had +it why should this man comb the court, unless he was a tenant and had +knocked something off a window ledge? + +She began to appreciate that she was very tired, and decided to go back +to bed. This time she fell asleep. Her disordered thoughts rearranged +themselves in a dazzling dream. She found herself wandering through a +glorious translucent green cavern--a huge emerald. And in the distance +she heard that unmistakable tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! It drew her +irresistibly. She fought and struggled against the fascinating sound, +but it continued to draw her on. Suddenly from round a corner came the +squat man, his hair a la Fuzzy-Wuzzy. He caught her savagely by the +shoulder and dragged her toward a fire of blazing diamonds. On the other +side of that fire was a blonde young woman with a tiara of rubies on her +head. “Save me! I am Olga, Olga!” Kitty struggled fiercely and awoke. + +The light was on. At the side of her bed were two men. One of them was +holding her bare shoulder and digging his fingers into it cruelly. They +looked like coal heavers. + +“We do not wish to harm you, and won't if you're sensible. Where did +they take the man you brought?” + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Kitty did not wrench herself loose at once. She wasn't quite sure that +this was not a continuance of her nightmare. She knew that nightmares +had a way of breaking off in the middle of things, of never arriving +anywhere. The room looked natural enough and the pain in her shoulder +seemed real enough, but one never could tell. She decided to wait for +the next episode. + +“Answer!” cried the spokesman of the two, twisting Kitty's shoulder. +“Where did they take him?” + +Awake! Kitty wrenched her shoulder away and swept the bedclothes up to +her chin. She was thoroughly frightened, but her brain was clear. +The spark of self-preservation flew hither and about in search of +expediencies, temporizations. She must come through this somehow with +the vantage on her side. She could not possibly betray that poor young +man, for that would entail the betrayal of Cutty also. She saw but one +avenue, the telephone; and these two men were on the wrong side of the +bed, between her and the door. + +“What do you want?” Her throat was so dry she wondered whether the words +were projected far enough for them to hear. + +“We want the address of the wounded man you brought into this +apartment.” + +“They took him to a hospital.” + +“He was taken away from there.” + +“He was?” + +“Yes, he was. You may not know where, but you will know the address of +the man who tricked us; and that will be sufficient.” + +“The army surgeon? He was called in by chance. I don't know where he +lives.” + +“The man in the dress suit.” + +“He was with the surgeon.” + +“He came first. Come; we have no time to waste. We don't want to hurt +you, and we hope you will not force us. + +“Will you step out of the room while I dress?” + +“No. Tell us where the man lives, and you can have the whole apartment +to yourself.” + +“You speak English very well.” + +“Enough! Do you want us to bundle you up in the bedclothes and carry you +off? It will not be a pleasant experience for a pretty young woman like +yourself. Something happened to the man you knew as Gregory. Will that +make you understand?” + +“You know what abduction means?” + +“Your police will not catch us.” + +“But I might give you the wrong address.” + +“Try it and see what happens. Young lady, this is a bad affair for a +woman to be mixed up in. Be sensible. We are in a hurry.” + +“Well, you seem to have acquired at least one American habit!” said a +gruff voice from the bedroom doorway. “Raise your hands quickly, and +don't turn,” went on the gruff voice. “If I shoot it will be to kill. +It is a rough game, as you say. That's it; and keep them up. Now, then, +young lady, slip on your kimono. Get up and search these men. I'm in a +hurry, too.” + +Kitty obeyed, very lovely in her dishevelment. Repugnant as the task was +she disarmed the two men and flung their weapons on the bed. + +“Now something to tie their hands; anything that will hold.” + +Kitty could see the speaker now. Another coal heaver, but evidently on +her side. + +“Tie their hands behind them... I warn you not to move, men. When I say +I'll shoot I mean it. Don't be afraid of hurting them, miss. Very good. +Now bandage their eyes. Handkerchiefs.” + +But Kitty's handkerchiefs did not run to the dimensions' required; so +she ripped up a petticoat. Torn between her eagerness to complete a +disagreeable task and her offended modesty, Kitty went through the +performance with creditable alacrity. Then she jumped back into bed, +doubled her knees, and once more drew up the bedclothes to her chin, +content to be a spectator, her eyes as wide as ever they possibly could +be. + +Some secret-service man Cutty had sent to protect her. Dear old Cutty! +Small wonder he had urged her to spend the night at a hotel. The +admiration of her childhood returned, but without the shackles of +shyness. She had always trusted him absolutely, and to this trust was +now added understanding. To have him pop into her life again in this +fashion, all the ordinary approaches to intimacy wiped out by these +amazing episodes; the years bridged in an hour! If only he were younger! + +“Watch them, miss. Don't be afraid to shoot. I'll return in a +moment”--still gruffly. The secret-service man pushed his prisoners into +chairs and left the bedroom. + +Kitty did not care how gruff the voice was; it was decidedly pleasant +in her ears. Gingerly she picked up one of the revolvers. Kitty Conover +with shooting irons in her hands, like a movie actress! She heard a +whistle. After this an interval of silence, save for the ticking of the +alarm clock on the stand. She eyed the blindfolded men speculatively, +swung out of bed, and put on her stockings and sandals; then she sat on +the edge of the bed and waited for the sequence. Kitty Conover was going +to have some queer recollections to tell her grandchildren, providing +she had any. That morning she had risen to face a humdrum normal day. +And here she was, at midnight, hobnobbing with quiescent murder and +sudden death! To-morrow Burlingame would ask her to hustle up the Sunday +stuff, and she would hustle. She wanted to laugh, but was a little +afraid that this laughter might degenerate into incipient hysteria. + +There was still in her mind a vivid recollection of her dream--the fire +of diamonds and the blonde girl with the tiara of rubies. Olga, Olga! +Russian; the whole affair was Russian. She shivered. Always that +land and people had appeared to her in sinister aspect; no doubt an +impression acquired from reading melodramas written by Englishmen who, +once upon a time, had given Russia preeminence as a political menace. +Russia, in all things--music, art, literature--the tragic note. Stefani +Gregor and Johnny Two-Hawks had roused the enmity of some political +society with this result. Nihilist or Bolshevist or socialist, there +was little choice; and Cutty sensibly did not want her drawn into the +whirlpool. + +What a pleasant intimacy hers and Cutty's promised to be! And if he +hadn't casually dropped into the office that afternoon she would have +surrendered the affair to the police, and that would have been the end +of it. Amazing thought--you might jog along all your life at the side +of a person and never know him half so well as someone you met m a tense +episode, like that of the immaculate Cutty crossing the fire escape with +Two-Hawks on his shoulders! + +She heard the friendly coal heaver going down the corridor to the door. +When he returned to the bedroom two men accompanied him. Not a word was +said. The two men marched off with the prisoners and left Kitty alone +with her saviour. + +“Thank you,” she said, simply. + +“You poor little chicken, did you believe I had deserted you?” The voice +wasn't gruff now. + +“Cutty?” Kitty ran to him, flinging her arms round his neck. “Oh, +Cutty!” + +Cutty's heart, which had bumped along an astonishing number of million +times in fifty-two years, registered a memorable bump against his ribs. +The touch of her soft arms and the faint, indescribable perfume which +emanates from a dainty woman's hair thrilled him beyond any thrill he +had ever known. For Kitty's mother had never put her arms round old +Cutty's neck. Of course he understood readily enough: Molly's girl, +flesh of her flesh. And she had rushed to him as she would have rushed +to her father. He patted her shoulder clumsily, still a little dazzled +for all the revelation in the analysis. The sweet intimacy of it! The +door of Paradise opened for a moment, and then shut in his face. + +“I did not recognize you at all!” she cried, standing off. “I shouldn't +have known you on the street. And it is so simple. What a wonderful man +you are!” + +“For an old codger?” Cutty's heart registered another sizable bump. + +Kitty laughed. “Never call yourself old to me again. Are you always +doing these things?” + +“Well, I keep moving. I suspected something like this might happen. +Those two will go to the Tombs to await deportation if they are aliens. +Perhaps we can dig something out of them relative to this man Gregor. +Anyhow, we'll try.” + +“Cutty, I saw a man in the court with a pocket lamp before I went to +bed. He was hunting for something.” + +“I didn't find anything but a lot of fresh food someone had thrown out.” + +“It was you, then?” + +“Yes. There was a vague possibility that your protege might have thrown +out something valuable during the struggle.” + +“What?” + +“Lord knows! A queer business, Kitty, you've lugged me into--my own! +And there is one thing I want you to remember particularly: Life means +nothing to the men opposed, neither chivalry nor ethics. Annihilation is +their business. They don't want civilization; they want chaos. They +have lost the sense of comparisons or they would not seek to thrust +Bolshevism down the throats of the rest of the world. They say democracy +has failed, and their substitute is murder and loot. Kitty, I want you +to leave this roost.” + +“I shall stay until my lease expires.” + +“Why? In the face of real danger?” + +“Because I intend to, Cutty--unless you kidnap me.” + +“Have you any good reason?” + +“You'll laugh; but something tells me to stay here.” + +But Cutty did not laugh. “Very well. Tomorrow an assistant janitor will +be installed. His name is Antonio Bernini. Every night he will whistle +up the tube. Whistle back. If you are going out for the evening notify +him where you intend to go and when you expect to be back. A wire from +your bed to his cot will be installed. In danger, press the button. +That's the best I can do for you, since you decide to stick. I don't +believe anything more will happen to-night, but from now on you will be +watched. Never come directly to my apartment. Break your journey two +or three times with taxis. Always use Elevator Four. The boy is mine; +belongs to the service. So our Bolshevik friends won't gather anything +about you from him.” + +As a matter of fact, Cutty had now come to the conviction that it would +be well to let Kitty remain here as a lure. He had urged her to leave, +and she had refused, so his conscience was tolerably clear. Besides, she +would henceforth be guarded with a ceaseless efficiency second only to +that which encompasses a President of the United States. Always some man +of the service would be watching those who watched her. This was going +to develop into a game of small nets, one or two victims at a time. +Because these enemies of civilization lacked coherence in action there +would be slim chance of rounding them up in bulk. But from now on men +would vanish--one here, a pair there, perhaps on occasion four or five. +And those who had known them would know them no more. The policy would +be that employed by the British in the submarine campaign--mysterious +silence after the evanishment. + +“It's all so exciting!” said Kitty. “But that poor old man Gregor! He +had a wonderful violin, Cutty; and sometimes I used to hear him play +folklore music--sad, haunting melodies.” + +“We'll know in a little while what's become of him. I doubt there is a +foreign organization in the city that hasn't one or more of our men on +the inside. A word will be dropped somewhere. I'm rarely active on +this side of the Atlantic; and what I'm doing now is practically due to +interest. But every active operative in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, +and Chicago is on the lookout for a man who, if left free, will stir +up a lot of trouble. He has leadership, this Boris Karlov, a former +intimate here of Trotzky's. We have reason to believe that he slipped +through the net in San Francisco. Probably under a cleverly forged +passport. Now please describe the man who came in with the policeman. I +haven't had time to make inquiries at the precinct, where they will have +a minute description of him.” + +“He made me think of a gorilla, just as I told you. His face was pretty +well banged up. Naturally I did not notice any scar. A dreadfully black +beard, shaven.” + +“Squat, powerful, like a gorilla. Lord, I wish I'd had a glimpse of him! +He's one of the few topnotchers I haven't met. He's the spark, the hand +on the plunger. The powder is all ready in this land of ours; our job is +to keep off the sparks until we can spread the stuff so it will only +go puff instead of bang. This man Karlov is bad medicine for democracy. +Poor devil!” + +“Why do you say that?” + +“Because I'm honestly sorry for them. This fellow Karlov has suffered. +He is now a species of madman nothing will cure. He and his kind have +gained their ends in Russia, but the impetus to kill and burn and loot +is still unchecked. Sorry, yes; but we can't have them here. They +remind me of nothing so much as those blind deep-sea monsters in one of +Kipling's tales, thrown up into air and sunlight by a submarine volcano, +slashing and bellowing. But we can't have them here any longer. Keep +those revolvers under your pillow. All you have to do is to point. +Nobody will know that you can't shoot. And always remember, we're +watching over you. Good-night.” + +“Mouquin's for lunch?” + +“Well, I'll be hanged! But it can't be, Kitty. You and I must not be +seen in public. If that was Karlov you will be marked, and so will any +one who travels with you.” + +“Good gracious!” + +“Fact. But come up to the roost--changing taxis--to-morrow at five and +have tea.” + +Down in the street Cutty bore into the slanting rain, no longer a +drizzle. With his hands jammed in his side pockets and his gaze on the +sparkling pavement he continued downtown, in a dangerously ruminative +frame of mind, dangerous because had he been followed he would not have +known it. + +Molly Conover's girl! That afternoon it had been Tommy Conover's girl; +now she was Molly's. It occurred to him for the first time that he was +one of those unfortunate individuals who are always able to open the +door to Paradise for others and are themselves forced to remain outside. +Hadn't he introduced Conover to Molly, and hadn't they fallen in love +on the spot? Too old to be a hero and not old enough to die. He grinned. +Some day he would use that line. + +Of course it wasn't Kitty who set this peculiar cogitation in motion. It +wasn't her arms and the perfume of her hair. The actual thrill had come +from a recrudescence of a vanished passion; anyhow, a passion that had +been held suspended all these years. Still, it offered a disquieting +prospect. He was sensible enough to realize that he would be in for some +confusion in trying to disassociate the phantom from the quick. + +Most pretty young women were flitter-flutters, unstable, shallow, +immature. But this little lady had depth, the sense of the living drama; +and, Lord, she was such a beauty! Wanted a man who would laugh when he +was happy and when he was hurt. A bull's-eye--bang, like that! For the +only breed worth its salt was the kind that laughed when happy and when +hurt. + +The average young woman, rushing into his arms the way she had, would +not have stirred him in the least. And immediately upon the heels of +this thought came a taste of the confusion he saw in store for himself. +Was it the phantom or Kitty? He jumped to another angle to escape the +impasse. Kitty's coming to him in that fashion raised an unpalatable +suggestion. He evidently looked fatherly, no matter how he felt. Hang +these fifty-two years, to come crowding his doorstep all at once! + +He raised his head and laughed. He suddenly remembered now. At nine that +night he had been scheduled to deliver a lecture on the Italo-Jugoslav +muddle before a distinguished audience in the ballroom of a famous +hotel! He would have some fancy apologizing to do in the morning. + +He stepped into a doorway, then peered out cautiously. There was not a +single pedestrian in sight. No need of hiking any further in this +rain; so he hunted for a taxi. To-morrow he would set the wires humming +relative to old Stefani Gregor. Boris Karlov, if indeed it were he, +would lead the way. Hadn't Stefani and Boris been boyhood friends, and +hadn't Stefani betrayed the latter in some political affair? He wasn't +sure; but a glance among his 1912 notes would clear up the fog. + +But that young chap! Who was he? Cutty set his process of logical +deduction moving. Karlov--always supposing that gorilla was Karlov--had +come in from the west. So had the young man. Gregor's inclinations had +been toward the aristocracy; at least, that had been the impression. A +Bolshevik would not seek haven with a man like Gregor, as this young man +had. But Two-Hawks bothered him; the name bothered him, because it had +no sense either in English or in Russian. And yet he was sure he had +heard it somewhere. Perhaps his notes would throw some light on that +subject, too. + +When he arrived home Miss Frances, the nurse, informed him that the +patient was babbling in an outlandish tongue. For a long time Cutty +stood by the bedside, translating. + +“Olga!... Olga!... And she gave me food, Stefani, this charming American +girl. Never must we forget that. I was hungry, and she gave me food.... +But I paid for it. You, gone, there was no one else.... And she is +poor.... The torches!... I am burning, burning!... Olga!” + +“What does he say?” asked the nurse. + +“It is Russian. Is it a crisis?” he evaded. + +“Not necessarily. Doctor Harrison said he would probably return to +consciousness sometime to-morrow. But he must have absolute quiet. No +visitors. A bad blow, but not of fatal consequence. I've seen hundreds +of cases much worse pull out in a fortnight. You'd better go to bed, +sir.” + +“All right,” said Cutty, gratefully. He was tired. The ball did not +rebound as it used to; the resilience was petering out. But look alive, +there! Big events were toward, and he must not stop to feel of his +pulse. + + +Three o'clock in the morning. + +The man in the Gregor bedroom sat down on the bed, the pocket lamp +dangling from his hairy fingers. Not a nook or cranny in the apartment +had he overlooked. In every cupboard, drawer; in the beds and under; the +trunks; behind the radiators and the pictures; the shelves and clothes +in the closets. What he sought he had not found. + +His vengeance would not be complete without those green stones in his +hands. Anna would call from her grave. Pretty little Anna, who had +trusted Stefani Gregor, and gone to her doom. + +All these thousands of miles, by hook and crook, by forged passports, by +sums of money, sleepless nights and hungry days--for this! The last of +that branch of the breed out of his reach, and the stones vanished! A +queer superstition had taken lodgment in his brain; he recognized it now +for the first time. The possession of those stones would be a sign from +God to go on. Green stones for bread! Green stones for bread! The drums +of jeopardy! In his hands they would be talismanic. + +But wait! That pretty girl across the way. Supposing he had intrusted +the stones to her? Or hidden them there without her being aware of it? + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Kitty Conover ate in the kitchen. First off, this statement is likely +to create the false impression that there was an ordinary grain here, +a wedge of base hemlock in the citron. Not so. She ate in the kitchen +because she could not yet face that vacant chair in the dining room +without choking and losing her appetite. She could not look at the chair +without visualizing that glorious, whimsical, fascinating mother of +hers, who could turn grumpy janitors into comedians and send importunate +bill collectors away with nothing but spangles in their heads. + +So long as she stayed out of the dining room she could accept her +loneliness with sound philosophy. She knew, as all sensible people know, +that there were ghosts, that memory had haunted galleries, and that +empty chairs were evocations. + +Her days were so busily active, there were so many first nights and +concerts, that she did not mind such evenings as she had to spend alone +in the apartment. Persons were in and out of the office all through +the day, and many of them entertaining. For only real persons ever +penetrated that well-guarded cubby-hole off the noisy city room. Many +of them were old friends of her mother. Of course they were a little +pompous, but this was less innate than acquired; and she knew that below +they were worth while. She had come to the conclusion that successful +actors and actresses were the only people in America who spoke English +fluently and correctly. + +Yes, she ate in the kitchen; but she would have been a fit subject for +the fastidious Fragonard. Kitty was naturally an exquisite. Everything +about her was dainty, her body and her mind. The background of pans and +dishes, gas range and sink did not absorb Kitty; her presence here in +the morning lifted everything out of the rut of commonplace and created +an atmosphere that was ornamental. Pink peignoir and turquoise-blue +boudoir cap, silk petticoat and stockings and adorable little slippers. +No harm to tell the secret! Kitty was educating herself for a husband. +She knew that if she acquired the habit of daintiness at breakfast +before marriage it would become second nature after marriage. Moreover, +she was determined that it should be tremendous news that would cause a +newspaper to intervene. She had all the confidence in the world in her +mirror. + +She got her breakfast this morning, singing. She was happy. She had +found a door out of monotony; theatrical drama had given way to the +living. She had opened the book of adventure and she was going straight +through to finis. That there was an undertow of the sinister escaped her +or she ignored it. + +In all high-strung Irish souls there is a bit of the old wife, the +foreteller; the gift of prescience; and Kitty possessed this in a mild +degree. Something held her here, when for a dozen reasons she should +have gone elsewhere. + +She strained the coffee, humming a tune out of The Mikado, the revival +of which she had seen lately: + + My object all sublime + I shall achieve in time + To make the punishment fit the crime. + The punishment fit the crime. + And make the prisoner pent + Unwillingly represent + A source of innocent merriment. + Of innocent merriment! + + +And there you were! To make the punishment fit the crime. Wall in the +Bolsheviki, the I.W.W.'s, the Red Socialist, the anarchists--and let +them try it for ten years. Those left would be glad enough to embrace +democracy and sanity. The poor benighted things, to imagine that they +were going forward there in Russia! What kind of mentality was it that +could conceive a blessing to humanity in the abolition of baths and +work? And Cutty felt sorry for them. Well, as for that, so did Kitty +Conover; and she would continue feeling sorry for them so long as they +remained thousands of miles away. But next door! + +“Grapefruit, eggs on toast, and coffee; mademoiselle is served!” she +cried, gayly, sitting down and attacking her breakfast with the zest of +healthy youth. + +Often the eyes are like the lenses of a camera minus the sensitized +plate; they see objects without printing them. Thus a dozen times +Kitty's glance absently swept the range and the racks on each side of +the stovepipe, one rack burdened with an empty pancake jug and the other +cluttered with old-fashioned flatirons; but she saw nothing. + +She was carefully reviewing the events of the night before. She could +not dismiss the impression that Cutty knew Stefani Gregor or had heard +of him; and in either case it signified that Gregor was something more +than a valet. And decidedly Two-Hawks was not of the Russian peasantry. + +By the time she was ready to leave for the office the Irish blood in +her was seething and bubbling and dancing. She knew she would do crazy, +impulsive things all day. It was easy to analyze this exuberance. She +had reached out into the dark and touched danger, and found a new thrill +in a humdrum world. + +The Great Dramatist had produced a tremendous drama and she had watched +curtain after curtain fall from the wrong side of the lights. Now she +had been given a speaking part; and she would be down stage for a moment +or two--dusting the furniture--while the stars were retouching +their make-up. It was not the thought of Cutty, of Gregor, of Johnny +Two-Hawks, of hidden treasure; simply she had arrived somewhere in the +great drama. + +When she reached the office she had a hard time of it to settle down to +the day's work. + +“Hustle up that Sunday stuff,” said Burlingame. Kitty laughed. Just as +she had pictured it. She hustled. + +“I have it!” she cried, breaking a spell of silence. + +“What--St. Vitus?” inquired Burlingame, patiently. + +“No; the Morgue!” + +“What the dickens--!” + +But Kitty was no longer there to answer. + +In all newspaper offices there is a department flippantly designated +as the Morgue. Obituaries on ice, as it were. A photograph or an item +concerning a great man, a celebrated, beauty or some notorious rogue; +from the king calibre down to Gyp-the-Blood brand, all indexed and laid +away against the instant need. So, running her finger tip down the K's, +Kitty found Karlov. The half tone which she eventually exhumed from the +tin box was an excellent likeness of the human gorilla who had entered +her rooms with the policeman. She would be able to carry this positive +information to Cutty that afternoon. + +When she left the office at four she took the Subway to Forty-second +Street. She engaged a taxi from the Knickerbocker and discharged it at +the north entrance to the Waldorf, which she entered. She walked through +to the south entrance and got into another taxi. She left this at +Wanamaker's, ducking and dodging through the crowded aisles. She +selected this hour because, being a woman, she knew that the press of +shoppers would be the greatest during the day. Karlov's man and +the secret-service operative detailed by Cutty both made the same +mistake--followed Kitty into the dry-goods shop and lost her as +completely as if she had popped up in China. At quarter to five she +stepped into Elevator Number Four of the building which Cutty called his +home, very well pleased with herself. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +To understand Kitty at this moment one must be able to understand the +Irish; and nobody does or can or will. Consider her twenty-four +years, her corpuscular inheritance, the love of drama and the love of +adventure. Imagine possessing sound ideas of life and the ability +to apply them, and spiritually always galloping off on some broad +highway--more often than not furnished by some engaging scoundrel of +a novelist--and you will be able to construct a half tone of Kitty +Conover. + +That civilization might be actually on its deathbed, that positively +half of the world was starving and dying and going mad through the +reaction of the German blight touched her in a detached way. She felt +sorry, dreadfully sorry, for the poor things; but as she could not help +them she dismissed them from her thoughts every morning after she had +read the paper, the way most of us do here in these United States. You +cannot grapple with the misery of an unknown person several thousand +miles away. + +That which had taken place during the past twenty-four hours was to her +a lark, a blindman's buff for grown-ups. It was not in her to tremble, +to shudder, to hesitate, to weigh this and to balance that. Irish +curiosity. Perhaps in the original that immortal line read: “The +Irish rush in where angels fear to tread,” and some proofreader had a +particular grudge against the race. + +When the elevator reached the seventeenth floor, the passengers surged +forth. All except Kitty, who tarried. + +“We don't carry to the eighteenth, miss. + +“I am Miss Conover,” she replied. “I dared not tell you until we were +alone.” + +“I see.” The boy nodded, swept her with an appraising glance, and sent +the elevator up to the loft. + +“You understand? If any one inquires about me, you don't remember.” + +“Yes, miss. The boss's orders.” + +“And if any one does inquire you are to report at once.” + +“That, too.” + +The boy rolled back the door and Kitty stepped out upon a Laristan +runner of rose hues and cobalt blue. She wondered what it cost Cutty +to keep up an establishment like this. There were fourteen rooms, seven +facing the north and seven facing the west, with glorious vistas of +steam-wreathed roofs and brick Matterhorns and the dim horizon touching +the sea. Fine rugs and tapestries and furniture gathered from the four +ends of the world; but wholly livable and in no sense atmospheric of the +museum. Cutty had excellent taste. + +She had visited the apartment but twice before, once in her childhood +and again when she was eighteen. Cutty had given a dinner in honour of +her mother's birthday. She smiled as she recalled the incident. Cutty +had placed a box of candles at the side of her mother's plate and told +her to stick as many into the cake as she thought best. + +“Hello!” said Cutty, emerging from one of the doors. “What the dickens +have you been up to? My man has just telephoned me that he lost track of +you in Wanamaker's.” + +Kitty explained, delighted. + +“Well, well! If you can lose a man such as I set to watch you, you'll +have no trouble shaking the others.” + +“It was Karlov, Cutty.” + +“How did you learn?” + +“Searched the morgue and found a half tone of him. Positively Karlov. +How is the patient?” + +“Harrison says he's pulling round amazingly. A tough skull. He'll be up +for his meals in no time.” + +“How do you do it?” she asked with a gesture. + +“Do what?” + +“Manage a place like this? In a busy office district. It's the most +wonderful apartment in New York. Riverside has nothing like it. It must +cost like sixty.” + +“The building is mine, Kitty. That makes it possible. An uncle who knew +I hated money and the responsibilities that go with it, died and left it +to me.” + +“Why, Cutty, you must be rich!” + +“I'm sorry. What can I do? I can't give it away.” + +“But you don't have to work!” + +“Oh, yes, I do. I'm that kind. I'd die of a broken heart if I had to sit +still. It's the game.” + +“Did mother know?” + +“Yes.” + +With the toe of a snug little bronze boot Kitty drew an outline round a +pattern in the rug. + +“Love is a funny thing,” was her comment. + +“It sure is, old-timer. But what put the thought into your head?” + +“I was thinking how very much mumsy must have been in love with father.” + +“But she never knew that I loved her, Kitty.” + +“What's that got to do with it? If she had wanted money you wouldn't +have had the least chance in the world.” + +“Probably not! But what would you have done in your mother's place?” + +“Snapped you up like that!” Kitty flashed back. + +“You cheerful little--little--” + +“Liar. Say it!” Kitty laughed. “But am I a cheerful little liar? I don't +know. It would be an awful temptation. Somebody to wait on you; heaps of +flowers when you wanted them; beautiful gowns and thingummies and furs +and limousines. I've often wondered what I should do if I found myself +with love and youth on one side and money and attraction on the other. +I've always been in straitened circumstances. I never spent a dollar in +all my days when I didn't think I ought to have held back three or +four cents of it. You can't know, Cutty, what it is to be poor and want +beautiful things and good times. Of course. I couldn't marry just +money. There would have to be some kind of a man to go with it. Someone +interesting enough to make me forget sometimes that I'd thrown away a +lover for a pocket-book.” + +“Would you marry me, Kitty?” + +“Are you serious?” + +“Let's suppose I am.” + +“No. I couldn't marry you, Cutty I should always be having my mother's +ghost as a rival.” + +“But supposing I fell in love with you?” + +“Then I'd always be doubting your constancy. But what queer talk!”' + +“Kitty, you're a joy! Lordy, my luck in dropping in to see you +yesterday!” + +“And a little whippersnapper like me calling a great man like you +Cutty!” + +“Well, if it embarrasses you, you might switch to papa once in a while.” + +Kitty's laughter rang down the corridor. “I'll remember that whenever I +want to make you mad. Who's here?” + +“Nobody but Harrison and the nurse. Both good citizens, and I've taken +them into my confidence to a certain extent. You can talk freely before +them.” + +“Am I to see the patient?” + +“Harrison says not. About Wednesday your Two-Hawks will be sitting up. +I've determined to keep the poor devil here until he can take care of +himself. But he is flat broke.” + +“He said he had money.” + +“Well, Karlov's men stripped him clean.” + +“Have you any idea who he is?” + +“To be honest, that's one of the reasons why I want to keep him here. +He's Russian, for all his Oxford English and his Italian gestures; and +from his babble I imagine he's been through seven kinds of hell. Torches +and hobnailed boots and the incessant call for a woman named Olga--a +young woman about eighteen.” + +“How did you find that out?” + +“From a photograph I found in the lining of his coat. A pretty blonde +girl.” + +“Good heavens!”--recollecting her dream. “Where was it printed?” + +“Amateur photography. I'll pick it up on the way to the living room.” + +It was nothing like the blonde girl of her dream. Still, the girl was +charming. Kitty turned over the photograph. There was writing on the +back. + +“Russian? What does it say?” + +“'To Ivan from Olga with all her love.'” + +Cutty was conscious of the presence of an indefensible malice in his +tones. Why the deuce should he be bitter--glad that the chap had left +behind a sweetheart? He knew exactly the basis of Kitty's interest, as +utterly detached as that of a reporter going to a fire. On the day the +patient could explain himself, Kitty's interest would automatically +cease. An old dog in the manger? Malice. + +“Cutty, something dreadful has happened to this poor young woman. That's +what makes him cry out the name. Caught in that horror, and probably he +alone escaped. Is it heartless to be glad I'm an American? Do they let +in these Russians?” + +“Not since the Trotzky regime. I imagine Two-Hawks slipped through on +some British passport. He'll probably tell us all about it when he comes +round. But how do you feel after last night's bout?” + +“Alive! And I'm going on being alive, forever and ever! Oh, those awful +drums! They look like dead eyes in those dim corners. Tumpitum-tump! +Tumpitum-tump!” she cried, linking her arm in his. “What a gorgeous +view! Just what I'm going to do when my ship comes in--live in a loft. I +really believe I could write up here--I mean worth-while things I could +enjoy writing and sell.” + +“It's yours if you want it when I leave.” + +“And I'd have a fine time explaining to my friends! You old innocent! +... Or are you so innocent?” + +“We do live in a cramped world. But I meant it. Don't forget to whistle +down to Tony Bernini when you get back home to-night.” + +“I promise. + +“Why the gurgle?” + +“Because I'm tremendously excited. All my life I've wanted to do +mysterious things. I've been with the audience all the while, and I want +to be with the actors.” + +“You'll give some man a wild dance.” + +“If I do I'll dance with him. Now lead me to the cookies.” + +She was the life of the tea table. Her wit, her effervescence, her +whimsicalities amused even the prim Miss Frances. When she recounted +the exploit of the camouflaged fan, Cutty and Harrison laughed so loudly +that the nurse had to put her finger on her lips. They might wake the +patient. + +“I am really interested in him,” went on Kitty. “I won't deny it. I want +to see how it's going to turn out. He was very nice after I let him into +the kitchen. A perfectly English manner and voice, and Italian gestures +when off his guard. I feel so sorry for him. What strangers we races are +to each other! Until the war we hardly knew the Canadians. The British +didn't know us at all, and the French became acquainted with the British +for the first time in history. And the German thought he knew us all +and really knew nobody. All the Russians I ever saw were peasants of +the cattle type; so that the word Russian conjures up two pictures--the +grand duke at Monte Carlo and a race of men who wear long beards and +never bathe except when it rains. Think of it! For the first time since +God set mankind on earth peoples are becoming acquainted. I never saw a +Russian of this type before.”. + +“A leaf in the whirlpool.--Anyhow, we'll keep him here until he's on his +feet. By the way, never answer any telephone call--I mean, go anywhere +on a call--unless you are sure of the speaker.” + +“I begin to feel important.” + +“You are important. You have suddenly become a connecting link between +this Karlov and the man we wish to protect. I'll confess I wanted you +out of that apartment at first; but when I saw that you were bent on +remaining, I decided to make use of you.” + +“You are going to give me a part in the play?” + +“Yes. You are to go about your affairs as always, just as if nothing had +happened. Only when you wish to come here will you play any game like +that of to-day. Then it will be advisable. Switch your route each time. +Your real part is to be that of lure. Through you we shall gradually +learn who Karlov's associates are. If you don't care to play the role +all you have to do is to move.” + +“The idea! I'm grateful for anything. You men will never understand. +You go forth into the world each day--politics, diplomacy, commerce, +war--while we women stay at home and knit or darn socks or take care of +the baby or make over our clothes and hats or do household work or +play the piano or read. Never any adventure. Never any games. Never any +clubs. The leaving your house to go to the office is an adventure. A +train from here to Philadelphia is an adventure. We women are always +craving it. And about all we can squeeze out of life is shopping and +hiding the bills after marriage, and going to the movies before marriage +with young men our fathers don't like. We can't even stroll the street +and admire the handsome gowns of our more fortunate sisters the way you +men do. When you see a pretty woman on the street do you ever stop to +think that there are ten at home eating their hearts out? Of course you +don't. So I'm going through with this, to satisfy suppressed instincts; +and I shan't promise to trot along as usual.” + +“They may attempt to kidnap you, Kitty.” + +“That doesn't frighten me.” + +“So I observe. But if they ever should have the luck to kidnap you, tell +all you know at once. There's only one way up here--the elevator. I can +get out to the fire escape, but none can get in from that direction, as +the door is of steel.” + +“And, of course, you'll take me into your confidence completely?” + +“When the time comes. Half the fun in an adventure is the element of the +unexpected,” said Cutty. + +“Where did you first meet Stefani Gregor?” + +Captain Harrison laughed. He liked this girl. She was keen and could +be depended upon, as witness last night's work. Her real danger lay in +being conspicuously pretty, in looking upon this affair as merely a kind +of exciting game, when it was tragedy. + +“What makes you think I know Stefani Gregor?” asked Cutty, genuinely +curious. + +“When I pronounced that name you whirled upon me as if I had struck +you.” + +“Very well. When we learn who Two-Hawks is I'll tell you what I know +about Gregor. And in the meantime you will be ceaselessly under guard. +You are an asset, Kitty, to whichever side holds you. Captain Harrison +is going to stay for dinner. Won't you join us?” + +“I'm going to a studio potluck with some girls. And it's time I was on +the way. I'll let your Tony Bernini know. Home probably at ten.” + +Cutty went with her to the elevator and when he returned to the tea +table he sat down without speaking. + +“Why not kidnap her yourself,” suggested Harrison, “if you don't want +her in this?” + +“She would never forgive me.” + +“If she found it out.” + +“She's the kind who would. What do you think of her, Miss Frances?” + +“I think she is wonderful. Frankly, I should tell her everything--if +there is anything more to be told.” + +When dinner was over, the nurse gone back to the patient and Captain +Harrison to his club, Cutty lit his odoriferous pipe and patrolled the +windows of his study. Ever since Kitty's departure he had been mulling +over in his mind a plan regarding her future--to add a codicil to his +will, leaving her five thousand a year, so Molly's girl might always +have a dainty frame for her unusual beauty. The pity of it was that +convention denied him the pleasure of settling the income upon her at +once, while she was young. He might outlive her; you never could tell. +Anyhow, he would see to the codicil. An accident might step in. + +He got out his chrysoprase. In one corner of the room there was a large +portfolio such as artists use for their proofs and sketches; and from +this he took a dozen twelve-by-fourteen-inch photographs of beautiful +women, most of them stage beauties of bygone years. The one on top +happened to be Patti. The adorable Patti!... Linda, Violetta, Lucia. +Lord, what a nightingale she had been! He laughed laid the photograph +on the desk, and dipped his hand into a canvas bag filled with polished +green stones which would have great commercial value if people knew more +about them; for nothing else in the world is quite so beautifully green. + +He built tiaras above the lovely head and laid necklaces across the +marvellous throat. Suddenly a phenomenon took place. The roguish eyes of +the prima donna receded and vanished and slate-blue ones replaced them. +The odd part of it was, he could not dissipate the fancied eyes for the +replacement of the actual. Patti, with slate-blue eyes! He discarded +the photograph and selected another. He began the game anew and was +just beginning the attack on the problem uppermost in his mind when the +phenomenon occurred again. Kitty's eyes! What infernal nonsense! Kitty +had served merely to enliven his tender recollections of her +mother. Twenty-four and fifty-two. And yet, hadn't he just read that +Maeterlinck, fifty-six, had married Mademoiselle Dahon, many years +younger? + +In a kind of resentful fury he pushed back his chair and fell to pacing, +eddies and loops and spirals of smoke whirling and sweeping behind him. +The only light was centred upon the desk, so he might have been some god +pacing cloud-riven Olympus in the twilight. By and by he laughed; and +the atmosphere--mental--cleared. Maeterlinck, fifty-six, and Cutty, +fifty-two, were two different men. Cutty might mix his metaphors +occasionally, but he wasn't going to mix his ghosts. + +He returned to his singular game. More tiaras and necklaces; and his +brain took firm hold of the theme which had in the beginning lured him +to the green stones. + +Two-Hawks. That name bothered him. He knew he had heard it before, but +never in the Russian tongue. It might be that the chap had been spoofing +Kitty. Still, he had also called himself Hawksley. + +The smoke thickened; there were frequent flares of matches. One by one +Cutty discarded the photographs, dropping them on the floor beside his +chair, his mind boring this way and that for a solution. He had now come +to the point where he ceased to see the photographs or the green stones. +The movements of his hands were almost automatic. And in this abstract +manner he came to the last photograph. He built a necklace and even +ventured an earring. + +It was a glorious face--black eyes that followed you; full lipped; every +indication of fire and genius. It must be understood that he rarely saw +the photographs when he played this game. It wasn't an amusing pastime, +a mental relaxation. It was a unique game of solitaire, the photographs +and chrysoprase being substituted for cards; and in some inexplicable +manner it permitted him to concentrate upon whatever problem filled +his thoughts. It was purely accidental that he saw Patti to-night or +recalled her art. Coming upon the last photograph without having found a +solution of the riddle of Two-Hawks he relaxed the mental pressure; and +his sight reestablished its ability to focus. + +“Good Lord!” he ejaculated. + +He seized the photograph excitedly, scattering the green stones. She! +The Calabrian, the enchanting colouratura who had vanished from the +world at the height of her fame, thirty-odd years gone! Two-Hawks! + +Cutty saw himself at twenty, in the pit at La Scala, with music-mad +Milan all about him. Two-Hawks! He remembered now. The nickname the +young bloods had given her because she had been eternally guarded by her +mother and aunt, fierce-beaked Calabrians, who had determined that Rosa +should never throw herself away on some beggarly Adonis. + +And this chap was her son! Yesterday, rich and powerful, with a name +that was open sesame wherever he went; to-day, hunted, penniless, and +forlorn. Cutty sank back in his chair, stunned by the revelation. In +that room yonder! + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +For a long time Cutty sat perfectly motionless, his pipe at an upward +angle--a fine commentary on the strength of his jaws--and his gaze +boring into the shadows beyond his desk. What was uppermost in his +thoughts now was the fateful twist of events that had brought the young +man to the assured haven of this towering loft. + +All based, singularly enough, upon his wanting to see Molly's girl for +a few moments; and thus he had established himself in Kitty's thoughts. +Instead of turning to the police she had turned to him. Old Cutty, +reaching round vaguely for something to stay the current--age; hoping +by seeing this living link 'twixt the present and the past to stay the +afterglow of youth. As if that could be done! He, who had never paid any +attention to gray hairs and wrinkles and time, all at once found +himself in a position similar to that of the man who supposes he has +an inexhaustible sum at the bank and has just been notified that he has +overdrawn. + +Cutty knew that life wasn't really coordination and premeditation so +much as it was coincident. Trivials. Nothing was absolute and dependable +but death; between birth and death a series of accidents and incidents +and coincidents which men called life. + +He tapped his pipe on the ash tray and stood up. He gathered the +chrysoprase and restored the stones to the canvas bag. Then he carefully +stacked the photographs and carried them to the portfolio. The green +stones he deposited in a safe, from which he took a considerable +bundle of small notebooks, returning to the desk with these. Denatured +dynamite, these notebooks, full of political secrets, solutions of +mysteries that baffle historians. A truly great journalist never writes +history as a historian; he is afraid to. Sometimes conjecture is safer +than fact. And these little notebooks were the repository of suppressed +facts ranging over twenty-odd years. Gerald Stanley Lee would have +recognized them instantly as coming under the head of what he calls Sh! + +An hour later Cutty returned the notebooks to their abiding place, +his memory refreshed. The poor devil! A dissolute father and uncle, +dissolute forbears, corrupt blood weakened by intermarriage, what hope +was there? Only one--the rich, fiery blood of the Calabrian mother. + +But why had the chap come to America? Why not England or the Riviera, +where rank, even if shorn of its prerogatives, is still treated +respectfully? But America! + +Cutty's head went up. Perhaps that was it--to barter his phantom +greatness for money, to dazzle some rich fool of an American girl. In +that case Karlov would be welcome. But wait a moment. The chap had come +in from the west. In that event there should be an Odyssey of some kind +tucked away in the affair. + +Cutty resumed his pacing. The moment his imagination caught the +essentials he visualized the Odyssey. Across mountains and deserts, +rivers and seas, he followed Two-Hawks in fancy, pursued by an +implacable hatred, more or less historical, of which the lad was less +a cause than an abstract object. And Karlov--Cutty understood Karlov +now--always span near, his hate reenergizing his faltering feet. + +There was evidently some iron in this Two-Hawks' blood. Fear never +would have carried him thus far. Fear would have whispered, “Futility! +Futility!” And he would have bent his head to the stroke. So then there +was resource and there was courage. And he lay in yonder room, beaten +and penniless. The top piece in the grim irony--to have come all these +thousands of miles unscathed, to be dropped at the goal. But America? +Well, that would be solved later. + +“By the Lord Harry!” Cutty stopped and struck his hands together. “The +drums!” + +From the hour Kitty had pronounced the name Stefani Gregor an idea had +taken lodgment, an irrepressible idea, that somewhere in this drama +would be the drums of jeopardy. The mark of the thong! Never any +doubt of it now. Those magnificent emeralds were here in New York, +The mob--the Red Guard--hammering on the doors, what would have been +Two-Hawks' most natural first thought? To gather what treasures the +hand could be laid to and flee. Here in New York, and in Karlov's hands, +ultimately to be cut up for Bolshevik propaganda! The infernal pity of +it! + +The passion of the gem hunter blazed forth, dimming all other phases of +the drama. Here was a real game, a man's game; sport! Cutty rubbed his +hands together pleasurably. To recover those green flames before +they could be broken up; under the ancient ruling that “Findings is +keepings.” The stones, of course, meant nothing to Karlov beyond the +monetary value; and upon this fact Cutty began developing a plan. He +stood ready to buy those stones if he could draw them into the open. +Lord, how he wanted them! Murder and loot, always murder and loot! + +The thought of those two incomparable emeralds being broken up +distressed him profoundly. He must act at once, before the desecration +could be consummated. Two-Hawks--Hawksley hereafter, for the sake of +convenience--had an equity in the gems; but what of that? In smuggling +them in--and how the deuce had he done it?--he had thrown away his +legal right to them. Cutty kneaded his conscience into a satisfactory +condition of quiescence and went on with his planning. If he succeeded +in recovering the stones and his conscience bit a little too deeply +for comfort--why, he could pay over to Hawksley twenty per cent. of +the price Karlov demanded. He could take it or leave it. In a case like +this--to a bachelor without dependents--money was no object. All +his life he had wanted a fine emerald to play with, and here was an +opportunity to acquire two! + +If this plan failed to draw Karlov into the open, then every jeweller +and pawnbroker in town would be notified and warned. What with the +secret-service operatives and the agents of the Department of Justice +on the watch for Karlov--who would recognize his limitations of +mobility--it was reasonable to assume that the Bolshevik would be only +too glad to dicker secretly for the disposal of the stones. Now to work. +Cutty looked at his watch. + +Nearly midnight. Rather late, but he knew all the tricks of this +particular kind of game. If the advertisement appeared isolated, all the +better. The real job would be to hide his identity. He saw a way round +this difficulty. He wrote out six advertisements, all worded the same. +He figured out the cost and was delighted to find that he carried the +necessary currency. Then he got into his engineer's--dungarees, touched +up his face and hands to the required griminess, and sallied forth. + +Luck attended him until he reached the last morning newspaper on the +list. Here he was obliged to proceed to the city room--risky business. +A queer advertisement coming into the city room late at night was always +pried into, as he knew from experience. Still, he felt that he ought not +to miss any chance to reach Karlov. + +He explained his business to the sleepy gate boy, who carried the +advertisement and the cash to the night city editor's desk. Ordinarily +the night city editor would have returned the advertisement with the +crisp information that he had no authority to accept advertisements. But +the “drums of jeopardy” caught his attention; and he sent a keen +glance across the busy room to the rail where Cutty stood, perhaps +conspicuously. + +“Humph!” He called to one of the reporters. “This looks like a story. +I'll run it. Follow that guy in the overalls and see what's in it.” + +Cutty appreciated the interlude for what it was worth. Someone was +going to follow him. When the gate boy returned to notify him that the +advertisement had been accepted, Cutty went down to the street. + +“Hey, there; just a moment!” hailed the reporter. “I want a word with +you about that advertisement.” + +Cutty came to a standstill. “I paid for it, didn't I?” + +“Sure. But what's this about the drums of jeopardy?” + +“Two great emeralds I'm hunting for,” explained Cutty, recalling the man +who stood on London Bridge and peddled sovereigns at two bits each, and +no buyer. + +“Can it! Can it!” jeered the reporter. “Be a good sport and give us the +tip. Strike call among the city engineers?” + +“I'm telling you.” + +“Like Mike you are!” + +“All right. It's the word to tie up the surface lines, like Newark, if +you want to know. Now, get t' hell out o' here before I hand you one on +the jaw!” + +The reporter backed away. “Is that on the level?” + +“Call up the barns and find out. They'll tell you what's on. And listen, +if you follow me, I'll break your head. On your way!” + +The reporter dashed for the elevator--and back to the doorway in time to +see Cutty legging it for the Subway. As he was a reporter of the first +class he managed to catch the same express uptown. + +On the way uptown Cutty considered that he had accomplished a shrewd +bit of work. Karlov or one of his agents would certainly see that +advertisement; and even if Karlov suspected a Federal trap he would find +some means of communicating with the issuer of the advertisement. + +The thought of Kitty returned. What the dickens would she say--how would +she act--when she learned who this Hawksley was? He fervently hoped +that she had never read “Thaddeus of Warsaw.” There would be all the +difference in the world between an elegant refugee Pole and a derelict +of the Russian autocracy. Perhaps the best course to pursue would be to +say nothing at all to her about the amazing discovery. + +Upon leaving Elevator Four Cutty said: “Bob, I've been followed by a +sharp reporter. Sheer him off with any tale you please, and go home. +Goodnight.” + +“I'll fix him, sir.” + +Cutty took a bath, put on his lounging robe, and tiptoed to the +threshold of the patient's room. The shaded light revealed the nurse +asleep with a book on her knees. The patient's eyes were closed and his +breathing was regular. He was coming along. Cutty decided to go to bed. + +Meantime, when the elevator touched the ground floor, the operator +observed a prospective passenger. + +“Last trip, sir. You'll have to take the stairs.” + +“Where'll I find the engineer who went up with you just now?” + +“The man I took up? Gone to bed, I guess.” + +“What floor?” + +“Nothing doing, bo. I'm wise. You're the fourth guy with a subpoena +that's been after him. Nix.” + +“I'm not a lawyer's clerk. I'm a reporter, and I want to ask him a few +questions.” + +“Gee! Has that Jane of his been hauling in the newspapers? Good-night! +Toddle along, bo; there's nothing coming from me. Nix.” + +“Would ten dollars make you talk?” asked the reporter, desperately. + +“Ye-ah--about the Kaiser and his wood-sawing. By-by!” + +The operator, secretly enjoying the reporter's discomfiture, shut off +the lights, slammed the elevator door to the latch, and walked to the +revolving doors, to the tune of Garry Owen. + +The reporter did not follow him but sat down on the first step of the +marble stairs to think, for there was a lot to think about. He sensed +clearly enough that all this talk about street-railway strikes and +subpoenas was rot. The elevator man and the engineer were in cahoots. +There was a story here, but how to get to it was a puzzler. He had one +chance in a hundred of landing it--tip the mail clerk in the business +office to keep an eye open for the man who called for “Double C” mail. + +Eventually, the man who did call for that mail presented a card to the +mail clerk. At the bottom of this card was the name of the chief of the +United States Secret Service. + +“And say to the reporter who has probably asked to watch--hands off! +Understand? Absolutely--off!” + +When the reporter was informed he blew a kiss into air and sought his +city editor for his regular assignment. He understood, with the wisdom +of his calling, that one didn't go whale fishing with trout rods. + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +Early the next morning in a bedroom in a rooming house for aliens in +Fifteenth Street, a man sat in a chair scanning the want columns of a +newspaper. Occasionally he jotted down something on a slip of paper. +This man's job was rather an unusual one. He hunted jobs for other +men--jobs in steel mills, great factories, in the textile districts, the +street-car lines, the shipping yards and docks, any place where there +might be a grain or two of the powder of unrest and discontent. His +business was to supply the human matches. + +No more parading the streets, no more haranguing from soap boxes. The +proper place nowadays was in the yard or shop corners at noontime. A +word or two dropped at the right moment; perhaps a printed pamphlet; +little wedges wherever there were men who wanted something they neither +earned nor deserved. Here and there across the land little flares, +one running into the other, like wildfire on the plains, and then--the +upheaval. As in Russia, so now in Germany; later, England and France and +here. The proletariat was gaining power. + +He was no fool, this individual. He knew his clay, the day labourer, +with his parrotlike mentality. Though the victim of this peculiar potter +absorbs sounds he doesn't often absorb meanings. But he takes these +sounds and respouts them and convinces himself that he is some kind +of Moses, headed for the promised land. Inflammable stuff. Hence, the +strikes which puzzle the average intelligent American citizen. What is +it all about? Nobody seems to know. + +Once upon a time men went on a strike because they were being cheated +and abused. Now they strike on the principle that it is excellent +policy always to be demanding something; it keeps capitalism where it +belongs--on the ragged edge of things. No matter what they demand they +never expect to give an equivalent; and a just cause isn't necessary. +Thus the present-day agitator has only one perplexity--that of eluding +the iron hand of the Department of Justice. + +Suddenly the man in the chair brought the newspaper close up and stared. +He jumped to his feet, ran out and up the next flight of stairs. He +stopped before a door and turned the knob a certain number of times. +Presently the door opened the barest crack; then it was swung wide +enough to admit the visitor. + +“Look!” he whispered, indicating Cutty's advertisement. + +The occupant of the room snatched the newspaper and carried it to a +window. + + Will purchase the drums of jeopardy at top price. No questions + asked. Address this office. + Double C. + +“Very good. I might have missed it. We shall sell the accursed drums to +this gentleman.” + +“Sell them? But--” + +“Imbecile! What we must do is to find out who this man is. In the end he +may lead us to him.” + +“But it may be a trap!” + +“Leave that to me. You have work of your own to do, and you had best be +about it. Do you not see beneath? Who but the man who harbours him would +know about the drums? The man in the evening clothes. I was too far away +to see his face. Get me all the morning newspapers. If the advertisement +is in all of them I will send a letter to each. We lost the young woman +yesterday. And nothing has been heard of Vladimir and Stemmler. Bad. +I do not like this place. I move to the house to-night. My old friend +Stefani may be lonesome. I dare not risk daylight. Some fool may have +talked. To work! All of us have much to do to wake up the proletariat +in this country of the blind. But the hour will come. Get me the +newspapers.” + +Karlov pushed his visitor from the room and locked and bolted the door. +He stepped over to the window again and stared down at the clutter of +pushcarts, drays, trucks, and human beings that tried to go forward +and got forward only by moving sideways or worming through temporary +breaches, seldom directly--the way of humanity. But there was no object +lesson in this for Karlov, who was not philosophical in the peculiar +sense of one who was demanding a reason for everything and finding +allegory and comparison and allusion in the ebb and flow of life. The +philosophical is often misapplied to the stoical. Karlov was a stoic, +not a philosopher, or he would not have been the victim of his present +obsession. The idea of live and let live has never been the propaganda +of the anarch. To the anarch the death of some body or the destruction +of some thing is the cornerstone to his madhouse. + +Nothing would ever cure this man of his obsession--the death of Hawksley +and the possession of the emeralds. Moreover, there was the fanatical +belief in his poor disordered brain that the accomplishment of these +two projects would eventually assist in the liberation of mankind. +Abnormally cunning in his methods of approach, he lacked those +imaginative scales by which we weigh our projects and which we call +logic. A child alone in a house with a box of matches; a dog on one +side of Fifth Avenue that sees a dog on the other side, but not the +automobiles--inexorable logic--irresistible force--whizzing up and down +the middle of that thoroughfare. It is not difficult to prophesy what is +going to happen to that child, that dog. + +Karlov was at this moment reaching out toward a satisfactory solution +relative to the disappearance of the gems. They had not been found on +his enemy; they had not been found in the Gregor apartment; the two +men assigned to the task of securing them would not have risked certain +death by trying to do a little bargaining on their own initiative. +In the first instance they had come forth empty-handed. In the +second instance--that of intimidating the girl to disclose his +whereabouts--neither Vladimir nor Stemmler had returned. Sinister. The +man in the dress suit again? + +Conceivably, then, the drums were in the possession of this girl; and +she was holding them against the day when the fugitive would reclaim +them. The advertisement was a snare. Very good. Two could play that game +as well as one. + +The girl. Was it not always so? That breed! God's curse on them all! A +crooked finger, and the women followed, hypnotized. The girl was away +from the apartment the major part of the day; so it was in order to +search her rooms. A pretty little fool. + +But where were they hiding him? Gall and wormwood! That he should slip +through Boris Karlov's fingers, after all these tortuous windings across +the world! Patience. Sooner or later the girl would lead the way. Still, +patience was a galling hobble when he had so little time, when even now +they might be hunting him. Boris Karlov had left New York rather well +known. + +He expanded under this thought. For the spiritual breath of life to +the anarch is flattery, attention. Had the newspapers ignored Trotzky's +advent into Russia, had they omitted the daily chronicle of his +activities, the Russian problem would not be so large as it is this day. +Trotzky would have died of chagrin. + +He would answer this advertisement. Trap? He would set one himself. The +man who eventually came to negotiate would be made a prisoner and forced +to disclose the identity of the man who had interfered with the great +projects of Boris Karlov, plenipotentiary extraordinary for the red +government of Russia. + +Midtown, Cutty tapped his breakfast egg dubiously. Not that he +speculated upon the freshness of the egg. What troubled him was that +advertisement. Last night, keyed high by his remarkable discovery of the +identity of his guest and his cupidity relative to the emeralds, he +had laid himself open. If he knew anything at all about the craft, that +reporter would be digging in. Fortunately he had resources unsuspected +by the reporter. Legitimately he could send a secret-service operative +to collect the mail--if Karlov decided to negotiate. Still within his +rights, he could use another operative to conduct the negotiations. +If in the end Karlov strayed into the net the use of the service for +private ends would be justified. + +Lord, those green stones! Well, why not? Something in the world worth +a hazard. What had he in life but this second grand passion? There shot +into his mind obliquely an irrelevant question. Supposing, in the old +days, he had proceeded to reach for Molly as he was now reaching for the +emeralds--a bit lawlessly? After all these years, to have such a thought +strike him! Hadn't he stepped aside meekly for Conover? Hadn't he +observed and envied Conover's dazzling assault? Supposing Molly had +been wavering, and this method of attack had decided her? Never to have +thought of that before! What did a woman want? A love storm, and then an +endless after-calm. And it had taken him twenty-odd years to make this +discovery. + +Fact. He had never been shy of women. He had somehow preferred to play +comrade instead of gallant; and all the women had taken advantage of +that, used him callously to pair with old maids, faded wives, and homely +debutantes. + +What impellent was driving him toward these introspections? Kitty, +Molly's girl. Each time he saw her or thought of her--the uninvited +ghost of her mother. Any other man upon seeing Kitty or thinking about +her would have jumped into the future from the spring of a dream. The +disparity in years would not have mattered. It was all nonsense, of +course. But for his dropping into the office and casually picking up the +thread of his acquaintance with Kitty, Molly--the memory of her--would +have gone on dimming. Actions, tremendous and world-wide, had set +his vision toward the future; he had been too busy to waste time in +retrospection and introspection. Thus, instead of a gently rising and +falling tide, healthily recurrent, a flood of mixed longings that was +swirling him into uncertain depths. Those emeralds had bobbed up just in +time. The chase would serve to pull him out of this bog. + +He heard a footstep and looked up. The nurse was beckoning to him. + +“What is it?” + +“He's awake, and there is sanity in his eyes.” + +“Great! Has he talked?” + +“No. The awakening happened just this moment, and I came to you. You +never can tell about blows on the skull or brain fever--never any two +eases alike.” + +Cutty threw down his napkin and accompanied the nurse to the bedside. +The glance of the patient trailed from Cutty to the nurse and back. + +“Don't talk,” said Cutty. “Don't ask any questions. Take it easy until +later in the day. You are in the hands of persons who wish you well. Eat +what the nurse gives you. When the right time comes we'll tell you all +about ourselves, You've been robbed and beaten. But the men who did it +are under arrest.” + +“One question,” said the patient, weakly. + +“Well, just one.” + +“A girl--who gave me something to eat?” + +“Yes. She fed you, and later probably your life.” + +“Thanks.” Hawksley closed his eyes. + +Cutty and the nurse watched him interestedly for a few minutes; but as +he did not stir again the nurse took up her temperature sheet and Cutty +returned to his eggs. Was there a girl? No question about the emeralds, +no interest in the day and the hour. Was there a girl? The last person +he had seen, Kitty; the first question, after coming into the light: Had +he seen her? Then and there Cutty knew that when he died he would +carry into the Beyond, of all his earthly possessions--a chuckle. Human +beings! + +The yarn that reporter had missed by a hair--front page, eight-column +head! But he had missed it, and that was the main thing. The poor devil! +Beaten and without a sou marque in his pockets, his trail was likely to +be crowded without the assistance of any newspaper publicity. But what a +yarn! What a whale of a yarn! + +In his fevered flights Hawksley had spoken of having paid Kitty for that +meal. + +Kitty had said nothing about it. Supposing-- + +“Telephone, sair,” announced the Jap. “Lady.” + +Molly's girl! Cutty sprinted to the telephone. + +“Hello! That you, Kitty?” + +“Yes. How is Johnny Two-Hawks?” + +“Back to earth.” + +“When can I see him? I'm just crazy to know what the story is!” + +“Say the third or fourth day from this. We'll have him shaved and +sitting up then.” + +“Has he talked?” + +“Not permitted. Still determined to stay the run of your lease?” Cutty +heard a laugh. “All right. Only I hope you will never have cause to +regret this decision.” + +“Fiddlesticks! All I've got to do in danger is to press a button, and +presto! here's Bernini.” + +“Kitty, did Hawksley pay you for that meal?” + +“Good heavens, no! What makes you ask that?” + +“In his delirium he spoke of having paid you. I didn't know.” Cutty's +heart began to rap against his ribs. Supposing, after all, Karlov hadn't +the stones? Supposing Hawksley had hidden them somewhere in Kitty's +kitchen? + +“Anything about Gregor?” + +“No. Remember, you're to call me up twice a day and report the news. +Don't go out nights if you can avoid it.” + +“I'll be good,” Kitty agreed. “And now I must hie me to the job. +Imagine, Cutty!--writing personalities about stage folks and gabfesting +with Burlingame and all the while my brain boiling with this affair! +The city room will kill me, Cutty, if it ever finds out that I held back +such a yarn. But it wouldn't be fair to Johnny Two-Hawks. Cutty, did you +know that your wonderful drums of jeopardy are here in New York?” + +“What?” barked Cutty. + +“Somebody is offering to buy them. There was an advertisement in the +paper this morning. Cutty?” + +“Yes.” + +“The first problem in arithmetic is two and two make four. By-by!” + +Dizzily Cutty hung up the receiver. He had not reckoned on the +possibility of Kitty seeing that damfool advertisement. Two and two made +four; and four and four made eight; so on indefinitely. That is to say, +Kitty already had a glimmer of the startling truth. The initial misstep +on his part had been made upon her pronouncement of the name Stefani +Gregor. He hadn't been able to control his surprise. And yesterday, +having frankly admitted that he knew Gregor, all that was needed +to complete the circle was that advertisement. Cutty tore his hair, +literally. The very door he hoped she might overlook he had thrown open +to her. + +Thaddeus of Warsaw. But it should not be. He would continue to offer +a haven to that chap; but no nonsense. None of that sinister and +unfortunate blood should meddle with Kitty Conover's happiness. Her +self-appointed guardian would attend to that. + +He realized that his attitude was rather inexplicable; but there were +some adventures which hypnotized women; and one of this sort was +now unfolding for Kitty. That she had her share of common sense was +negligible in face of the facts that she was imaginative and romantical +and adventuresome, and that for the first time she was riding one of the +great middle currents in human events. She was Molly's girl; Cutty was +going to look out for her. + +Mighty odd that this fear for her should have sprung into being that +night, quite illogically. Prescience? He could not say. Perhaps it was +a borrowed instinct--fatherly; the same instinct that would have stirred +her father into action--the protection of that dearest to him. + +If he told her who Hawksley really was, that would intrigue her. If he +made a mystery of the affair, that, too, would intrigue her. And there +you were, 'twixt the devil and the deep blue sea. Hang it, what evil +luck had stirred him to tell her about those emeralds? Already she +was building a story to satisfy her dramatic fancy. Two and two made +four--which signified that she was her father's daughter, that she would +not rest until she had explored every corner of this dark room. Wanting +to keep her out of it, and then dragging her into it through his +cupidity. Devil take those emeralds! Always the same; trouble wherever +they were. + +The real danger would rise during the convalescence. Kitty would be +contriving to drop in frequently; not to see Hawksley especially, +but her initial success in playing hide and seek with secret agents, +friendly and otherwise, had tickled her fancy. For a while it would be +an exciting game; then it might become only a means to an end. Well, it +should not be. + +Was there a girl! Already Hawksley had recorded her beauty. Very well; +the first sign of sentimental nonsense, and out he should go, Karlov or +no Karlov. Kitty wasn't going to know any hurt in this affair. That much +was decided. + +Cutty stormed into his study, growling audibly. He filled a pipe and +smoked savagely. Another side, Kitty's entrance into the drama promised +to spoil his own fun; he would have to play two games instead of one. A +fine muddle! + +He came to a stand before one of the windows and saw the glory of +the morning flashing from the myriad spires and towers and roofs, and +wondered why artists bothered about cows in pastures. + +Touching his knees was an antique Florentine bridal chest, with +exquisite carving and massive lock. He threw back the lid and disclosed +a miscellany never seen by any eye save his own. It was all the garret +he had. He dug into it and at length resurrected the photograph of a +woman whose face was both roguish and beautiful. He sat on the floor a +la Turk and studied the face, his own tender and wistful. No resemblance +to Kitty except in the eyes. How often he had gone to her with the +question burning his lips, only to carry it away unspoken! He turned +over the photograph and read: “To the nicest man I know. With love from +Molly.” With love. And he had stepped aside for Tommy Conover! + +By George! He dropped the photograph into the chest, let down the lid, +and rose to his feet. Not a bad idea, that. To intrigue Kitty himself, +to smother her with attentions and gallantries, to give her out of his +wide experience, and to play the game until this intruder was on his way +elsewhere. + +He could do it; and he based his assurance upon his experiences and +observations. Never a squire of dames, he knew the part. He had played +the game occasionally in the capitals of Europe when there had been some +information he had particularly desired. Clever, scheming women, too. A +clever, passably good-looking elderly man could make himself peculiarly +attractive to young women and women in the thirties. Dazzlement for the +young; the man who knew all about life, the trivial little courtesies +a younger man generally forgot; the moving of chairs, the holding of +wraps; the gray hairs which served to invite trust and confidence, which +lulled the eternal feminine fear of the male. To the older women, no +callow youth but a man of discernment, discretion, wit and fancy and +daring, who remembered birthdays husbands forgot, who was always round +when wanted. + +There was no vanity back of these premises. Cutty was merely reaching +about for an expedient to thwart what to his anticipatory mind promised +to be an inevitability. Of course the glamour would not last; it never +did, but he felt he could sustain it until yonder chap was off and away. + +That evening at five-thirty Kitty received a box of beautiful roses, +with Cutty's card. + +“Oh, the lovely things!” she cried. + +She kissed them and set them in a big copper jug, arranged and +rearranged them for the simple pleasure it afforded her. What a dear +man this Cutty was, to have thought of her in this fashion! Her father's +friend, her mother's, and now hers; she had inherited him. This thought +caused her to smile, but there were tears in her eyes. A garden some +day to play in, this mad city far away, a home of her own; would it ever +happen? + +The bell rang. She wasn't going to like this caller for taking her away +from these roses, the first she had received in a long time--roses she +could keep and not toss out the window. For it must not be understood +that Kitty was never besieged. + +Outside stood a well-dressed gentleman, older than Cutty, with shrewd, +inquiring gray eyes and a face with strong salients. + +“Pardon me, but I am looking for a man by the name of Stephen Gregory. I +was referred by the janitor to you. You are Miss Conover?” + +“Yes,” answered Kitty. “Will you come in?” She ushered the stranger into +the living room and indicated a chair. “Please excuse me for a moment.” + Kitty went into her bedroom and touched the danger button, which would +summon Bernini. She wanted her watchdog to see the visitor. She returned +to the living room. “What is it you wish to know?” + +“Where I may find this Gregory.” + +“That nobody seems able to answer. He was carried away from here in an +ambulance; but we have been unable to locate the hospital. If you will +leave your name--” + +“That is not necessary. I am out of bounds, you might say, and I'd +rather my name should be left out of the affair, which is rather +peculiar.” + +“In what way?” + +“I am only an agent, and am not at liberty to speak. Could you describe +Gregory?” + +“Then he is a stranger to you?” + +“Absolutely.” + +Kitty described Gregor deliberately and at length. It struck her that +the visitor was becoming bored, though he nodded at times. She was glad +to hear Bernini's ring. She excused herself to admit the Italian. + +“A false alarm,” she whispered. “Someone inquiring for Gregor. I thought +it might be well for you to see him.” + +“I'll work the radiator stuff.” + +“Very well.” + +Bernini went into the living room and fussed over the steam cock of the +radiator. + +“Nothing the matter with it, miss. Just stuck.” + +“Sorry to have troubled you,” said the stranger, rising and picking up +his hat. + +Bernini went down to the basement, obfuscated; for he knew the visitor. +He was one of the greatest bankers in New York--that is to say, in +America! Asking questions about Stefani Gregor! + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +About nine o'clock that same night a certain rich man, having +established himself comfortably under the reading lamp, a fine book +in his hands and a fine after-dinner cigar between his teeth, was +exceedingly resentful when his butler knocked, entered, and presented a +card. + +“My orders were that I was not at home to any one.” + +“Yes, sir. But he said you would see him because he came to see you +regarding a Mr. Gregory.” + +“What?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Damn these newspapers!... Wait, wait!” the banker called, for the +butler was starting for the door to carry the anathema to the appointed +head. “Bring him in. He's a big bug, and I can't afford to affront him.” + +“Yes, sir”--with the colourless tone of a perfect servant. + +When the visitor entered he stopped just beyond the threshold. He +remained there even after the butler closed the door. Blue eye and gray +clashed; two masters of fence who had executed the same stroke. The +banker laughed and Cutty smiled. + +“I suppose,” said the banker, “you and I ought to sign an armistice, +too.” + +“Agreed.” + +“And you've always been rather a puzzle to me. A rich man, a gentleman, +and yet sticking to the newspaper game.” + +“And you're a puzzle to me, too. A rich man, a gentleman, and yet +sticking to the banking game.” + +“What the devil was our row about?” + +“Can't quite recall.” + +“Whatever it was it was the way you went at it.” + +“A reform was never yet accomplished by purring and pussyfooting,” said +Cutty. + +“Come over and sit down. Now, how the devil did you find out about this +Gregory affair?” The banker held out his hand, which Cutty grasped with +honest pressure. “If you are here in the capacity of a newspaper man, +not a word out of me. Have a cigar?” + +“I never smoke anything but pipes that ruin curtains. You should have +given your name to Miss Conover.” + +“I was under promise not to explain my business. But before we proceed, +an answer. Newspaper?” + +“No. I represent the Department of Justice. And we'll get along easier +when I add that I possess rather unlimited powers under that head. How +did you happen to stumble into this affair?” + +“Through Captain Rathbone, my prospective son-in-law, who is in Coblenz. +A cable arrived this morning, instructing me to proceed precisely in the +manner I did. Rathbone is an intimate friend of the man I was actually +seeking. The apartment of this man Gregory was mentioned to Rathbone +in a cable as a possible temporary abiding place. What do you want to +know?” + +“Whether or not he is undesirable.” + +“Decidedly, I should say, desirable.” + +“You make that statement as an American citizen?” + +“I do. I make it unreservedly because my future son-in-law is rather +a difficult man to make friends with. I am acting merely as Rathbone's +agent. On the other hand, I should be a cheerful liar if I told you I +wasn't interested. What do you know?” + +“Everything,” answered Cutty, quietly. + +“You know where this young man is?” + +“At this moment he is in my apartment, rather seriously battered and +absolutely penniless.” + +“Well, I'll be tinker-dammed! You know who he is, of course?” + +“Yes. And I want all your information so that I may guide my future +actions accordingly. If he is really undesirable he shall be deported +the moment he can stand on his two feet.” + +The banker pyramided his fingers, rather pleased to learn that he could +astonish this interesting beggar. “He has on account at my bank half +a million dollars. Originally he had eight hundred thousand. The three +hundred thousand, under cable orders from Yokohama, was transferred to +our branch in San Francisco. This was withdrawn about two weeks ago. How +does that strike you?” + +“All in a heap,” confessed Cutty. “When was this fund established with +you?” + +“Shortly before Kerensky's government blew up. The funds were in our +London bank. There was, of course, a lot of red tape, excessive +charges in exchange, and all that. Anyhow, about eight hundred thousand +arrived.” + +“What brought him to America? Why didn't he go to England? That would +have been the safest haven.” + +“I can explain that. He intends to become an American citizen. Some time +ago he became the owner of a fine cattle ranch in Montana.” + +“Well, I'll be tinker-dammed, too!” exploded Cutty. + +“A young man with these ideas in his head ought eventually to become a +first-rate citizen. What do you say?” + +“I am considerably relieved. His forbears, the blood--” + +“His mother was a healthy Italian peasant--a famous singer in her time. +His fortune, I take it, was his inheritance from her. She made a fortune +singing in the capitals of Europe and speculating from time to time. +She sent the boy, at the age of ten, to England. Afraid of the home +influence. He remained there, under the name of Hawksley, for something +like fourteen years, under the guardianship of this fellow Gregory. Of +Gregory I know positively nothing. The young fellow is, to all purposes, +methods of living, points of view, an Englishman. Rathbone, who was +educated at Oxford, met him there and they shared quarters. But it was +only in recent years that he learned the identity of his friend. In 1914 +the young fellow returned to Russia. Military obligations. That's all I +know. Mighty interesting, though.” + +“I am much obliged to you. The white elephant becomes a normal drab +pachyderm,” said Cutty. + +“Still something of an elephant on your hands. I see. Bring him here if +you wish.” + +“And sic the Bolshevik at your door.” + +“That's so. You spoke of his having been beaten and robbed. Bolshevik?” + +“Yes. An old line of reasoning first put into effect by Oliver Cromwell. +The axe.” + +“The poor devil!” + +“Fact. I'm sorry for him, but I wish he would blow away conveniently.” + +“Rathbone says he's handsome, gay, but decent, considering. Humanity is +being knocked about some. The hour has come for our lawyers to go back +to their offices. Politics must step aside for business. We ought +to hang up signs in every state capitol in the country: 'Men +Wanted--Specialists.' A steel man from Pittsburgh, a mining man from +Idaho, a shipowner from Boston, a meat packer from Omaha, a grain man +from Chicago. What the devil do lawyers know about these things--the +energies that make the wheels of this country go round? By the way, +that Miss Conover was a remarkably pretty girl. She seemed to be a bit +suspicious of me.” + +“Good reasons. That chap went to Gregor's--Gregor is his name--and was +beaten, robbed, and left for dead. She saved his life.” + +“Good Lord! Does she know?” + +“No. And what's more, I don't want her to. I am practically her +guardian.” + +“Then you ought to get her out of that roost.” + +“Hang it, I can't get her to leave. I'm not legally her guardian; +self-appointed. But she has agreed to leave in May.” + +“I'm glad you dropped in. Command me in any way you please.” + +“That's very good of you, considering.” + +“The war is over. We'd be a fine pair of fools to let an ancient +grudge go on. They tell me you've a wonderful apartment on top of that +skyscraper of yours.” + +“Will you come to dinner some night?” + +“Any time you say. I should like to bring my daughter.” + +“She doesn't know?” + +“No. Heard of Hawksley; thinks he's English.” + +“I am certainly agreeable.” This would be a distinct advantage to Kitty. +“I see you have a good book there. I'll take myself off.” + +In the Avenue Cutty loaded his pipe. He struck a match on the +flagstone and cupped it over the bowl of his pipe, thereby throwing his +picturesque countenance into ruddy relief. Opposite emotions filled +the hearts of the two men watching him--in one, chagrin; in the other, +exultation. + +Cutty decided to walk downtown, the night being fine. He set his foot +to a long, swinging stride. An elephant on his hands, truly. Poor devil, +for a fad! Nobody wanted him, not even those who wished him well. Wanted +to become an American citizen. He would have been tolerably safe in +England. Here he would never be free of danger. A ranch. The beggar +would have a chance out there in the West. The anarchist and the +Bolshevik were town cooties. His one chance, actually. The poor devil! +Kitty had the right idea. It was a mighty fine thing, these times, to be +a citizen under the protection of the American doctrine. + +Three hundred thousand! And Karlov had got that along with the drums. +The devil's own for luck! The fool would be able to start some fine +ructions with all that capital behind him. Episodes in the night. + +Kitty dreamed of wonderful rose gardens, endless and changing; but +strive as she would she could not find Cutty anywhere, which worried +her, even in her dream. + +The nurse heard the patient utter a single word several times before he +fell asleep. + +“What is it?” she asked. + +“Fan!” And he smiled. + +She hunted for the palm leaf, but with a slight gesture he signified +that that was not what he wanted. + +Cutty played solitaire with his chrysoprase until the telephone broke in +upon his reveries. What he heard over the wire disturbed him greatly. + +“You were followed from the Avenue to the apartment.” + +“How do you know?” + +“I am Henderson. You assigned me to watch the apartment in Eightieth +through the night. I followed the man who followed you. He saw your face +when you lit the pipe. When the banker left Miss Conover he was followed +home. That established him in the affair. The follower hung round, and +so did I. You appeared. He took a chance shot in the dark. Not sure, but +doing a bit of clever guessing.” + +“You still followed him?” + +“Yes.” + +“Where did he wind up?” + +“A house in the warehouse district. Vacant warehouses on each side. Some +new nest. I can lead you to it, sir, any time you wish.” + +“Thanks.” + +Cutty pushed aside the telephone and returned to his green stones. After +all, why worry? It was unfortunate, of course, but the apartment was +more inaccessible than the top of the Matterhorn. Still, they might +discover what his real business was and interfere seriously with his +future work on the other side. A ruin in the warehouse district? A good +place to look for Stefani Gregor--if he were still alive. + +He was. And in his dark room he cried piteously for water--water--water! + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +A March day, sunny and cloudless, with fresh, bracing winds. Green +things pushed up from the soil; an eternal something was happening to +the tips of the tree branches; an eternal something was happening in +young hearts. A robin shook the dust of travel from his wings and bathed +publicly in a park basin. + +Here and there under the ten thousand roofs of the great city poets were +busy with inkpots, trying to say an old thing in a new way. Woe to the +pinched soul that did not expand this day, for it was spring. Expansion! +Nature--perhaps she was relenting a little, perhaps she saw that +humanity was sliding down the scale, withering, and a bit of extra +sunshine would serve to check the descension and breed a little +optimism. + +Cutty's study. The sunlight, thrown westward, turned windows and roofs +and towers into incomparable bijoux. The double reflection cast a white +light into the room, lifting out the blue and old-rose tints of the +Ispahan rug. + +Cutty shifted the chrysoprase, irresolutely for him. A dozen problems, +and it was mighty hard to decide which to tackle first. Principally +there was Kitty. He had not seen her in four days, deeming it advisable +for her not to call for the present. The Bolshevik agent who had +followed him from the banker's might decide, without the aid of some +connecting episode, that he had wasted his time. + +It did not matter that Kitty herself was no longer watched and followed +from her home to the office, from the office home. Was Karlov afraid +or had he some new trick up his sleeve? It was not possible that he +had given up Hawksley. He was probably planning an attack from some +unexpected angle. To be sure that Karlov would not find reason to +associate him with Kitty, Cutty had remained indoors during the daytime +and gone forth at night in his dungarees. + +Problem Two was quite as formidable. The secret agent who had passed +as a negotiator for the drums of jeopardy had disappeared. That had +sinister significance. Karlov did not intend to sell the drums; merely +wanted precise information regarding the man who had advertised for +them. If the secret-service man weakened under torture, Cutty recognized +that his own usefulness would be at an end. He would have to step aside +and let the great currents sweep on without him. In that event these +fifty-two years would pile upon his head, full measure; for the only +thing that kept him vigorous was action, interest. Without some great +incentive he would shrivel up and blow away--like some exhumed mummy. + +Problem Three. How the deuce was he going to fascinate Kitty if he +couldn't see her? But there was a bit of silver lining here. If +he couldn't see her, what chance had Hawksley? The whole sense and +prompting of this problem was to keep Kitty and Hawksley apart. How this +was accomplished was of no vital importance. Problem Three, then, hung +fire for the present. Funny, how this idea stuck in his head, that +Hawksley was a menace to Kitty. One of those fool ideas, probably, but +worth trying out. + +Problem Four. That night, all on his own, he would make an attempt +to enter that old house sandwiched between the two vacant warehouses. +Through pressure of authority he had obtained keys to both warehouses. +There would be a trap on the roof of that house. Doubtless it would be +covered with tin; fairly impregnable if latched below. But he could find +out. From the third-floor windows of either warehouse the drop was not +more than six feet. If anywhere in town poor old Stefani Gregor would be +in one of those rooms. But to storm the house frontally, without being +absolutely sure, would be folly. Gregor would be killed. The house was +in fact an insane asylum, occupied by super-insane men. Warned, they +were capable of blowing the house to kingdom come, themselves with it. + +Problem Five was a mere vanishing point. He doubted if he would ever see +those emeralds. What an infernal pity! + +He built a coronet and leaned back, a wisp of smoke darting up from the +bowl of his pipe. + +“I say, you know, but that's a ripping game to play!” drawled a tired +voice over his shoulder. + +Cutty turned his head, to behold Hawksley, shaven, pale, and handsome, +wrapped in a bed quilt and swaying slightly. + +“What the deuce are you doing out of your room?” growled Cutty, but with +the growl of a friendly dog. + +Hawksley dropped into a chair weakly. “End of my rope. Got to talk to +someone. Go dotty, else. Questions. Skull aches with 'em. Want to know +whether this is a foretaste of the life I have a right to live--or the +beginning of death. Be a good sport, and let's have it out.” + +“What is it you wish to know?” asked Cutty, gently. The poor beggar! + +“Where I am. Who you are. What happened to me. What is going to happen +to me,” rather breathlessly. “Don't want any more suspense. Don't want +to look over my shoulder any more. Straight ahead. All the cards on the +table, please.” + +Cutty rose and pushed the invalid's chair to a window and drew another +up beside it. + +“My word, the top of the world! Bally odd roost.” + +“You will find it safer here than you would on the shores of Kaspuskoi +More,” replied Cutty, gravely. “The Caspian wouldn't be a healthy place +for you now.” + +With wide eyes Hawksley stared across the shining, wavering roofs. A +pause. “What do you know?” he asked, faintly. + +“Everything. But wait!” Cutty fetched one of the photographs and laid it +upon the young man's knees. “Know who this is--Two-Hawks?” + +A strained, tense gesture as Hawksley seized the photograph; then his +chin sank slowly to his chest. A moment later Cutty was profoundly +astonished to see something sparkle on its way down the bed quilt. +Tears! + +“I'm sorry!” cried Cutty, troubled and embarrassed. “I'm terribly sorry! +I should have had the decency to wait a day or two.” + +“On the contrary, thank you!” Hawksley flung up his head. “Nothing in +all God's muddied world could be more timely--the face of my mother! +I am not ashamed of these tears. I am not afraid to die. I am not even +afraid to live. But all the things I loved--the familiar earth, the +human beings, my dog--gone. I am alone.” + +“I'm sorry,” repeated Cutty, a bit choked up. This was honest misery and +it affected him deeply. He felt himself singularly drawn. + +“I want to live. Because I am young? No. I want to prove to the shades +of those who loved me that I am fit to go on. So my identity is known to +you?”--dejectedly. + +“Yes. You wish me to forget what I know?” + +“Will you?”--eagerly. “Will you forget that I am anything but a naked, +friendless human being?” + +“Yes. But your enemies know.” + +“I rather fancy they will keep the truth to themselves. Let them publish +my identity, and a hundred havens would be offered. Your Government +would protect me.” + +“It is doing so now, indirectly. But why do you not want it known?” + +“Freedom! Would I have it if known? Could I trust anybody? Would it not +be essentially the old life in a new land? I want a new life in a new +land. I want to be born again. I want to be what you patently are, an +American. That is why I risked life a hundred times in coming all these +miles, why I sit in this chair before you, with the room rocking because +they battered in my head. I do not offer a human wreck, an illiterate +mind, in exchange for citizenship. I bring a tolerably decent manhood. +Try me! Always I have admired you people. Always we Russians have. +But there is no Russia now that I can ever return to!” Hawksley's head +drooped again and his bloodshot eyes closed. + +Cutty sensed confusion, indecision; all his deductions were upset in +the face of this strange appeal. Russian, born of an Italian mother +and speaking Oxford English as if it were his birthright; and wanting +citizenship! Wasn't ashamed of his tears; wasn't afraid to die or to +live! Cutty searched quickly for a new handhold to his antagonism, but +he found only straws. He was honest enough to realize that he had built +this antagonism upon a want, a desire; there was no foundation for it. +Downright likeable. A chap who had gone through so much, who was in such +a pitiable condition, would not have the wit to manufacture character, +camouflage his soul. + +“Hang it!” he said, briskly. “You shall have your chance. Talk like that +will carry a man anywhere in this country. You shall stay here until +you are strong again. Then some night I'll put you on your train for +Montana. You want to ask questions. I'll save you the trouble by telling +you what I know.” + +But his narrative contained no mention of the emeralds. Why? A bit +conscience-stricken because, if he could, he was going to rob his guest +on the basis that findings is keepings? Cutty wasn't ready to analyze +the omission. Perhaps he wanted Hawksley himself to inquire about the +stones; test him out. If he asked frankly that would signify that he +had brought the stones in honestly, paid his obligations to the Customs. +Otherwise, smuggling; and in that event conscience wouldn't matter; +the emeralds became a game anybody could take a hand in--anybody who +considered the United States Customs an infringement upon human rights. + +What a devil of a call those stones had for him! Did they mean anything +to Hawksley aside from their intrinsic value? But for the nebulous idea, +originally, that the emeralds were mixed up somewhere in this adventure, +Cutty knew that he would have sent Hawksley to a hospital, left him to +his fate, and never known who he was. + +All through the narration Hawksley listened motionless, with his eyes +closed, possibly to keep the wavering instability of the walls from +interfering with his assimilation of this astonishing series of fact. + +“Found you insensible on the floor,” concluded Cutty, “hoisted you to my +shoulders, took you to the street--and here you are!” + +Hawksley opened his eyes. “I say, you know, what a devil of an old +Sherlock you must be! And you carried me on your shoulders across that +fire escape? Ripping! When I stepped back into that room I heard a +rushing sound. I knew! But I didn't have the least chance.... You and +that bully girl!” + +Cutty swore under his breath. He had taken particular pains to avoid +mentioning Kitty; and here, first off, the fat was in the fire. He +remembered now that he had told Hawksley that Kitty had saved his life. +Fortunately, the chap wasn't keen enough with that banged-up head of his +to apply reason to the omission. + +“Saved my life. Suppose she doesn't want me to know.” + +Cutty jumped at this. “Doesn't care to be mixed up with the Bolshevik +end of it. Besides, she doesn't know who you are.” + +“The fewer that know the better. But I'll always remember her kindness +and that bally pistol with the fan in it. But you? Why did you bother to +bring me up here?” + +“Couldn't decently leave you where Karlov could get to you again.” + +“Is Stefani Gregor dead?” + +“Don't know; probably not. But we are hunting for him.” Cutty had not +explained his interest in Gregor. Those plaguey stones again. They were +demoralizing him. Loot. + +“You spoke of Karlov. Who is he?” + +“Why, the man who followed you across half the world.” + +“There were many. What is he like?” + +“A gorilla.” + +“Ah!” Hawksley became galvanized and extended his fists. “God let me +live long enough to put my hands on him! I had the chance the other +day--to blot out his face with my boots! But I couldn't do it! I +couldn't do it!” He sagged in the chair. “No, no! Just a bit groggy. All +right in a moment.” + +“By the Lord Harry, I'll see you through. Now buck up. Hear that?” cried +Cutty, throwing up a window. + +“Music.” + +“Look through that street there. See the glint of bayonets? American +soldiers, marching up Fifth Avenue, thousands of them, freemen who broke +the vaunted Hindenburg Line. God bless 'em! Americans, every mother's +son of 'em; who went away laughing, who returned laughing, who will go +back to their jobs laughing. The ability to laugh, that's America. Do +you know how to laugh?” + +“I used to. I'm jolly weak just now. But I'll grin if you want me to.” + And Hawksley grinned. + +“That's the way. A grin in this country will take you quite as far. All +right. In five years you'll be voting. I'll see to that. Now back to bed +with you, and no more leaving it until the nurse says so. What you need +is rest.” + +Cutty sent a call to the nurse, who was standing undecidedly in the +doorway; and together they put the derelict back to bed. Then Cutty +fetched the photograph and set it on top of the dresser, where Hawksley +could see it. + +“Now, no more gallivanting about.” + +“I promise, old top. This bed is a little bit of all right. I say!” + +“What?” + +“How long am I to be here?” + +“If you're good, two weeks,” interposed the nurse. + +“Two weeks? I say, would you mind doing me a trifling favour? I'd like a +violin to amuse myself with.” + +“A fiddle? I don't know a thing about 'em except that they sound good.” + Cutty pulled at his chin. + +“Whatever it costs I'll reimburse you the day I'm up.” + +“All right. I'll bring you a bundle of them, and you can do your own +selecting.” + +Out in the corridor the nurse said: “I couldn't hold him. But he'll be +easier now that he's got the questions off his mind. He will have to be +humoured a lot. That's one of the characteristics of head wounds.” + +“What do you think of him?” + +“He seems to be gentle and patient; and I imagine he's hard to resist +when he wants anything. Winning, you'd call it. I suppose I mustn't ask +who he really is?” + +“No. Poor devil. The fewer that know, the better. I'll be home round +three.” + +Once in the street, Cutty was besieged suddenly with the irresistible +desire to mingle with the crowd over in the Avenue, to hear the military +bands, the shouts, to witness the gamut of emotions which he knew would +attend this epochal day. Of course he would view it all from the aloof +vantage of the historian, and store away commentaries against future +needs. + +And what a crowd it was! He was elbowed and pushed, jostled and trod +on, carried into the surges, relegated to the eddies; and always +the metallic taptap of steel-shod boots on the asphalt, the bayonets +throwing back the radiant sunshine in sharp, clear flashes. The keen, +joyous faces of those boys. God, to be young like that! To have come +through that hell on earth with the ability still to smile! Cutty felt +the tears running down his cheeks. Instinctively he knew that this was +to be his last thrill of this order. He was fifty-two. + +“Quit your crowding there!” barked a voice under his chin. + +“Sorry, but it's those behind me,” said Cutty, looking down into a +florid countenance with a raggedy gray moustache and a pair of blue eyes +that were blinking. + +“I'm so damned short I can't see anything!” + +“Neither can I.” + +“You could if you wiped your eyes.” + +“You're crying yourself,” declared Cutty. + +“Blinking jackass! Got anybody out there?” + +“All of 'em.” + +“I get you, old son of a gun! No flesh and blood, but they're ours all +the same. Couple of old fools; huh?” + +“Sure pop! What right have two old codgers got here, anyhow? What +brought you out?” + +“What brought you?” + +“Same thing.” + +“Damn it! If I could only see something!” + +Cutty put his hands upon the shoulders of this chance acquaintance and +propelled him toward the curb. There were cries of protest, curses, +catcalls, but Cutty bored on ahead until he got his man where he could +see the tin hats, the bayonets, and the colours; and thus they stood for +a full hour. Each time the flag went by the little man yanked off his +derby and turned truculently to see that Cutty did the same. + +“Say,” he said as they finally dropped back, “I'd offer to buy a drink, +only it sounds flat.” + +“And it would taste flat after a mighty wine like this,” replied Cutty. +“Maybe you've heard of the nectar of the gods. Well, you've just drunk +it, my friend.” + +“I sure have. Those kids out there, smiling after all that hell; and you +and me on the sidewalk, blubbering over 'em! What's the answer? We're +Americans!” + +“You said it. Good-bye.” + +Cutty pressed on to the flow and went along with it, lighter in the +heart than he had been in many a day. These two million who lined Fifth +Avenue, who cheered, laughed, wept, went silent, cheered again, what +did their presence here signify? That America's day had come; that as a +people they were homogeneous at last; that that which laws had failed to +bring forth had been accomplished by an ideal. + +Bolshevism, socialism--call it what you will--would beat itself into +fragments against this Rock of Democracy, which went down to the centre +of the world and whose pinnacle touched the stars. Reincarnation; the +simple ideals of the forefathers restored. And with this knowledge +tingling in his thoughts--and perhaps there was a bit of spring in +his heart--Cutty continued on, without destination, chin jutting, eyes +shining. He was an American! + +He might have continued on indefinitely had he not seen obliquely a +window filled with musical instruments. + +Hawksley's fiddle! He had all but forgotten. All right. If the poor +beggar wanted to scrape a fiddle, scrape it he should. The least he, +Cutty, could do would be to accede to any and every whim Hawksley +expressed. Wasn't he planning to rob the beggar of the drums, happen +they ever turned up? But how the deuce to pick out a fiddle which would +have a tune in it? Of all the hypercritical duffers the fiddler was the +worst. Beside a fiddler of the first rank the rich old maid with the +poodle was a hail fellow well met. + +Of course Gregor had taught the chap. That meant he would know +instantly; just as his host would instantly observe the difference +between green glass and green beryl. + +Cutty turned into the shop, infinitely amused. Fiddles! What next? +Having constituted a guardianship over Kitty, he was now playing +impressario to Hawksley. As if he hadn't enough parts to play! Wouldn't +he be risking his life to-night trying to find where Stefani Gregor was? +Fiddles! Fiddles and emeralds! What a choice old hypocrite he was! + +Fate has a way of telling you all about it--afterward; conceivably, that +humanity might continue to reproduce its species. Otherwise humanity +would proceed to extinguish itself forthwith. Thus, Cutty was totally +unaware upon entering the shop that he was about to tear off its hinges +the door he was so carefully bolting and latching and padlocking between +Kitty Conover and this duffer who wanted to fiddle his way through +convalescence. + +Where there is fiddling there is generally dancing. If it be not the +feet, then it will be the soul. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +There are some men who know a little about all things and a great deal +about many. Such a man was Cutty. But as he approached the counter +behind which stood an expectant clerk he felt for once that he was in a +far country. There were fiddles and fiddles, just as there were emeralds +and emeralds. Never again would he laugh over the story of the man who +thought Botticelli was a manufacturer of spool thread. He attacked the +problem, however, like the thoroughbred he was--frankly. + +“I want to buy a violin,” he began, knowing that in polite musical +circles the word fiddle was taboo. “I know absolutely nothing at all +about quality or price. Understand, though, while you might be able to +fool me, you wouldn't fool the man I'm buying it for. Now what would you +suggest?” + +The clerk--a salesman familiar with certain urban types, thinly +including the Fifth Avenue, which came in for talking-machine +records--recognized in this well-dressed, attractive elderly man that +which he designated the swell. Hateful word, yes, but having a perfectly +legitimate niche, since in the minds of the hoi polloi it nicely +describes the differences between the poor gentleman and the gentleman +of leisure. To proceed with the digression, to no one is the word more +hateful than to the individual to whom it is applied. Cutty would have +blushed at the clerk's thought. + +“Perhaps I'd better get the proprietor,” was the clerk's suggestion. + +“Good idea,” Cutty agreed. “Take my card along with you.” This was +a Fifth Avenue shop, and Cutty knew there would be a Who's Who or a +Bradstreet somewhere about. + +In the interim he inspected the case-lined walls. Trombones. He +chuckled. Lucky that Hawksley's talent didn't extend in this direction. +True, he himself collected drums, but he did not play them. Something +odd about music; human beings had to have it, the very lowest in the +scale. A universal magic. He was himself very fond of good music; but +these days he fought shy of it; it had the faculty of sweeping him back +into the twenties and reincarnating vanished dreams. + +After a certain length of time, from the corner of his eye he saw the +clerk returning with the proprietor, the latter wearing an amiable +smile, which probably connoted a delving into the aforesaid volumes of +attainment and worth. Cutty hoped this was so, as it would obviate the +necessity of going into details as to who he was and what he had. + +“Your name is familiar to me,” began the proprietor. “You collect +antique drums. My clerk tells me that you wish to purchase a good +violin.” + +“Very good. I have in my apartment rather a distinguished guest who +plays the violin for his own amusement. He is ill and cannot select for +himself. Now I know a little about music but nothing about violins.” + +“I suggest that I personally carry half a dozen instruments to your +apartment and let your guest try them. How much is he willing to pay?” + +“Top price, I should say. Shall I make a deposit?” + +“If you don't mind. Merely precautionary. Half a dozen violins will +represent quite a sum of money; and taxicabs are unreliable animals. A +thousand against accidents. What time shall I call?” The proprietor's +curiosity was stirred. Musical celebrities, as he had occasion to know, +were always popping up in queer places. Some new star probably, whose +violin had been broken and who did not care to appear in public before +the hour of his debut. + +“Three o'clock,” said Cutty. + +“Very well, sir. I promise to bring the violins myself.” + +Cutty wrote out his check for a thousand and departed, the chuckle still +going on inside of him. Versatile old codger, wasn't he? + +Promptly at three the dealer arrived, his arms and his hands gripping +violin cases. Cutty hurried to his assistance, accepted a part of the +load, and beckoned to the man to follow him. The cases were placed on +the floor, and the dealer opened them, putting the rosin on a single +bow. + +Hawksley, a fresh bandage on his head, his shoulders propped by pillows, +eyed the initial manoeuvres with frank amusement. + +“I say, you know, would you mind tuning them for me? I'm not top hole.” + +The dealer's eyebrows went up. An Englishman? Bewildered, he bent to the +trifling labour of tuning the violins. Hawksley rejected the first two +instruments after thrumming the strings with his thumb. He struck up a +melody on the third but did not finish it. + +“My word! If you have a violin there why not let me have it at once?” + +The dealer flushed. “Try this, sir. But I do not promise you that I +shall sell it.” + +“Ah!” Hawksley stretched out his hands to receive the instrument. + +Of course Cutty had heard of Amati and Stradivari, master and pupil. He +knew that all famous violinists possessed instruments of these schools, +and that such violins were practically beyond the reach of many. Only +through some great artist's death or misfortune did a fine violin return +to the marts. But the rejected fiddles had sounded musically enough for +him and looked as if they were well up in the society of select fiddles. +The fiddle Hawksley now held in his hands was dull, almost black. The +maple neck was worn to a shabby gray and the varnish had been sweated +off the chin rest. + +Hawksley laid his fingers on the strings and drew the bow with a +powerful flourishing sweep. The rich, sonorous tones vibrated after the +bow had passed. Then followed the tricks by which an artist seeks +to discover flaws or wolf notes. A beatific expression settled upon +Hawksley face. He nestled the violin comfortably under his chin and +began to play softly. Cutty, the nurse, and the dealer became images. + +Minors; a bit of a dance; more minors; nothing really begun, nothing +really finished--sketches, with a melancholy note running through them +all. While that pouring into his ears enchained his body it stirred +recollections in Cutty's mind: The fair at Novgorod; the fiddling +mountebanks; Russian. + +Perhaps the dealer's astonishment was greatest. An Englishman! Who ever +heard of an Englishman playing a violin like that? + +“I will buy it,” said Hawksley, sinking back. + +“Sir,” began the dealer, “I am horribly embarrassed. I cannot sell +that violin because it isn't mine. It is an Amati worth ten thousand +dollars.” + +“I will give you twelve.” + +“But, sir--” + +“Name a price,” interrupted Hawksley, rather imperiously. “I want it.” + +Cutty understood that he was witnessing a flash of the ancient blood. To +want anything was to have it. + +“I repeat, sir, I cannot sell it. It belongs to a Hungarian who is now +in Hungary. I loaned him fifteen hundred and took the Amati as security. +Until I learn if he is dead I cannot dispose of the violin. I am sorry. +But because you are a real artist, sir, I will loan it to you if you +will make a deposit of ten thousand against any possible accident, and +that upon demand you will return the instrument to me.” + +“That's fair enough,” interposed Cutty. + +“I beg pardon,” said Hawksley. “I agree. I want it, but not at the price +of any one's dishonesty.” + +He turned his head toward Cutty, “You're a thoroughbred, sir. This will +do more to bring me round than all the doctors in the world.” + +“But what the deuce is the difference?” Cutty demanded with a gesture +toward the rejected violins. + +The dealer and Hawksley exchanged smiles. Said the latter: “The other +violins are pretty wooden boxes with tolerable tunes in their insides. +This has a soul.” He put the violin against his cheek again. + +Massenet's “Elegie,” Moszkowski's “Serenata,” a transcription, and then +the aria from Lucia. Not compositions professional violinists would have +selected. Cutty felt his spine grow cold as this aria poured goldenly +toward heaven. He understood. Hawksley was telling him that the shade +of his glorious mother was in this room. The boy was right. Some fiddles +had souls. An odd depression bore down upon him. Perhaps this surprising +music, topping his great emotions of the morning, was a straw too much. +There were certain exaltations that could not be sustained. + +A whimsical forecast: This chap here, in the dingy parlour of his +Montana ranch, playing these indescribable melodies to the stars, +his cowmen outside wondering what was the matter with their “inards.” + Somehow this picture lightened the depression. + +“My fingers are stiff,” said Hawksley. “My hand is tired. I should like +to be alone.” He lay back rather inertly. + +In the corridor Cutty whispered to the dealer: “What do you think of +him?” + +“As he says, his touch shows a little stiffness, but the wonderful fire +is there. He's an amateur, but a fine one. Practice will bring him to +a finish in no time. But I never heard an Englishman play a violin like +that before.” + +“Nor I,” Cutty agreed. “When the owner sends for that fiddle let me +know. Mr. Hawksley might like to dicker for it. If you know where the +owner is you might cable that you have an offer of twelve thousand.” + +“I'm sorry, but I haven't the least idea where the owner is. However, +there is an understanding that if the loan isn't covered in eighteen +months the instrument becomes salable for my own protection. There is a +year still to run.” + +Four o'clock found Cutty pacing his study, the room blue with smoke. +Of all the queer chaps he had met in his varied career this Two-Hawks +topped the lot. The constant internal turmoil that must be going on, the +instincts of the blood--artist and autocrat! And in the end, the owner +of a cattle ranch, if he had the luck to get there alive! Dizzy old +world. + +Something else happened at four o'clock. A policeman strolled into +Eightieth Street. He was at peace with the world. Spring was in his +whistle, in his stride, in the twirl of his baton. Whenever he passed a +shop window he made it serve as a mirror. No waistline yet--a comforting +thought. + +Children swarmed the street and gathered at corners. The older ones +played boldly in midstreet, while the toddlers invented games that kept +them to the sidewalk and curb. The policeman came stealthily upon one +of these latter groups--Italians. At the sight of his brass buttons they +fled precipitately. He laughed. Once in a month of moons he was able to +get near enough to touch them. Natural. Hadn't he himself hiked in the +old days at the sight of a copper? Sure, he had. + +A bit of colour on the sidewalk attracted his eye, and he picked up the +object. Something those kids had been playing with. A bit of red glass +out of a piece of cheap jewellery. Not half bad for a fake. He would put +one over on Maggie when he turned in for supper. Certainly this was the +age of imitation. You couldn't buy a brass button with any confidence. +He put the trinket in his pocket and continued on, soon to forget it. + +At six he was off duty. As he was leaving the precinct the desk sergeant +called him back. + +“Got change for a dollar, an' I'll settle that pinochle debt,” offered +the sergeant. + +“I'll take a look.” The policeman emptied his coin pocket. + +“What's that yuh got there?” + +“Which?” + +“The red stone?” + +“Oh, that? Picked it up on the sidewalk. Some Italian kids dropped it as +they skedaddled.” + +“Let's have a look.” + +“Sure.” The policeman passed over the stone. + +“Gee! That looks like real money. Say, they can do anything with glass +these days.” + +“They sure can.” + +A man in civilian clothes--a detective from headquarters--went up to the +desk. “What you guys got there?” + +“A ruby this boob picks up off'n the sidewalk,” said the sergeant, +winking at the finder, who grinned. + +“Let's have a squint at it.” + +The stone was handed to him. The detective stared at it carefully, +holding it on his palm and rocking it gently under the desk light. +Crimson darts of flame answered to this treatment. He pushed back his +hat. + +“Well, you boobs!” he drawled. + +“What's the matter?” + +“Matter? Why, this is a ruby! A whale of a ruby, an' pigeon blood at +that! I didn't work in the' appraiser's office for nothing. But for +a broken point--kids probably tried to crack it--it would stack up +somewhere between three and four thousand dollars!” + +The sergeant and the policemen barked simultaneously: “What?” + +“A pigeon blood. Where was it you found it?” + +“Holy Moses! On Eightieth.” + +“Any chance of finding that bunch of kids?” + +“Not a chance, not a chance! If I got the hull district here there +wouldn't be nothin' doin'. The kids'd be too scared t' remember +anything. A pigeon-blood ruby, an' I wasn't gonna pick it up at first!” + +“Lock it up, sergeant,” ordered the detective. “I'll pass the word +to headquarters. Too big for a ring. Probably fallen from a pin. But +there'll be a holler in a few hours. Lost or stolen, there'll be some +big noise. You two boobs!” + +“Well, whadda yuh know about that?” whined the policeman. “An' me +thinkin' it was glass!” + +But there was no big noise. No one had reported the loss or theft of a +pigeon-blood ruby of unusual size and quality. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +Kitty came home at nine that night, dreadfully tired. She had that day +been rocked by so many emotions. She had viewed the parade from the +windows of a theatrical agency, and she had cheered and cried like +everybody else. Her eyes still smarted, and her throat betrayed her +every time she recalled what she had seen. Those boys! + +Loneliness. She had dined downtown, and on the way home the shadow had +stalked beside her. Loneliness. Never before had these rooms seemed so +empty, empty. If God had only given her a brother and he had marched in +that glorious parade, what fun they two would be having at this moment! +Empty rooms; not even a pet. + +Loneliness. She had been a silly little fool to stand so aloof, just +because she was poor and lived in a faded locality. She mocked herself. +Poor but proud, like the shopgirl in the movies. Denied herself +companionship because she was ashamed of her genteel poverty. And now +she was paying for it. Silly little fool! It wasn't as if she did not +know how to make and keep friends. She knew she had attractions. Just a +senseless false pride. The best friends in the world, after a series of +rebuffs, would drop away. Her mother's friends never called any more, +because of her aloofness. She had only a few girl friends, and even +these no doubt were beginning to think her uppish. + +She did not take off her hat and coat. She wandered through the empty +rooms, undecided. If she went to a movie the rooms would be just as +lonely when she returned. Companionship. The urge of it was so strong +that there was a temptation to call up someone, even someone she had +rebuffed. She was in the mood to confess everything and to make an +honest attempt to start all over again--to accept friendship and let +pride go hang. Impulsively she started for the telephone, when the +doorbell rang. + +Immediately the sense of loneliness fell away. Another chapter in +the great game of hide and seek that had kept her from brooding until +to-night? The doorbell carried a new message these days. Nine o'clock. +Who could be calling at that hour? She had forgotten to advise Cutty +of the fact that someone had gone through the apartment. She could not +positively assert the fact. Those articles in her bureau she herself +might have disturbed. She might have taken a handkerchief in a hurry, +hunted for something under the lingerie impatiently. Still she could +not rid herself of the feeling that alien hands had been rifling her +belongings. Not Bernini, decidedly. + +Remembering Cutty's advice about opening the door with her foot against +it, she peered out. No emissary of Bolshevisim here. A weary little +messenger boy with a long box in his arms called her name. + +“Miz Conover?” + +“Yes.” + +The boy thrust the box into her hands and clumped to the stairhead. +Kitty slammed the door and ran into the living room, tearing open the +box as she ran. Roses from Cutty; she knew it. The old darling! Just +when she was on the verge of breaking down and crying! She let the +box fall to the floor and cuddled the flowers to her heart, her eyes +filling. Cutty. + +One of those ideas which sometime or another spring into the minds +of all pretty women who are poor sprang into hers--an idea such as an +honest woman might muse over, only to reject. Sinister and cynical. +Kitty was at this moment in rather a desperate frame of mind. Those two +inherent characteristics, which she had fought valiantly--love of good +times and of pretty clothes--made ingress easy for this sinister and +cynical idea. Having gained a foothold it pressed forward boldly. Cutty, +who had everything--strength, comeliness, wisdom, and money. To live +among all those beautiful things, never to be lonely again, to be waited +on, fussed over, made much of, taken into the high world. Never more to +add up accounts, to stretch five-dollar bills across the chasm of seven +days. An old man's darling! + +“No, no, no!” she burst out, passionately. She drew a hand across her +eyes. As if that gesture could rub out an evil thought! It is all very +well to say “Avaunt!” But if the idea will not? “I couldn't, I couldn't! +I'd be a liar and a cheat. But he is so nice! If he did want me!... No, +no! Just for comforts! I couldn't! What a miserable wretch I am!” + +She caught up the copper jug and still holding the roses to her heart, +the tears streaming down her cheeks, rushed out to the kitchen for +water. She dropped the green stems into the jug, buried her face in +the buds to cool the hot shame on her cheeks, and remembered--what a +ridiculous thing the mind was!--that she had three shirt waists to iron. +She set the jug on the kitchen table, where it remained for many hours, +and walked over to the range, to the flatiron shelf. As she reached for +a flatiron her hand stopped in midair. + +A fat black wallet! Instantly she knew who had placed it there. That +poor Johnny Two-Hawks! + +Kitty lifted out the wallet from behind the flatirons. No doubt of it, +Johnny Two-Hawks had placed it there when she had gone to the speaking +tube to summon the janitor. Not knowing if he would ever call for it! +Preferring that she rather than his enemies should have it. And without +a word! What a simple yet amazing hiding place; and but for the need of +a flatiron the wallet would have stayed there until she moved. Left it +there, with the premonition that he was heading into trouble. But +what if they had killed him? How would she have explained the wallet's +presence in her apartment? Good gracious, what an escape! + +Without direct consciousness she raised the flap. She saw the edges of +money and documents; but she did not touch anything. There was no +need. She knew it belonged to Johnny Two-Hawks. Of course there was +an appalling attraction. The wallet was, figuratively, begging to be +investigated. But resolutely she closed the flap. Why? Because it was +as though Two-Hawks had placed the wallet in her hands, charging her +to guard it against the day he reclaimed it. There was no outward proof +that the wallet was his. She just knew, that was all. + +Still, she examined the outside carefully. In one corner had been +originally a monogram or a crest; effectually obliterated by the +application of fire. + +Who he was and what he was, by a simple turn of the wrist. It was +Cutty's affair now, not hers. He had a legal right to examine the +contents. He was an agent of the Federal Government. The drums of +jeopardy and Stefani Gregor and Johnny Two-Hawks, all interwoven. She +had waited in vain for Cutty to mention the emeralds. What signified his +silence? She had indirectly apprised him of the fact that she knew +the author of that advertisement offering to purchase the drums, no +questions asked. Who but Cutty in New York would know about them? The +mark of the thong. Johnny Two-Hawks had been carrying the drums, and +Karlov's men had torn them from their victim's neck during the battle. +Was there any reason why Cutty should not have taken her completely into +his confidence? Palaces looted. If Stefani Gregor had lived in a palace, +why not his protege? Still, it was possible Cutty was holding back until +he could tell her everything. + +But what to do with it? If she called him up and made known her +discovery, Cutty would rush up as fast as a taxicab could bring him. +He had peremptorily ordered her not to come to his apartment for the +present. But to sit here and wait, to be alone again after he had gone! +It was not to be borne. Orders or no orders, she would carry the wallet +to him. He could lecture her as much as he pleased. To-night, at least, +she would lay aside her part as parlour maid in the drama. It would give +her something to do, keep her mind off herself. Nothing but excitement +would pull her out of this semi-hysterical doldrum. + +She hid the wallet in the pocket of her underskirt. Already her blood +was beginning to dance. She ran into her bedroom for two veils, a gray +automobile puggree and one of those heavy black affairs with butterflies +scattered over it, quite as effectual as a mask. She wound the puggree +about her hat. When the right moment came she would discard the +puggree and drop the black veil. Her coat was of dark blue, lined with +steel-gray taffeta. Turned inside out it would fool any man. She wore +spats. These she would leave behind when she made the change. + +Someone might follow her as far as the Knickerbocker, but beyond there, +never. She was sorry, but she dared not warn Bernini. He might object, +notify Cutty, and spoil everything. + +By the time she reached the street exhilaration suffused her. The +melancholia was gone. The sinister and cynical idea had vanished +apparently. Apparently. Merely it had found a hiding place and was +content to abide there for the present. Such ideas are not without +avenues of retreat; they know the hours of attack. Kitty was alive to +but one fact: The game of hide and seek was on again. She was going to +have some excitement. She was going into the night on an adventure, as +children play at bears in the dark. The youth in her still rejected the +fact that the woof and warp of this adventure were murder and loot and +pain. + +En route to the Subway she never looked back. At Forty-second Street she +detrained, walked into the Knickerbocker, entered the ladies dressing +room, turned her coat, redraped her hat, checked her gaiters, and sought +a taxi. Within two blocks of Cutty's she dismissed the cab and finished +the journey on foot. + +At the left of the lobby was an all-night apothecary's, with a door +going into the lobby. Kitty proceeded to the elevator through this +avenue. Number Four was down, and she stepped inside, raising her veil. + +“You, miss?” + +“Very important. Take me up.” + +“The boss is out.” + +“No matter. Take me up. + +“You're the doctor!” What a pretty girl she was. No come-on in her eyes, +though. “The boss may not get back until morning. He just went out in +his engineer's togs. He sure wasn't expecting you. + +“Do you know where he went?” + +“Never know. But I'll be in this bird cage until he comes back.” + +“I shall have to wait for him.” + +“Up she goes!” + +As Kitty stepped out into the corridor a wave of confusion assailed her. +She hadn't planned against Cutty's absence. There was nothing she could +say to the nurse; and if Johnny Two-Hawks was asleep--why, all she could +do would be to curl up on a divan and await Cutty's return. + +The nurse appeared. “You, Miss Conover?” + +“Yes.” Kitty realized at once that she must take the nurse into her +confidence. “I have made a really important discovery. Did Cutty say +when he would return?” + +“No. I am not in his confidence to that extent. But I do know that you +assumed unnecessary risks in coming here.” + +Kitty shrugged and produced the wallet. “Is Mr. Hawksley awake?” + +“He is.” + +“It appears that he left this wallet in my kitchen that night. It might +buck him up if I gave it to him.” + +The nurse, eyeing the lovely animated face, conceded that it might. +“Come, I've been trying futilely to read him asleep, but he is restless. +No excitement, please.” + +“I'll try not to. Perhaps, after all, you had better give him the +wallet.” + +“On the contrary, that would start a series of questions I could not +answer. Come along.” + +When Kitty saw Hawksley she gave a little gasp of astonishment. Why, he +was positively handsome! His dark head, standing out boldly against the +bolstering pillows, the fine lines of his face definite, the pallor--he +was like a Roman cameo. Who and what could he be, this picturesque +foundling? + +His glance flashed into hers delightedly. For hours and hours the +constant wonder where she was, why no one mentioned her, why they evaded +his apparently casual questions. To burst upon his vision in the nadir +of his boredom and loneliness like this! She was glorious, this American +girl. She made him think of a golden scabbard housing a fine +Toledo blade. Hadn't she saved his life? More, hadn't she assumed a +responsibility in so doing? Instantly he purposed that she should not be +permitted to resign the office of good Samaritan. He motioned toward the +nurse's chair; and Kitty sat down, her errand in total eclipse. + +“Just when I never felt so lonely! Ripping!” + +His quick smile was so engaging that Kitty answered it--kindred spirits, +subconsciously recognizing each other. Fire; but neither of them +knew that; or that two lonely human beings of opposite sex, in touch, +constitute a first-rate combustible. + +Quietly the nurse withdrew. There would be a tonic in this meeting for +the patient. Her own presence might neutralize the effect. She had not +spent all those dreadful months in base hospitals without acquiring a +keen insight into the needs of sick men. No harm in letting him have +this pretty, self-reliant girl alone to himself for a quarter of an +hour. She would then return with some broth. + +“How--how are you?” asked Kitty, inanely. + +“Top-hole, considering. Quite ready to be killed all over again.” + +“You mustn't talk like that!” she protested. + + +“Only to show you I was bucking up. Thank you for doing what you did.” + +“I had to do it.” + +“Most women would have run away and left me to my fate.” + +“Not my kind.” + +“Rather not! Your kind would risk its neck to help a stray cat. I say, +what's that you have in your hand?” + +“Good gracious!” Kitty extended the wallet. “It is yours, isn't it?” + +“Yes. I wanted you to bring it to me the way you have. If I hadn't come +back--out of that--it was to be yours.” + +“Mine?”--dumfounded. “But----” + +“Why not? Gregor gone, there wasn't a soul in the world. I was hungry, +and you gave me food. I wanted that to pay you. I'll wager you've never +looked into it.” + +“I had no right to.” + +“See!” He opened the wallet and spread the contents on the counterpane. +“I wasn't so stony as you thought. What? Cash and unregistered bonds. +They would have been yours absolutely.” + +“But I don't--I can't quite,” Kitty stammered--“but I couldn't have kept +them!” + +“Positively yes. You would have shown them to that ripping guardian of +yours, and he would have made you see.” + +“Indeed, yes! He would have been scared to death. You poor man, can't +you see? Circumstantial evidence that I had killed you!” + +“Good Lord! And you're right, too! So it goes. You can't do anything you +want to do. The good Samaritan is never requited; and I wanted to break +the rule. Lord, what a bally mix-up I'd have tumbled you in! I forgot +that you were you, that you would have gone straight to the authorities. +Of course I knew if I pulled through and you found the wallet you would +bring it to me.” + +Kitty no longer had a foot on earth. She floated. Her brain floated, +too, because she could not make it think coherently for her. A +fortune--for a dish of bacon and eggs! The magnificence, the utter +prodigality of such generosity! For a dish of bacon and eggs and a +bottle of milk! Had she left home? Hadn't she fallen asleep, the victim +of another nightmare? A corner of the atmosphere cleared a little. +A desire took form; she wanted the nurse to come back and stabilize +things. In a wavering blur she saw the odd young man restore the money +and bonds and other documents to the wallet. + +“I want you to give this to your guardian when he comes in. I want him +to understand. I say, you know, I'm going to love that old thoroughbred! +He's fine. Fancy his carrying me on his shoulders and eventually +bringing me up here among the clouds! Americans.... Are you all like +that? And you!” + +Kitty's brain began to make preparations to alight, as it were. Cutty. +That gave her a touch of earth. She heard herself say faintly: “And what +about me?” + +“You were brave and kind. To help an unknown, friendless beggar like +that, when you should have turned him over to the police! Makes me feel +a bit stuffy. They left me for dead. I wonder--” + +“What?” + +“If--it wouldn't have been just as well!” + +“You mustn't talk like that! You just mustn't! You're with friends, +real friends, who want to help you all they can.” And then with a little +flash of forced humour, because of the recurrent tightening in her +throat--“Who could be friendless, with all that money?” Instantly she +felt like biting her tongue. He would know nothing of the sad American +habit of trying to be funny to keep a wobbly situation on its legs. +He would interpret it as heartlessness. “I didn't mean that!” With the +Irish impulsiveness which generally weighs acts in retrospection, she +reached over and gripped his hand. + +“I say, you two!” Hawksley closed his eyes for a second. “Wanting to +buck up a chap because you re that sort! All right. I'll stick it out! +You two! And I might be the worst scoundrel unhung!” + +He drew her hand toward his lips, and Kitty had not the power to resist +him. She felt strangely theatrical, a character in a play; for American +men, except in playful burlesque, never kissed their women's hands. The +moment he released the hand the old wave of hysteria rolled over her. +She must fly. The desire to weep, little fool that she was! was breaking +through her defences. Loneliness. The two of them all alone but for +Cutty. She rose, crushing the wallet in her hand. + +Ah, never had she needed that darling mother of hers so much as +now. Tears did not seem to afford relief when one shed them into +handkerchiefs and pillows. But on that gentle bosom, to let loose this +brimming flood, to hear the tender voice consoling! + +“Oh, I say, now! Please!” she heard Johnny Two-Hawks cry out. + +But she rushed on blindly, knocking against the door jamb and almost +upsetting the nurse, who was returning. Somehow she managed to reach the +living room, glad it was dark. Alter sundry reaching about she found +the divan and flung herself upon it. What would he think? What would the +nurse think? That Kitty Conover had suddenly gone stark, raving crazy! +And now that she was in the dark, alone, the desire to weep passed over +and she lay quietly with her face buried in the pillow. But not for +long. + +She sat up. Music--violin music! A gay waltz that made her think of +flashing water, the laughter of children. Tschaikowsky. Thrilled, she +waited for the finale. Silence. Scharwenka's “Polish Dance,” with a +swing and a fire beyond anything she had ever heard before. Another +stretch of silence--a silence full of interrogation points. Then a +tender little sketch, quite unfamiliar. But all at once she understood. +He was imploring her to return. She smiled in the dark; but she knew she +was going to remain right where she was. + +“Miss Conover?” It was the voice of the nurse. + +“Yes. I'm over here on the divan.” + +“Anything wrong?” + +“Good gracious, no! I'm overtired. A little hysterical, maybe. The +parade to-day, with all those wounded boys in automobiles, the music and +colour and excitement--have rather done me up. And the way I rushed up +here. And not finding Cutty--” + +“Anything I can get for you?” + +“No, thanks. I'll try to snatch a little sleep before Cutty returns.” + +“But he may be gone all night!” + +“Will it be so very scandalous if I stay here?” + +“You poor child! Go ahead and sleep. Don't hesitate to call me if you +want anything. I have a mild sedative if you would like it.” + +“No, thanks. I did not know that Mr. Hawksley played.” + +“Wonderfully! But does it bother you?” + +“It kind of makes me choky.” + +“I'll tell him.” + +Kitty, now strangely at peace, snuggled down among the pillows. +Some great Polish violinist, who had roused the bitter enmity of the +anarchist? But no; he was Russian. Cutty had admitted that. It struck +her that Cutty knew a great deal more than Kitty Conover; and so far as +she could see there was no apparent reason for this secrecy. She rather +believed she had Cutty. Either he should tell her everything or she +would run loose, Bolshevik or no Bolshevik. + +Sheep. She boosted one over the bars, another and another. Round +somewhere in the thirties the bars dissolved. The next thing she knew +she was blinking in the light, Cutty, his arms folded, staring down at +her sombrely. There was blood on his face and blood on his hands. + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +Karlov moodily touched the shoulder of the man on the cot. Stefani +Gregor puzzled him. He came to this room more often than was wise, +driven by a curiosity born of a cynical philosophy to discover what it +was that reenforced this fragile body against threats and thirst and +hunger. He knew what he wanted of Gregor--the fiddler on his knees +begging for mercy. And always Gregor faced him with that silent calm +which reminded him of the sea, aloof, impervious, exasperating. Only +once since the day he had been locked in this room had Gregor offered +speech. He, Karlov, had roared at him, threatened, baited, but his +reward generally had been a twisted wintry smile. + +He could not offer physical torture beyond the frequent omissions of +food and water; the body would have crumbled. To have planned this for +months, and then to be balked by something as visible yet as elusive +as quicksilver! Born in the same mudhole, and still Boris Karlov the +avenger could not understand Stefani Gregor the fiddler. Perhaps what +baffled him was that so valiant a spirit should be housed in so weak a +body. It was natural that he, Boris, with the body of a Carpathian bear, +should have a soul to match. But that Stefani, with his paper body, +should mock him! The damned bourgeoisie! + +The quality of this unending calm was understandable: Gregor was always +ready to die. What to do with a man to whom death was release? To hold +the knout and to see it turn to water in the hand! In lying he had +overreached. Gregor, having accepted as fact the reported death of Ivan, +had nothing to live for. Having brought Gregor here to torture he had, +blind fool, taken away the fiddler's ability to feel. The fog cleared. +He himself had given his enemy this mysterious calm. He had taken out +Gregor's soul and dissipated it. + +No. Not quite dissipated. What held the body together was the iron +residue of the soul. Venom and blood clogged Karlov's throat. He could +kill only the body, as he had killed the fiddle; he could not reach the +mystery within. Ah, but he had wrung Stefani's heart there. There +were pieces of the fiddle on the table where Gregor had placed them, +doubtless to weep over when he was alone. Why hadn't he thought to break +the fiddle a little each day? + +“Stefani Gregor, sit up. I have come to talk.” This was formula. Karlov +did not expect speech from Gregor. + +Slowly the thin arms bore up the torso; slowly the legs swung to the +floor. But the little gray man's eyes were bright and quick to-night. + +“Boris, what is it you want?” + +“To talk”--surprised at this unexpected outburst. + +“No, no. I mean, what is it all about--these killings, these burnings?” + +Karlov was ready at all times to expound the theories that appealed to +his dark yet simple mind--humanity overturned as one overturned the sod +in the springtime to give it new life. + +“To give the proletariat what is his.” + +“Ha!” said the little man on the cot. “What is his?” + +“That which capitalism has taken away from him.” + +“The proletariat. The lowest in the human scale--and therefore the most +helpless. They shall rule, say you. My poor Russia! Beaten and robbed +for centuries, and now betrayed by a handful of madmen--with brains +atrophied on one side! You are a fool, Boris. Your feet are in strange +quicksands and your head among chimeras. You write some words on a piece +of paper, and lo! you say they are facts. Without first proving your +theories correct you would ram them down the throat of the world. The +world rejects you.” + +“Wait and see, damned bourgeoisie!” thundered Karlov, not alive to the +fact that he was being baited. + +“Bourgeoisie? Yes, I am of the middle class; the rogue on top and the +fool below. I see. The rogue and the fool cannot combine unless the +bourgeoisie is obliterated. Go on. I am interested.” + +“Under the soviet the government shall be everything.” + +“As it was in Prussia.” + +Karlov ignored this. “The individual shall never again become rich by +exploiting the poor.” + +Karlov strove to speak calmly. Gregor's willingness to discuss the aims +of the proletariat confused him. He suspected some ulterior purpose +behind this apparent amiability. He must hold down his fury until this +purpose was in the open. + +“Well, that is good,” Gregor admitted. “But somehow it sounds ancient on +my ear. Was there not a revolution in France?” + +“Fool, it is the world that is revolting!” Karlov paused. “And no man in +the future shall see his sister or his daughter made into a loose woman +without redress.” + +“Your proletariat's sister and daughter. But the daughter of the noble +and the daughter of the bourgeoisie--fair game!” + +Sometimes there enters a man's head what might be called a sick idea; +when the vitality is at low ebb and the future holds nothing. Thus there +was a grim and sick idea behind Gregor's gibes. It was in his mind to +die. All the things he had loved had been destroyed. So then, to goad +this madman into a physical frenzy. Once those gorilla-like hands +reached out for him Stefani Gregor's neck would break. + +“Be still, fiddler! You know what I mean. There will be no upper class, +which is idleness and wastefulness; no middle class, the usurers, the +gamblers of necessities, the war makers. One great body of equals shall +issue forth. All shall labour.” + +“For what?” + +“The common good.” + +“Your Lenine offered peace, bread, and work for the overthrow of +Kerensky. What you have given--murder and famine and idleness. Can there +be common good that is based upon the blood of innocents? Did Ivan ever +harm a soul? Have I?” + +“You!” Karlov trembled. “You--with your damned green stones! Did you not +lure Anna to dishonour with the promise to show her the drums, the sight +of which would make all her dreams come true? A child, with a fairy +story in her head!” + +“You speak of Anna! If you hadn't been spouting your twaddle in taverns +you would have had time to instruct Anna against guilelessness and +superstition.” + +“How much did they pay you? Did you fiddle for her to dance?... But I +left their faces in the mud!” + +A madman, with two obsessions. A pitiable Samson with his arms round +the pillars of society to drag it down upon his head because society had +defiled his sister! Ah, how many thousands in Russia like him! A great +yearning filled Gregor's heart, because he understood; but he suppressed +expression of it because the sick idea was stronger. + +“Yes, yes! I loved those green stones because it was born in me to love +beautiful things. Have you forgotten, Boris, the old days in Moscow, +when we were students and I made you weep with my fiddle? There was hope +for you then. You had not become a pothouse orator on the rights of the +proletariat--the red-combed rooster on the smouldering dungheap! Beauty, +no matter in what form, I loved it. Yes, I was mad about those emeralds. +I was always stealing in to see them, to hold them to the light, simply +because they were beautiful.” Gregor's hands flew to his throat, which +he bared. “I lured her there! 'Twas I, Boris!... Those beautiful hands of +yours, fit for the butcher's block! Kill me! Kill me!” + +But Karlov shrank back, covering his eyes. “No! I see now! You wish to +die! You shall live!” He rushed toward the far wall, a huge grotesque +shadow rising to meet him--his own, thrown upon the wall by the wavering +candlelight. He turned shaking, for the temptation had been great. + +At once Gregor realized his failure. The tenseness went out of him. He +spoke calmly. “Yes, I wanted to die. I no longer possess anything. I +lied, Boris; but it is useless to tell you that. I knew nothing of Anna +until it was too late. I wanted to die.” + +Karlov began to pace furiously, the candle flame springing after him +each time he passed it. + +There was a question in Gregor's mind. It rushed to his lips a dozen +times but he dared not voice it. Olga. Since Karlov could not be tempted +to murder, it would be futile to ask for an additional burden of mental +torture. Perhaps it had not happened--the terrible picture he drew in +his mind--since Karlov had not boasted of it. + +“Come, Boris. There is blood on your hands. What is one more daub of +it?” + +Karlov stopped, scowled, and ran his fingers through his hair. Perhaps +some ugly memory stirred the roots of it. “You wish to die!” + +Gregor bent his head to his hands and Karlov resumed his pacing. After a +while Gregor looked up. + +“Private vengeance. You begin your rule with private vengeance.” + +“The vengeance of a people. All the breed. Did France stop at Louis? Do +we tear up the roots of the poisonous toadstool that killed someone we +loved and leave the other toadstools thriving?” + +“To cure the world of all its ills by tearing up the toadstools and the +flowers together--do you call that justice? The proletariat shall have +everything, and he begins by killing off noble and bourgeoisie and +dividing up the loot! Even with his oppression the noble had a right to +live. The bourgeoisie must die because of his benefactions to a people. +The world for the proletariat, and damnation for the rest!” + +“Let each become one of us,” cried Karlov, hoarsely. “We give them that +right.” + +“You lie! You have done nothing but assassinate them when they +surrendered. But tell me, have not you, Lenine, and Trotzky overlooked +something?” + +“What?” Karlov was vaguely grateful for this diversion. The lust to kill +was still upon him and he was fighting it. He must remember that Gregor +wished to die. “What have we overlooked?” + +“Human nature. Can you tear it apart and reconstruct it, as you would a +clock? What of creative genius in this proletariat millennium of yours?” + +“The state will carefully mother that.” + +Gregor laughed sardonically. “Will there be creative genius under your +rule? Will you not suffocate it by taking away the air that energizes +it--ambition? You will have all the present marvels of invention to +start with, but will you ever go beyond? Have you read history and +observed the inexorable? I doubt it. What is progress? A series of +almost imperceptible steps.” + +“Which capitalism has always obstructed,” flung back Karlov. + +“Which capitalism has always made possible. Curb it, yes; but abolish +it, as you have done in unhappy Russia! Why do you starve there? +Poor fool, because you have assassinated those forces which created +food--that is to say, put it where you could get it. Three quarters of +Russia are against you. You read nothing in that? The efficient and the +inefficient, they shall lie down together as the lion and the ass, +to paraphrase. They shall become equal because you say so. What is, +fundamentally, this Bolshevism? The revolt of the inefficient. The +mantle of horror that was Germany's you have torn from her shoulders and +thrown upon yours. Fools!” + +The anarch's huge fists became knotted; wrinkles corrugated his +forehead; but he did not stir. Gregor wanted to die. + +Gregor pointed with trembling hand toward the brown litter on the table. +“To destroy. You shattered a soul there. You tore mine apart when +you did it. For what? To better humanity? No; to rend something, to +obliterate something that was beautiful. Demolition. Go on. You will +tear and rend until exhaustion comes, then some citizen king, some +headstrong Napoleon, will step in. The French Revolution taught you +nothing. You play 'The Marseillaise' in the Neva Prospekt and miss the +significance of that song. Liberty? You choose license. Equality? You +deny it in your acts. Fraternity? You slaughter your brothers.” + +“Be silent!” roared Karlov, wavering. + +But Gregor continued with a new-found hope. He saw that his jeers +were wearing down the other's control. Perhaps the weak side was the +political. Karlov was a fanatic. There might yet be death in those +straining fingers. + +“To seize by confiscation, without justice, indiscriminately all that +the group efficient laboriously constructed. I enter your house, kill +your family and steal your silver. Are your acts fundamentally different +from mine? Remember, I am speaking from the point of view as three +quarters of Russia see it, and all the other civilized nations. There +may be something magnificent in that soviet constitution of yours; but +you have deluged it in blood and folly. Ostensibly you are dividing up +the great estates, but actually you are parcelling them out and charging +rent. You will not own anything. The state shall own all the property. +What will be the patriotism of the man who has nothing? Why defend +something that is only his government's, not his own? You are legalizing +women as cows. The sense of motherhood will vanish when a woman may not +select her mate. What is the greatest thing in the world? The human need +of possession. To own something, however little. The spur of creative +genius. Human beings will never be equal except in lawful privileges. +The skillful will outpace the unskillful; the thrifty will take from +the improvident; genius will overtop mediocrity. And you will change all +this with a scrape of your bloody pen!” + +Karlov's body began to rock and sway like an angry bear's; but still he +held his ground. Gregor wanted to die, to cheat him. + +“What of power?” went on his baiter. “Capitalism of might. Lenine and +Trotzky; are they--have they been--honest? Has Russia actually voted +them into office? They sit in the seats of the mighty by the capitalism +of force. For the capitalism of money, which is progress physical and +moral, you substitute the capitalism of force, which is terror. You +speak of yourselves as internationalists. Bats, that is the judgment +day of God--internationalism! For only on the judgment day will nations +become a single people.” + +A short silence. Gregor was beginning to grow weak. Presently he picked +up the thread of his diatribe. + +“I have lived in England, France, Italy, and here. I am competent to +draw comparisons. Where you went to distill poison I went to absorb +facts. And I found that here in this great democracy is the true idea. +But you will not read the lesson.” + +Sweat began to drop from Karlov's beetling eyebrows. + +“You will fail miserably here. Why? Because the Americans are the +greatest of individual property owners. The sense of possession is +satisfied. And woe to the fool who suggests they surrender this. Little +wooden houses, thousands and thousands of them, with a small plot of +ground in the rear where a man in the springtime may dig his hands into +the soil and say gratefully to God, 'Mine, mine!' I, too, am a Russ. I +thought in the beginning that you would take this country as an example, +a government of the people, by the people, for the people. Wrongs? Yes. +But day by day these wrongs are being righted. No lesson in this for +Trotzky, a beer-hall orator like yourself. Ten million men drafted to +carry arms. Did they revolt? Shoulder to shoulder the selected millions +marched to the great ships, shoulder to shoulder they pressed toward the +Rhine. No lesson in that! + +“Capitalism, seeking to save its loans, you rant! Capitalism of blood +and money that asked only for simple justice to mankind. The ideal of a +great people--a mixture of all bloods, even German! No lessons in these +tremendous happenings! And you babble about your damned proletariat who +represents the dregs of Russia. What is he? The inefficient, whining +that the other man has the luck, so kill him! Russia, the kindly +ox, fallen among wolves! You cannot tear down the keystone of +civilization--which took seven thousand years to construct--insert it +upside down, and expect the arch to stand. You have your chance to prove +your theories. Prove them in Petrograd and Moscow, and you will not have +to go forth with the torch. And what is this torch but the hidden fear +that you may be wrong?... To wreck the world before you are found out! +You are idiots, and you have turned Russia into a madhouse! Spawns from +the dung-heap!” + +“Damn you, Stefani Gregor!” Karlov rushed to the cot, raised his +terrible fists, his chest heaving. Gregor waited. “No, no! You wish to +die!” The madman swung on his heels and dashed toward the door, sweeping +the pieces of the violin to the floor as he passed the table. + +Gregor feebly drew himself back upon his cot and laid his face in the +pillow. + +“Ivan--my violin--all that I knew and loved--gone! And God will not let +me die!” + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +From a window in one of the vacant warehouses, twenty-odd feet away +Cutty, from an oblique angle, had witnessed the peculiar drama without +being able to grasp head or tail to it. For two hours he had crouched +behind his window, watching the man on the cot and wondering if he would +ever turn his face toward the candlelight. Then Karlov had entered. +Gregor's ironic calm--with the exception of the time he had bared his +throat--and Karlov's tempestuous exit baffled him. To the eye it had the +appearance of a victory for Gregor and a defeat for Karlov, but Cutty +had long ago ceased to believe his eyes without some corroborative +evidence of auricular character. + +He had recognized both men. Karlov answered to Kitty's description as +an old glove answers to the hand. And no man, once having seen Gregor, +could possibly forget his picturesque head. The old chap was alive! This +fact made the night's adventure tally one hundred per cent. How to get a +cheery word to him, to buck him up with, the promise of help? A hard +nut to crack; so many obstacles. Primarily, this was a Federal affair. +Yonder hid the werewolf and his pack, and it would be folly to send +them scattering just for the sake of advising Gregor that he was being +watched over. + +Underneath the official obligation there was a personal interest in not +risking the game to warn Gregor. Cutty was now positive that the drums +of jeopardy were hidden somewhere in this house. To perform three acts, +then: Save Gregor, capture Karlov and his pack, and privately confiscate +the emeralds. Findings were keepings. No compromise regarding those +green stones. It would not particularly hurt his reputation with St. +Peter to play the half rogue once in a lifetime. Besides, St. Peter, +hadn't he stolen something himself back there in the Biblical days; +or got into a scrape or something? The old boy would understand. Cutty +grinned in the dark. + +Any obsession is a blindfold. A straight course lay open to Cutty, +but he chose the labyrinthian because he was obsessed. He wanted +those emeralds. Nothing less than the possession of them would, to his +thinking, round out a varied and active career. Later, perhaps, he would +declare the stones to the customs and pay the duty; perhaps. Thus his +subsequent mishaps this night may be laid to the fact that he thought +and saw through green spectacles. + +The idea that the jewels were hidden near by made it imperative that he +should handle this affair exclusively. Coles, the operative he had sent +to negotiate with Karlov, was conceivably a prisoner upstairs or down. +Coles knew about the drums, and they must not turn up under his eye. +Federal property, in that event. + +If ever he laid his hands upon the drums he would buy something gorgeous +for Kitty. Little thoroughbred! + +Time for work. Without doubt Karlov had cellar exits through this +warehouse or the other. The job on hand would be first to locate these +exits, and then to the trap on the roof. With his pocket lamp blazing a +trail he went down to the cellar and carefully inspected the walls that +abutted those of the house. Nothing on this side. + +He left the warehouse and hugged the street wall for a space. The street +was deserted. Instead of passing Karlov's abode he wisely made a detour +of the block. He reached the entrance to the second warehouse without +sighting even a marauding tom. In the cellar of this warehouse he +discovered a newly made door, painted skillfully to represent the +limestone of the foundation. Tiptop. + +Immediately he outlined the campaign. There should be two drives--one +from the front and another from the roof--so that not an anarchist or +Bolshevik could escape. The mouth of the Federal sack should be held +at this cellar exit. No matter what kind of game he played offside, +the raid itself must succeed absolutely. Nothing should swerve him from +making these plans as perfect as it was humanly possible. He would be +on hand to search Karlov himself. If the drums were not on him he would +return and pick the old mansion apart, lath by lath. Gay old ruffian, +wasn't he? + +Another point worth considering: He would keep his discoveries under +cover until the hour to strike came. Some over-zealous subordinate might +attempt a coup on his own and spoil everything. + +He picked his way to the far end of the cellar, to the doors. Locks +gone. He took it for granted that the real-estate agent would not come +round with prospective tenants. These doors would take them into the +trucking alley, where there were a dozen feasible exits. There was no +way out of the house yard, as the brick wall, ten feet high and running +from warehouse to warehouse, was blind. Now for the trap on the roof. + +He climbed the three flights of stairs crisscrossed and festooned with +ancient cobwebs. Occasionally he sneezed in the crook of his elbow, +philosophizing over the fact that there was a lot of deadwood property +in New York. Americans were eternally on the move. + +The window from which he intended dropping to the house roof was +obdurate. Only the upper half was movable. With hardly any noise at all +he pulled this down, straddled it, balanced himself, secured a good grip +on the ledge, and let himself down. The tips of his shoes, rubber-soled, +just reached the roof. He landed silently. + +The glare of the street lamp at the corner struck the warehouse, and +this indirect light was sufficient to work by. He made the trap after a +series of extra-cautious steps. The roof was slanting and pebbled, and +the least turn of the foot might start a cascade and bell an alarm. A +comfort-loving dress-suiter like himself, playing Old Sleuth, when he +ought to be home and in bed! It was all of two-thirty. What the deuce +would he do when there were no more thrills in life? + +He stooped and caught hold of a corner of the trap to test it--and drew +back with a silent curse. Glass! He had cut his hand. The beggars had +covered the trap with cement and broken glass, sealing it. It would +take time to cut round the trap; and even then he wouldn't be sure; they +might have nailed it down from the inside. The worst of it was he would +have to do the work himself; and in the meantime Karlov would have a +fair wind for his propaganda gas, and perhaps the disposal of the drums +to some collector who wasn't above bargaining for smuggled emeralds. +Odd, though, that Karlov should have made a prisoner of Coles. What lay +behind that manoeuvre? Well, this trap must be liberated; no getting +round that. + +Hang it, he wasn't going to be dishonest exactly; it would be simply +a double play, half for Uncle Sam and half for himself. The idea of +offering freely his blood and money to Uncle Sam and at the same time +putting one over on the old gentleman had a novel appeal. + +He stood up and wiped a tickling cobweb from his cheek. As the window +from which he had descended came into range he stared, loose-jawed. Then +be chuckled, as thoroughbred adventurers generally chuckle when they +find themselves at the bottom of the sack, the mouth of which has +simultaneously and automatically closed. Wasn't he the brainy old top? +Wasn't he Sherlock Holmes plus? Old fool, how the devil was he going to +get back through that window? + +The drums of jeopardy--even to think of them was unlucky! Not to have +planned a retreat; to have climbed down a well and cut the bucket rope! +For in effect that was precisely what he had done. Only wings could +carry him up to that window. With sardonic humour he felt of his +shoulder blades. Not a feather in sight. Then he touched his ears. Ah, +here was something definite; they had grown several inches during the +past few hours. Monumental ass! + +Of course there would be the drain. He could escape; but, dear Lord! +with enough noise to wake the dead. And that would write “Finis” to this +particular adventure. The quarry and the emeralds would be gone before +he could return with help. When everything had gone so smoothly--a jolt +like this! + +A crowded day, and no mistake, as full of individual acts as a bill at +a vaudeville, trained-animal act last. Was it possible that he had +gone fiddle hunting that morning, netting an Amati worth ten thousand +dollars? Hawksley--no, he couldn't blame Hawksley. Still, if this young +Humpty-Dumpty hadn't been pushed off his wall he, Cutty, would not now +be marooned upon this roof 'twixt the devil and the deep blue sea. To +remain here until sunrise would be impossible; to slide down the drain +was equally impossible--that is, if he ever wanted to see Boris Karlov +again. The way of the transgressor was hard. + +He sat on his heels and let his gaze rove four-square, permitting no +object to escape. He saw a clothes pole leaning against the chimney. +Evidently the former tenants had hung up their laundry here. There was +no clothesline, however. Caught, jolly well, blooming well caught! If +ever this got abroad he would be laughed out of the game. He wasn't +going to put one over on Uncle Sam after all. There might be some kind +of a fire escape on the front of the house. No harm in taking a look; it +would serve to pass the time. + +There was the usual frontal parapet about three feet in height. Upturned +in the shadow lay a gift from the gods-a battered kitchen chair, +probably used to reach the clothesline in the happy days when the word +“Bolshevism” was known to only a select few dark angels. + +Cutty waved a hand cheerfully if vaguely toward his guiding star, picked +up the chair, commandeered the clothes pole, and silently manoeuvred to +the wall of the warehouse. Standing on the chair he placed the tip of +the pole against the top of the upper frame and pushed the frame halfway +up. He repeated this act upon the obdurate lower half. He heaved slowly +but with all his force. Glory be, the lower half went up far enough to +afford ingress! He would eat his breakfast in the apartment as usual. +To-morrow night he would establish his line of retreat by fetching a +light rope ladder. There was sweat at the roots of his hair, however, +when he finally gained the street. He was very tired. He observed +mournfully that the vigour which had always recharged itself, no +matter how recklessly he had drawn upon it, was beginning to protest. +Fifty-two. + +Well, his troubles were over for the night. So he believed. Arriving +home, dirty and spent, he had to find Kitty asleep on the divan! + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +“Kitty,” he said, breaking the tableau, “what are you doing here?” + +“You've been hurt! There is blood on you!” + +“A trifling cut. But I'm hurt, nevertheless, that you should be so +thoughtless as to come here against my orders. It doesn't matter that +Karlov has given up the idea of having you followed. But for the sake +of us all you must be made to understand that we are dealing with high +explosives and poison gas. It's not what might happen to me or to Uncle +Sam's business. It's you. Any moment they may take it into their heads +to get at me and Hawksley through you. That's why we watch over you. You +don't want to see Hawksley done in, do you? It's real tragedy, Kitty, +and nobody can guess what the end is going to be.” + +Kitty's lip quivered. “Cutty, if you talk like that to me I shall cry.” + +“Good Lord, what about?”--bewildered. + +“About everything. I've been on the verge of hysterics all day.” + +“Kitty, you poor child, what's happened?” + +“Nothing--everything. Lonesome. When I saw all those mothers and wives +and sisters and sweethearts on the curb to-day, watching their boys +march by, it hit me hard. I was alone. Nobody. So please don't be cross +with me. I'm on the ragged edge. Silly, I know. But we women often go +to pieces over nothing, without any logical reason. Ready to face murder +and battle and sudden death; and then to blow up, as you men say it, +over nothing. I had to move, go somewhere, do something; so I came +here. But I came on--what do you call it?--official business. Here!” She +offered him the wallet. + +“What's this?” + +“Belongs to Johnny Two-Hawks. He hid it that night behind my flatirons +on the range. Why, Cutty, he's rich!” + +“Did he show the contents?” + +“Only the money and the bonds. He said if he had died the money and +bonds would have been mine. + +“Providing Gregor was also dead.” Cutty looked into the wallet, but +disturbed nothing. “I imagine these funds are actually Gregor's.” + +“He told me to give the wallet to you. And so I waited. I fell asleep. +So please don't scold me.” + +“I'm a brute! But it's because you've become so much to me that I was +angry. You're Tommy and Molly's girl, and I've got to watch out for you +until you reach some kind of a port.” + +“Thank you for the flowers. You'll never know just what they did for me. +There was somebody who gave me a thought.” + +“Kitty, I honestly don't get you. A beauty like you, lonesome!” + +“That's it. I am pretty. Why should I deny it? If I'd been homely I +shouldn't have been ashamed to invite my friends to my shabby home. I +shouldn't have cold shouldered everybody through false pride. But where +have you been, and what have you been doing?” + +“Official business. But I just missed being a fine jackass. I'll look +into the wallet after I've cleaned up. I'm a mess of gore and dust. Is +it interesting stuff?” dreading her answer. + +“The wallet? I did not look into it. I had no right.” + +“Ah! Well, I'll be back in two jigs.” + +He hurried off, relieved to learn that the secret was still beyond +Kitty's knowledge. Of course Hawksley wouldn't carry anything in the +wallet by which his true identity might be made known. Still, there +would be stuff to excite her interest and suspicion. Hawksley had shown +her some of that three hundred thousand probably. What a game! + +He would say nothing about his own adventures and discoveries. He worked +on the theory that the best time to tell about something was after it +had become a fact. But no theory is perfect; and in this instance his +reticence was going to cost him intolerable agony in the near future. + +Within a quarter of an hour he was back in the living room. Kitty was +out of sight; probably had curled up on the divan again. He would not +disturb her. Hawksley's wallet! He drew a chair under the reading lamp +and explored the wallet. Money and bonds he rather expected, but the +customs appraiser's receipt was like a buffet. The emeralds belonged +honorably to his guest! All his own plans were knocked galley-west by +this discovery. + +An odd sense of indignation blazed up in him, as though someone had +imposed upon him. The sport was gone, the fun of the thing; it became +merely official business. To appropriate a pair of smuggled emeralds was +a first-class sporting proposition, with a humorous twist. As it stood +now, he would be picking Hawksley's pocket; and he wasn't rogue enough +for that. Hang the luck! + +Emeralds, rubies, sapphires, pearls, and diamonds! No doubt many of them +with histories--in a bag hung to his neck--and all these thousands of +miles! Not since the advent of the Gaekwar of Baroda into San Francisco, +in 1910, had so many fine stones passed through that port of entry. + +But why hadn't Hawksley inquired about them? Stoic indifference? A good +loser? How had he got through the customs without a lot of publicity? +The Russian consul of the old regime probably; and an appraiser who was +a good sport. To have come safely to his destination, and then to have +lost out! The magnificent careless generosity of putting the wallet +behind Kitty's flatirons, to be hers if he didn't pull through! Why, +this fiddling derelict was a man! Stood up and fought Karlov with his +bare fists; wasn't ashamed to weep over his mother's photograph; +and fiddled like Heifetz. All right. This Johnny Two-Hawks, as Kitty +persisted in calling him, was going to reach his Montana ranch. His +friend Cutty would take it upon himself to see to that. + +It struck him that after all he would have to play the game as he had +planned it. Those gems falling into the hands of the Federal agents +would surely bring to light Hawksley's identity; and Hawksley should +have his chance. + +Cutty then came upon the will. Somehow the pathos of it went deep into +his heart. The poor devil!--a will that hadn't been witnessed, the +handwriting the same as that on the passport. If he had fallen into +the hands of the police they would have justifiably locked him up as +a murder suspect. Two-Hawks! It was a small world. He returned the +contents to the wallet, leaving out the will, however. This he thrust +into a drawer. + +“Coffee?” said Kitty at his elbow. + +“Kitty? I'd forgotten you! I thought I smelt coffee. Just what I wanted, +too, only I hadn't brains enough left to think of it. Smells better than +anything Kuroki makes.... Tastes better, too. You're going to make some +lucky duffer a fine wife.” + +“Is there anything you can tell me, Cutty?” + +“A whole lot, Kitty; only I'm twenty years too old.” + +“I mean the wallet. Who is he?” + +Cutty drained the cup slowly. A good coherent lie, to appease Kitty's +curiosity; half a truth, something hard to nail. He set down the empty +cup, building. By the time he had filled his pipe and lit it he was +ready. + +Something bored up through the subconscious, however--a query. Why +hadn't he told her the plain truth at the start? Wasn't on account of +the drums. He hadn't kept her in the dark because of the drums. He could +have trusted her with that part of it--his tentative piracy. That to +divulge Hawksley's identity would be a menace to her peace of mind now +appeared ridiculous; and yet he had worked forward from this assumption. +No answer to the query. Generally he thought clearly enough; but +somewhere along this route he had made a muddle of things and couldn't +find the spot. The only point clearly defined was that he should wish +to keep her out of the affair because there were elements of positive +danger. But somewhere inside of him was a question asking for +recognition, and it eluded him. Nothing could be solved until this +question got out of the fog. Even now he might risk the whole truth; but +the lie he had woven appeared too good to waste. + +Human frailty. The most accomplished human being is the finished liar. +Never to forget a detail, to remember step by step the windings, over a +ticklish road. And Cutty, for all his wide newspaper experience, was a +poor liar because he had been brought up on facts. Perhaps his lie might +have passed had he not been so fagged. The physical labours of the night +had dulled his perceptions. + +“Ab, but that tastes good!”--as he blew forth a wavering ring of smoke. + +“It ought to have at least one merit,” replied Kitty, wrinkling her +nose. What a fine profile Cutty had! “Now, who and what is he? I'm dying +to know.” + +“An odd story; probably hundreds like it. You see, the Bolsheviki have +driven out of the country or killed all the nobles and bourgeoisie. Some +of them have escaped--into China, Sweden, India, wherever they could +find an open route. To his story there are many loose ends, and Hawksley +is not the talking kind. You mustn't repeat what I tell you. Hawksley, +with all that money and a forged English passport, would have a good +deal of trouble explaining if he ran afoul the police. There is no real +proof that the money is his or Gregor's. As a matter of fact, it is +Gregor's, and Hawksley was bringing it to him. Hawksley is Gregor's +protege.” + +Kitty nodded. This dovetailed with what Johnny Two-Hawks had told her +that night. + +“How the two came together originally I don't know. Gregor was in his +younger days a great violinist, but unknown to the American public. +Early in his career he speculated with his concert earnings and turned +a pot of money. He dropped the professional career for that of a +country gentleman. He had a handsome estate, and lived sensibly. He sent +Hawksley to England to school and spent a good deal of time there with +him, teaching him how to play the fiddle, for which it seems Hawksley +had a natural bent. He had to Anglicize his name; for Two-Hawks would +have made people laugh. To be a gentleman, Kitty, one does not have to +be a prince or a grand duke. Gregor was a polished gentleman, and he +turned Hawksley into one.” + +Again Kitty nodded, her eyes sparkling. + +“The Russ--the educated Russ--is a queer biscuit. Got to have a finger +in some political pie, and political pies in Russia before the war were +lese-majesty. The result--Gregor got in wrong with his secret society +and the political police and was forced to fly to save his life. But +before he fled he had all his convertible funds transferred. Only his +estate was confiscated. Hawksley was in London when the war broke out. +There was a lot of red tape, naturally, regarding the funds. I shan't +bother you with that, Hawksley, hoping to better his protector's future, +returned to Russia and joined his regiment and fought until the Czar +abdicated. Foretasting the trend of events, he tried to get back to +England, but that was impossible. He was permitted to retire to the +Gregor estate, where he remained until the uprising of the Bolsheviki. +Then he started across the world to join Gregor.” + +“That was brave.” + +“It certainly was. I imagine that Hawksley's journey has that of Ulysses +laid away on the shelf. Karlov was the head of the society which had +voted Gregor's death. So he had agents watching Hawksley. And Karlov +himself undertook the chase across Russia, China, and the Pacific.” + +“I'm glad I gave him something to eat. But Gregor, a valet in a hotel, +with all that money!” + +“The red tape.” + +“What a dizzy world we live in, Cutty!” + +“Dizzy is the word.” Cutty sighed. His yarn had passed a very shrewd +censor. “Karlov feels it his duty to kill off all his countryman who do +not agree with his theories. He wanted these funds here, but Hawksley +was too clever for him. Remember, now, not a word of this to Hawksley. I +tell you this in confidence.” + +“I promise.” + +“You'll have to spend the night here. It's round four, and the power has +been shut off. There's the stairs, but it would be dawn before you reach +the street.” + +“Who cares?” + +“I do. I don't believe you're in a good mood to send back to that +garlicky warren. I wish to the Lord you'd leave it!” + +“It's difficult to find anything desirable within my means. Rents are +terrifying. I'll sleep on the divan. A rug or a blanket. I'm a silly +fool, I suppose.” + +“You can have a guest room.” + +“I'd rather the divan; less scandalous. Cutty, I forgot. He played for +me.” + +“What? He did?” + +“I had to run out of the room because some things he said choked me up. +Didn't care whether he died or not. He was even lonelier than I. I lay +down on the divan, and then I heard music. Funny, but somehow I fancied +he was calling me back; and I had to hang on to the divan. Cutty, he is +a great violinist.” + +“Are you fond of music?” + +“I am mad about it! I'm always running round to concerts; and I'd walk +from Battery to Bronx to hear a good violinist.” + +Fiddles and Irish hearts. Swiftly came the vision of Hawksley fiddling +the heart out of this lonely girl--if he had the chance. And he, Cutty, +was going to fascinate her--with what? He rose and took her by the +shoulders, bringing her round so that the light was full in her face. +Slate-blue eyes. + +“Kitty, what would you say if I kissed you?” Inwardly he asked: “Now, +what the devil made me say that?” + +The sinister and cynical idea leaped from its ambush. “Why, Cutty, I--I +don't believe I should mind. It's--it's you!” Vile wretch that she was! + +Cutty, noting the lily succeeding the rose, did not kiss her. Fate has +a way of reversing the illogical and giving it logical semblance. It was +perfectly logical that he should not kiss her; and yet that was exactly +what he should have done. The fatherliness of the salute--and he +couldn't have made it anything else--would have shamed Kitty's peculiar +state of mind out of existence and probably sent back to its eternal +sleep that which was strangely reawaking in his lonely heart. + +“Forgive me, Kitty. That wasn't exactly nice of me, even if I was trying +to be funny.” + +She tore away from him, flung herself upon the divan, her face in the +pillows, and let down the dam. + +This wild sobbing--apparently without any reason terrified Cutty. He +put both hands into his hair, but he drew them out immediately without +retaining any of the thinning gray locks. Done up, both of them; that +was the matter. He longed to console her, but knew not what to say or +how to act. He had not seen a woman weep like this in so many years that +he had forgotten the remedies. + +Should he call the nurse? But that would only add to Kitty's +embarrassment, and the nurse would naturally misinterpret the situation. +He couldn't kneel and put his arms round her; and yet it was a situation +that called for arms and endearments. He had sense enough to recognize +that. Molly's girl crying like that, and he able to do nothing! It was +intolerable. But what was she weeping about? + +Covering the divan was a fine piece of Bokhara embroidery. He drew this +down over Kitty and tucked her in, turned off the light, and proceeded +to his bedroom. + +Kitty's sobs died eventually. There was an occasional hiccup. That, too, +disappeared. To play--or even think of playing--a game like that! She +was despicable. A silly little fool, too, to suppose that so keen a mind +as Cutty's would not see through the artifice! What was happening to her +that she could let such a thought into her head? + +By and by she was able to pick up Cutty's narrative and review it. Not a +word about the drums of jeopardy, the mark of the thong round Hawksley's +neck. Hadn't she let him know that she knew the author of that +advertisement offering to buy the drums, no questions asked? Very well, +then; if he would not tell her the truth she would have to find it out +herself. + +Meanwhile, Cutty sat on the edge of his bed staring blankly at the +rug, trying to find a pick-up to the emotions that beset him. One thing +issued clearly: He had wanted to kiss the child. He still wanted to kiss +her. Why hadn't he? Unanswerable. It was still unanswerable even when +the pallor of dawn began slowly to absorb the artificial light of his +bed lamp. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +When Cutty awoke--having had about two hours' sleep--he was instantly +conscious that the zest had gone from the adventure. It had resolved +itself into official business into which he had projected himself +gratuitously; and having assumed the offices of chief factor, he would +have to see the affair through, victim of his own greediness. It did not +serve to marshal excuses. He had frankly entered the affair in the role +of buccaneer; and here he was, high and dry on the reef. + +The drums of jeopardy, so far as he was concerned, had been shot into +the moon two hundred thousand miles out of reach. He found himself +resenting Hawksley's honesty in the matter of the customs. + +But immediately this sense of resentment caused him to chuckle. +Certainly some ancestor of his had been a Black Bart or a Galloping +Dick. + +He would put a few straight questions to Hawksley, however. To have lost +all those precious stones and not to have inquired about them was a +bit foggy, wasn't normal, human. Unless--bang on the plexus came the +thought!--the beggar had hidden them himself. He had been exceedingly +clever in hiding the wallet. Come to think of it, he hadn't mentioned +that, either. Of course he had hidden the stones--either in Gregor's +apartment or in Kitty's. Blind as a bat. Now he understood why Karlov +had made a prisoner of Coles. The old buzzard had sensed a trap and had +countered it. The way of the transgressor was hard. His punishment for +entertaining a looter's idea would be work when he wanted to loaf and +enjoy himself. + +Arriving at Hawksley's door he was confronted by a spectacle not without +its humorous touch: The nurse extending a bowl and Hawksley staring at +the sky beyond the window, stonily. + +“But you must!” insisted Miss Frances. + +“Chops or beefsteak!” + +“It will give you nausea.” + +“Permit me to find out. Dash it, I'm hungry!” Hawksley declared. “I'm no +fever patient. A smart rap on the head; nothing more than that. Healthy +food will draw the blood down from there. Haven't lost anything but a +few hours of consciousness, and you treat me as though I'd been jolly +well peppered with shrapnel and gassed. Touch that stuff? Rather not! +Chops or beefsteak!” + +“Let him have it, Miss Frances,” advised Cutty from the doorway. + +“But it's unusual,” replied the nurse as a final protest. + +“Give it a try. Is he strong enough to sit up through breakfast?” + +“He's really not fit. But if he insists on doing the one he might as +well do the other.” + +“Righto!”--from the patient. + +“Will you tell Kuroki to make it a beefsteak breakfast for four? I know +how Mr. Hawksley feels. Been through the same bout.” Cutty wanted Miss +Frances out of the room. + +“Very well. Only, I've warned him.” Miss Frances left, somewhat miffed. + +“Thanks,” said Hawksley, smiling. “She thinks I'm a canary.” + +“Whereas you're an eagle.” + +“Or a vulture.” + +Cutty chew up a chair. “Frankly, I believe a good breakfast will put you +a peg up.” + +“A beefsteak!” Hawksley stared ecstatically at the ceiling. “You see, +I'm naturally tough. Always went in for rough sports--football, rowing, +boxing. Poor old Stefani's idea; and not so bad, either. Of course he +was always worrying about my hands; but I always took great care to keep +them soft and pliant. Which sounds rummy, considering the pounding I +used to give and take. My word, I used to go to bed with my hands done +up in ointments like a professional beauty! Of course I'm dizzy yet, and +the bally spot is sore; but solid food and some exercise will have me +off your hands in no time. I don't fancy being coddled, y'know. I've +been trouble enough.” + +“Don't let that worry you. I'll bring some togs in; flannels and soft +shirts. We're about the same height. Anyhow, the difference won't be +noticeable in flannels. I've had to tell Miss Conover a bit of fiction. +I'll tell you, so if need arises you can back me up.” + +When Cutty finished his romance Hawksley frowned. “All said and done, +if I'm not that splendid old chap's protege, what am I? But for his +patience and kindness I'd have run true to the blood. He was with me at +the balancing age, when a chap becomes a man or a rotter. He actually +gave up a brilliant career because of me. He is a great musician, with +that strange faculty of taking souls out of people and untwisting them. +I have the gift, too, in a way; but there's always a bit of the devil in +me when I play. Natural bent, I fancy. And they've killed him!” + +“No,” said Cutty, slowly. “But this is for your ear alone: He's alive; +and one of these days I'll bring him to you. So buck up.” + +“Alive! Stefani alive!” whispered Hawksley. He stretched out his hand +rather blindly, and Cutty was surprised at the strength of the grip. +“Makes me feel choky. I say, are all Americans good Samaritans?” + +Cutty put this aside because he did not care to disillusion Hawksley. +“I found an appraiser's receipt in your wallet. You carried some fine +jewels. Did you hide them or did Karlov get them? It struck me as +odd that you haven't inquired about them.” The change that came into +Hawksley's face alarmed Cutty. The rich olive skin became chalky and the +eyes closed. “What is it? Shall I call Miss Frances?” + +“No.” Hawksley opened his eyes, but looked dully straight ahead. “The +stones! I was trying to forget! My God, I was trying to forget!” + +“But they were yours?” Cutty was mystified beyond expression. + +“Yes, mine, mine, mine!”--panting. “Damn them! Some day I'll tell you. +But just now I can't toe the mark. I was trying to forget them! +Against my heart, gnawing into my soul like the beetle of the Spanish +Inquisition!” Silence. “But they were future bread and butter--for +Gregor as well as for myself. They got them, and may they damn Karlov as +they have damned me! I had no chance when I returned to Gregor's. They +were on me instantly. I put up a fight, but I'd come from a lighted room +and was practically blind. Let them go. Most of those stones came out +of hell, anyhow. Let them go. There is an unknown grave between those +stones and me.” + +The level despair of the tone appalled Cutty. A crime somewhere? There +was still a bottom to this affair he had not plumbed? He rose, deeply +agitated. + +“I'll fetch those togs for you. Miss Conover will breakfast with us, and +the sight of her will give you a brace. I'm sorry. I had to ask you.” + +“Beefsteak and a pretty girl! That's something. I suppose she was +trapped by the lift not running.” Hawksley was trying to meet Cutty +halfway to cover up the tragedy. “I say, why the deuce do you let her +live where she does?” + +“Because I'm not legally her guardian. She is the daughter of the man +and woman I loved best. All I can do is to watch over her. She lives on +her earnings as a newspaper writer. I'd give her half of all I have if I +had the least idea she would accept it.” + +“Fond of her?” + +“Fond of her!” repeated Cutty. “Why, of course I'm fond of her!” There +was a touch of indignation in his tone. + +“Is she fond of you?” + +“I suppose so.” What was the chap driving at? + +“Then marry her,” suggested Hawksley with a cynical smile; “make a +settlement and give her her freedom. Simple enough. What?” + +Cutty stepped back, stunned and terrified. “She would laugh at me!” + +“You never can tell,” replied Hawksley, maintaining the crooked smile. +The devil was blazing in his eyes now. “Try it. It's being done every +day; even here in this big America of yours. From the European point +of view you have compromised her--or she has compromised herself, by +spending the night here. Convention has been disregarded. A ripping good +chance, I call it. You tell me she wouldn't accept benefits, and you +want to help her. If she's the kind I believe her to be, even if she +refuses you she will not be angry. You never can tell what woman will or +won't do.” + +An old and forgotten bit of mental machinery began to set up a +ditter-datter in Cutty's brain. Marry Kitty? Make a settlement, and +then give her her freedom? Rot! Girls of Kitty's calibre were above +such expediencies. He tried to resurrect his interest in the drums of +jeopardy, which he might now appropriate without having to shanghai his +conscience. The clitter-clatter smothered it; indeed, this new racket +upset and demoralized the well-ordered machinery of his thinking +apparatus as applied daily. Marry Kitty! + +“I'm old enough to be her father.” + +“What's that to do with it so long as convention is satisfied?” + +Cutty was so shaken and confused that he missed the tragic irony of the +voice. All the receptive avenues to his brain seemed to have shut down +suddenly. He was conscious only of the clitter-clatter. Marry Kitty! + +“You can't settle money on her,” went on Hawksley, “without scandal. You +can't offer her anything without offending her. And you can't let her go +to rust without having her bit of good times.” + +“Utterly impossible,” said Cutty, to the idea rather than to his +tormentor. + +“Oh, of course, if you have an affair--No, God forgive me, I don't +mean that! I'm a damned ingrate! But your bringing up those stones and +knocking off the top of all the misery piling up in my heart! I was +only trying to hurt you, hurt myself, everybody. Please have a little +patience with me, for I've come out of hell!” Hawksley turned aside his +head. + +“Buck up,” said Cutty, his blazing wrath dropping to a smoulder. “I'll +fetch those togs.” + +What had the boy done to fill him with such tragic bitterness? Was he +Two-Hawks? Cutty dismissed this doubt instantly. He recalled the episode +of the boy's conduct when confronted by the photograph of his mother. +No human being could be a play actor in such a moment. The boy's emotion +had been deep and real. Cutty recognized the fact that he had become as +a block in the middle of a Chinese puzzle; only Fate could move him to +his appointed place. + +But offer marriage to Kitty so that he could provide for her! +Mechanically he rummaged his clothes press for the suit he was to take +to Hawksley. Well, why not? He could settle five thousand a year on her. +His departure for the Balkans--he might be gone a year or more--could be +legally construed as desertion. And with pretty clothes and freedom she +would soon find some young chap to her liking. But would a girl like +Kitty see it from his point of view? The marriage could take place an +hour or two before he went aboard his ship. Hang it, Hawksley wasn't +so far off. Kitty couldn't possibly be offended if he laid the business +squarely on the table. To provide for Molly's girl! + +When Kuroki announced that breakfast was ready, Cutty went into the +living room for Kitty, whom he had not yet seen. He found her by a +window fascinated by the splendour of the panorama as seen in the +morning light. Not a vestige of the tears and disorder in which he had +left her. What had been behind those tears? Dainty and refreshing; to +the eye as though she had stepped out of a bandbox. Compromised? +That was utter rot! Wasn't Miss Frances here? Clitter-clatter, +clitter-clatter. But Cutty was not aware that it was no longer in his +head but in his heart. + +“Breakfast is served, Your Highness,” he announced with a grave salaam. + +Kitty pirouetted. For some reason she could not explain to herself +she wanted to laugh, sing, dance. Perhaps it was because she was only +twenty-four. Or it might have had its origin in the tonicky awakening +among all these beautiful furnishings. + +She assumed a haughty expression--such as the Duchess of +Gerolstein assumes when she appoints the private to the office of +generalissimo--and with a careless wave of the hand said: “Summon His +Highness!” + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +Between Cutty's heart and his throat there was very little space at that +moment for the propelment of sound. Kitty Conover had innocently--he +understood that almost immediately and recovered his mental +balance--Kitty had innocently thrown a bomb at his feet. It did not +matter that it was a dud. The result was the same. For a second, then, +all the terror, all the astounding suspension of thought and action +attending the arrival of a shell on the battlefield were his. As +an aftermath he would have liked very much to sit down. Instead, +maintaining the mock gravity of his expression, he offered his arm, +which Kitty accepted, still the Grand Duchess of Gerolstein. Pompously +they marched into the dining room. But as Kitty saw Hawksley she dropped +the air confusedly, and hesitated. “Good gracious!” she whispered. + +“What's the matter?” Cutty whispered in turn. + +“My clothes!” + +“What's the matter with 'em?” + +“I slept in them!” + +If that wasn't like a woman! It did not matter how she might look to +an old codger, aetat. fifty-two; he didn't count. But a handsome +young chap, now, in white flannels and sport shirt, his head bound +picturesquely-- + +“Don't let that bother you,” he said. “Those duds of his are mine.” + +Still, Cutty was grateful for this little diversion. As he drew back +Kitty's chair he was wholly himself again. At once he dictated the trend +of the conversation, moved it whither he willed, into strange channels, +gave them all a glimpse of his amazing versatility, with vivid shafts of +humour to light up corners. + +Kuroki, who had travelled far with his master these ten years, sometimes +paused in his rounds to nod affirmatively. + +Hawksley listened intently, wondering a bit. What was the dear old +beggar's idea, throwing such fireworks round at breakfast? He stole a +glance at Kitty to see how she was taking it--and caught her stealing a +glance at him. Instantly both switched back to Cutty. Shortly the little +comedy was repeated because neither could resist the invisible force of +some half-conscious inquiry. Third time, they smiled unembarrassedly. +Mind you, they were both hanging upon Cutty's words; only their eyes +were like little children at church, restless. It was spring. + +Without being exactly conscious of what he was doing, Hawksley began +to dress Kitty--that is, he visualized her in ball gowns, in sports, in +furs. He put her on horses, in opera boxes, in limousines. But in none +of these pictures could he hold her; she insisted upon returning to her +kitchen to fry bacon and eggs. + +Then came a twisted thought, rejected only to return; a surprising +thought, so alluring that the sense of shame, of chivalry, could not +press it back. Cutty's words began to flow into one ear and out of +the other, without sense. There was in his heart--put there by the +recollection of the jewels--an indescribable bitterness, a desperate +cynicism that urged him to strike out, careless of friend or foe. Who +could say what would happen to him when he left here? A flash of spring +madness, then to go forth devil-may-care. + +She was really beautiful, full of unsuspected fire. To fan it into white +flame. The whole affair would depend upon whether she cared for music. +If she did he would pluck the soul out of her. She had saved his life. +Well, what of that? He had broken yonder man's bread and eaten his +salt. Still, what of that? Hadn't he come from a race of scoundrels? +The blood--he had smothered and repressed it all his life--to unleash it +once, happen what might. If she were really fond of music! + +Once again Kitty's glance roved back to Hawksley. This time she +encountered a concentration in his unwavering stare. She did not +quite like it. Perhaps he was only thinking about something and wasn't +actually seeing her. Still, it quieted down the fluttering gayety of her +mood. There was a sun spot of her own that became visible whenever her +interest in Cutty's monologue lagged. Perhaps Hawksley had his sun spot. + +“And so,” she heard Cutty say. “Mr. Hawksley is going to become an +American citizen. Kitty, what are some of the principles of good +citizenship?” + +“To be nice to policemen. Not to meddle with politics, because it is +vulgar. To vote perfunctorily. To 'let George do it' when there are +reforms to be brought about. To keep your hat on when the flag goes +by because otherwise you will attract attention. To find fault without +being able to offer remedies. To keep in debt because life here in +America would be monotonous without bill collectors.” + +Cutty interrupted with a laugh. “Kitty, you'll 'scare Hawksley off the +map!” + +“Let him know the worst at once,” retorted Kitty, flashing a smile at +the victim. + +“Spoofing me--what?” said Hawksley, appealing to his host. + +This quality of light irony in a woman was a distinct novelty to +Hawksley. She had humour, then? So much the better. An added zest to the +game he was planning. He recalled now that she was not of the clinging +kind either. A woman with a humorous turn of mind was ten times more +elusive than a purely sentimental one. Give him an hour or two with that +old Amati--if she really cared for music! She would be coming to the +apartment again--some afternoon, when his host was out of the way. +Better still, he would call her by telephone; the plea of loneliness. +Scoundrel? Of course he was. He was not denying that. He would embark +upon this affair without the smug varnish of self-lies. Fire--to play +with it! + +He ate his portion of beefsteak, potatoes, and toast, and emptied his +coffee cup. It was really the first substantial meal he had had in many +hours. A feeling of satisfaction began to permeate him. He smiled at +Miss Frances, who shook her head dubiously. She could not quite make him +out pathologically. Perhaps she had been treating him as shell-shocked +when there was nothing at all the matter with his nerves. + +Presently Kuroki came in with a yellow envelope, which he laid at the +side of Cutty's plate. + +“Telegrams!” exploded Cutty. “Hang it, I don't want any telegrams!” + +“Open it and have it over with,” suggested Kitty. + +“If you don't mind.” + +It was the worst kind of news--a summons to Washington for conference. +Which signified that the Government's plans were completed and that +shortly he would be on his way to Piraeus. + +A fine muddle! Hawksley in no condition to send upon his way; Kitty's +affair unsettled; the emeralds still in camera obscura; Karlov at +liberty with his infernal schemes, and Stefani Gregor his prisoner. Wild +horses, pulling him two ways. A word, and Karlov would come to the end +of his rope suddenly. But if he issued that word the whole fabric he +had erected so painstakingly would blow away like cardboard. If those +emeralds turned up in the possession of any man but himself the ensuing +complications would be appalling. For he himself would be forced to tell +what he knew about the stones: Hawksley would be thrust conspicuously +into the limelight, and sooner or later some wild anarch would kill him. +Known, Hawksley would not have one chance in a thousand. Kitty would +be dragged into the light and harassed and his own attitude toward +her misunderstood. All these things, if he acted upon his oath. +Nevertheless, he determined to risk suspension of operations until he +returned from Washington. There was one sound plank to cling to. He had +first-hand information that anarchistic elements would remain in their +noisome cellars until May first. If he were not ordered abroad until +after that, no harm would follow his suspension of operations. + +“Bad news?” asked Kitty, anxiously. + +“Aggravating rather than bad. I am called to Washington. May be gone +four or five days. Official business. Leaves things here a bit in the +air.” + +“I'll stay as long as you need me,” said Miss Frances. + +“I'd rather a man now. You've been a brick. You need rest. I've a chap +in mind. He'll make our friend here toe the mark. A physical instructor, +ex-pugilist; knows all about broken heads.” + +“I say, that's ripping!” cried Hawksley. “Give me your man, and I'll be +off your hands within a week. The sooner you stop fussing over me the +sooner the crack in my head will cease to bother me. + +“Kuroki will cook for you and Ryan will put you through the necessary +stunts. The roof, when the weather permits, makes a good exercising +ground. If you'll excuse me I'll do some telephoning. Kuroki, pack my +bag for a five-day trip to Washington. I'll take you down to the office, +Kitty.” + +“I don't fancy I ever will quite understand you,” said Hawksley, leaning +back in his chair, listlessly. “Honestly, now, you'd be perfectly +justified in bundling me off to some hotel. I have funds. Why all this +pother about me?” + +Cutty smiled. “When I tackle anything I like to carry it through. I want +to put you on your train.” + +“To be reasonably sure that I shan't come back?” + +“Precisely”--but without smiling. With a vague yet inclusive nod Cutty +hurried off. + +“It is because he is such a thorough sportsman. Mr. Hawksley,” Kitty +explained. “Having accepted certain obligations he cannot abrogate them +off hand.” + +“Did I bother you last night? I mean, did my fiddling?” + +“Mercy, no! From the hurdy-gurdy of my childhood, down to Kubelik +and his successors, I have been more or less music-mad. You +play--wonderfully!” Sudden, inexplicable shyness. + +Hawksley smiled. An hour or two with that old Amati. + +“I am only an unconventional amateur. You should hear Stefani Gregor +when the mood is on. He puts something into your soul that makes you +wish to go forth at once to do some fine, unselfish act.” + +Stefani Gregor! He thought of the clear white soul of the man who had +surrendered imperishable fame to stand between him and the curse of his +blood; who had for ten years stood between his mother and the dissolute +man whom irony had selected for the part of father. Ten years of +diplomacy, tact, patience. Stefani Gregor! There was the blood, +predatory and untamed; and there was the spirit which the old musician +had moulded. He could not harm this girl. Dead or alive, Stefani Gregor +would not permit it. + +Hawksley rose slowly and without further speech walked to the corridor +door. He leaned against the jamb for a moment, then went on to his +bedroom. + +“I'm afraid that breakfast was too much for him,” the nurse ventured. +“An odd young man.” + +“Very,” replied Kitty, rather absently. She was trying to analyze that +flash of shyness. + +Meantime, Cutty sat down before the telephone. He wanted Kitty out of +town during his absence. In her present excitable mood he was afraid +to trust her. She might surrender to any mad impulse that stirred her +fancy. So he called up Burlingame. Kitty's chief, and together they +manufactured an assignment that was always a pleasant recollection to +Kitty. + +Next, Cutty summoned Professor Billy Ryan to the wire, argued and +cajoled for ten minutes, and won his point. He was always dealing in +futures--banking his favours here and there and drawing checks against +them when needed. + +Then he tackled his men and issued orders suspending operations +temporarily. He was asked what they should do in case Karlov came out +into the open. He answered in such an event not to molest him but to +watch and take note of those with whom he associated. There were big +things in the air, and only he himself had hold of all the threads. He +relayed this information to the actual chief of the local service, from +whom he had borrowed his men. There was no protest. Green spectacles. + +Quarter to nine he and Kitty entered a subway car and found a corner to +themselves, while Karlov's agent was content with a strap in the crowded +end of the car. + +Karlov for once had outthought Cutty. He had withdrawn his watchers, +confident that after a day or so his unknown opponent would withdraw +his. During the lull Karlov matured his plans, then resumed operations, +calculating that he would have some forty-odd hours' leeway. + +His agent was clever. He had followed Kitty from Eightieth Street to +the Knickerbocker Hotel. There he had lost her. He had loitered on +the sidewalk until midnight, and was then convinced that the girl had +slipped by. So he had returned to Eightieth Street; but as late as five +in the morning she had not returned. + +This agent had followed the banker after his visit to Kitty. He had +watched the banker's house, seen Cutty arrive and depart. Taking a +chance shot in the dark, he had followed Cutty to the office building, +learned that Cutty was the owner and lived in the loft. As Kitty had not +returned home by five he proceeded to take a second chance shot in the +dark, stationing himself across the street from the entrance to the +office building, thereby solving the riddle uppermost in Karlov's mind. +He had found the man in the dress suit. + +“Cutty, I'm sorry I was such a booby last night. But it was the best +thing that could have happened. The pentupness of it was simply killing +me. I hadn't any one to come to but you--any one who would understand. +I don't know of any man who has a better right to kiss me. I know. You +were just trying to buck me up.” + +Clitter-clatter! Clitter-clatter! Cutty stared hard at the cement floor. +Marry her, settle a sum on her, and give her her freedom. Molly's girl. +Give her a chance to play. He turned. + +“Kitty, do you trust me?” + +“Of all the foolish questions!” She pressed his arm. “Why shouldn't I +trust you?” + +“Will you marry me? Wait! Let me make clear to you what I have in mind. +I'm all alone. I loved your mother. It breaks my heart that while I have +everything in the way of luxuries you have nothing. I can't settle a sum +on you--an income. The world wouldn't understand. Your friends would be +asking questions among themselves. This telegram from Washington means +but one thing: that in a few weeks I shall be on my way to the East. I +shall be mighty unhappy if I have to go leaving you in the rut. This is +my idea: marry me an hour or so before the ship sails. I will leave you +a comfortable income. Lord knows how long I shall be gone. Well, I +won't write. After a year you can regain your freedom on the grounds of +desertion. Simple as falling off a log. It's the one logical way I can +help you. Will you?” + +Station after station flashed by. Kitty continued stare through the +window across the way, by and by she turned her face toward him, her +eyes shining with tears. + +“Cutty, there is going to be a nice place in heaven for you some day. I +understand. I believe Mother understands, too. Am I selfish? I can't say +No to you and I can't say Yes. Yet I should be a liar if I did not say +that everything in me leaps toward the idea. It is both hateful and +fascinating. Common sense says Yes; and something else in me says No. +I like dainty things, dainty surroundings. I want to travel, to see +something of the world. I once thought I had creative genius, but I +might as well face the fact that I haven't. Only by accident will I ever +earn more than I'm earning now. In a few years I'll grow old suddenly. +You know what the newspaper game does to women. The rush and hurry of +it, the excitements, the ceaseless change. It is a furnace, and women +shrivel up in it quicker than men.” + +“There won't be any nonsense, Kitty. An hour before I go aboard my ship. +I'll go back to the job the happiest of men. Molly's girl taken care of! +Just before your father died I promised him I'd keep an eye on you. I +never forgot, but conditions made it impossible. The apartment will +be yours as long as you need it. Kuroki, of course, goes with me. It's +merely going by convention on the blind side. To leave you something in +my will wouldn't serve at all, I'm a tough old codger and may be +marked down for a hale old ninety. All I want is to make you happy and +carefree.” + +“Cutty, I'd like to curl up in some corner and cry, gratefully. I didn't +know there were such men. I just don't know what to do. It isn't as +if you were asking me to be your wife. And as you say, I can't accept +money. There is a pride in me that rejects the whole thing; but it may +be the same fool pride that has cut away my friends. I ought to fall on +your neck with joy: and here I am trying to look round corners! You +are my father's friend, my mother's, mine. Why shouldn't I accept the +proposition? You are alone, too. You have a perfect right to do as you +please with your money, and I have an equally perfect right to accept +your gifts. We are all afraid of the world, aren't we? That's probably +at the bottom of my doddering. Cutty, what is love?” she broke off, +whimsically. + +“Looking into mirrors and hunting for specks,” he answered, readily. + +“I mean seriously.” + +“So do I. Before I went round to the stage entrance to take your mother +out to supper I used to preen an hour before the mirror. My collar, my +cravat, my hair, the nap on my stovepipe, my gloves--terrible things! +And what happened? Your dad, dressed in his office clothes, came along +like a cyclone, walked all over my toes, and swooped up your mother +right from under my nose. Now just look the proposition over from all +angles. Think of yourself; let the old world go hang. They'll call +it alimony. In a year or so you'll be free; and some chap like Tommy +Conover will come along, and bang! You'll know all about love. Here's +old Brooklyn Bridge. I'll see you to the elevator. All nonsense that you +should have the least hesitance.” + +Fifteen minutes later he was striding along Park Row. By the swing of +his stride any onlooker would have believed that Cutty was in a hurry to +arrive somewhere. Instead, one was only walking. Suddenly he stopped in +the middle of the sidewalk with the two currents of pedestrians flowing +on each side of him, as a man might stop who saw some wonderful cloud +effect. But there was nothing ecstatical in his expression; on the +contrary, there was a species of bewildered terror. The psychology of +all his recent actions had in a flash become vividly clear. + +An unbelievable catastrophe had overtaken him. He loved Kitty, loved her +with an intense, shielding passion, quite unlike that which he had given +her mother. Such a thing could happen! He offered not the least combat; +the revelation was too smashing to admit of any doubt. It was not +a recrudescence of his love for Molly, stirred into action by the +association with Molly's daughter. He wanted Kitty for himself, wanted +her with every fibre in his body, fiercely. And never could he tell +her--now. + +The tragic irony of it all numbed him. Fate hadn't played the game +fairly. He was fifty-two, on the far side of the plateau, near sunset. +It wasn't a square deal. + +Still he stood there on the sidewalk, like a rock in the middle of a +turbulent stream, rejecting selfish thoughts. Marry Kitty, and tell her +the truth afterward. He knew the blood of her--loyalest of the loyal. +He could if he chose play that sort of game--cheat her. He could not +withdraw his proposition. If she accepted it he would have to carry it +through. Cheat her. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +Kitty hung up her hat and coat. She did not pat her hair or tuck in the +loose ends before the mirror--a custom as invariable as sunrise. The +coat tree stood at the right of the single window, and out of this +window Kitty stared solemnly, at everything and at nothing. + +Burlingame eyed her seriously. Cutty had given him a glimmer of the +tale--enough to make known to him that this pretty, sensible girl, +though no fault of her own, was in the shadow of some actual if unknown +danger. And Cutty wanted her out of town for a few days. Burlingame had +intended sending Kitty out of town on an assignment during Easter week. +An exchange of telegrams that morning had closed the gap in time. + +“Well, you might say 'Good morning.'” + +“I beg your pardon, Burly!” In newspaper offices you belong at once or +you never belong; and to belong is to have your name sheared to as +few syllables as possible. You are formal only to the city editor, the +managing editor, and the auditor. + +“What's the matter?” + +“I've been set in the middle of a fairy story,” said Kitty, “and I'm +wondering if it's worth the trouble to try to find a way out. A Knight +of the Round Table, a prince of chivalry. What would you say if you saw +one in spats and a black derby?” + +“Why,” answered Burlingame, “I suppose I'd consider July first as the +best thing that could happen to me.” + +Kitty laughed; and that was what he wanted. + +What had that old rogue been doing now--offering Kitty his +eighteen-story office building? + +“It's odd, isn't it, that I shouldn't possess a little histrionic +ability. You'd think it would be in my blood to act.” + +“It is, Kitty; only not to mimic. You're an actress, but the Big +Dramatist writes your business for you. Now, I've got some fairly good +news for you. An assignment.” + +“Work! What is it?” + +“I am going to send you on a visit to the most charming movie queen in +the business. She is going to return to Broadway this autumn, and she +has a trunkful of plays to read. I have found your judgment ace-high. +Mornings you will read with her; afternoons you will visit. She +remembers your mother, who was the best comedienne of her day. So she +will be quite as interested in you as you are in her. I want you to note +her ways, how she amuses herself, eats, exercises. I want you to note +the contents of her beautiful home; if she likes dogs or cats or horses. +You will take a camera and get half a dozen good pictures, and a page +yarn for Easter Sunday. Stay as long as she wants you to.” + +“But who?” + +Burlingame jerked his thumb toward a photograph on the wall. + +“Oh! This will be the most scrumptious event in my life. I'm wild about +her! But I haven't any clothes!” + +Burlingame waved his hands. “I knew I'd hear that yodel. Eve didn't have +anything to speak of, but she travelled a lot. Truth is, Kitty, you'd +better dress in monotones. She might wake up to the fact that you're a +mighty pretty young woman and suddenly become temperamental. She has +a husband round the lot somewhere. Make him think his wife is a lucky +woman. Here's all the dope--introduction, expenses, and tickets. Train +leaves at two-fifty. Run along home and pack. Remember, I want a page +yarn. No flapdoodle or mush; straight stuff. She doesn't need any +advertising. If you go at it right you two will react upon each other as +a tonic.” + +Kitty realized that this little junket was the very thing she +needed--open spaces, long walks in which to think out her problem. +She hurried home and spent the morning packing. When this heartrending +business was over she summoned Tony Bernini. + +“I am going out of town, Mr. Bernini. I may be gone a week.” + +“All right, Miss Conover.” Bernini hid a smile. He knew all about this +trip, having been advised by Cutty over the wire. + +“Am I being followed any more?” + +“Not that we know of. Still, you never can tell. What's your +destination?” Kitty told him. “Better not go by train. I can get a fast +roadster and run you out in a couple of hours. Right after lunch you go +to the boss's garage and wait for me. I'll take care of your grips and +camera. I'll follow on your heels.” + +“Anybody would consider that Karlov was after me instead of Hawksley.” + +Bernini smiled. “Miss Conover, the moment Karlov puts his hands on you +the whole game goes blooey. That's the plain fact. There is death in +this game. These madmen expect to blow up the United States on May +first. We are easing them along because we want the top men in our net. +But if Karlov takes it into his head to get you, and succeeds, he'll +have a stranglehold on the whole local service; because we'd have to +make great concessions to free you.” + +“Why wasn't I told this at the start?” + +“You were told, indirectly. We did not care to frighten you.” + +“I'm not frightened,” said Kitty. + +“Nope. But we wish to the Lord you were, Miss Conover. When you want to +come home, wire me and I'll motor out for you.” + +Another fragment. Karlov's agent sought his chief and found him in the +cellar of the old house, sinisterly engaged. The wall bench was littered +with paraphernalia well known to certain chemists. Had the New York bomb +squad known of the existence of this den, the short hair on their necks +would have risen. + +“Well?” greeted Karlov, moodily. + +“I have found the man in the dress suit.” + +“He and the Conover girl left that office building together this +morning, and I followed them to Park Row. This man uses the loft of the +building for his home. No elevator goes up unless you have credentials. +Our man is hiding there, Boris.” + +Karlov dry-washed his hands. “We'll send him one of the samples if we +fail in regard to the girl. You say she arrives daily at the newspaper +office about nine and leaves between five and six?” + +“Every day but Sunday.” + +“Good news. Two bolts; one or the other will go home.” + +About the same time in Cutty's apartment rather an amusing comedy took +place. Professor Ryan, late physical instructor at one of the aviation +camps, stood Hawksley in front of him and ran his hard hands over the +young man's body. Miss Frances stood at one side, her arms folded, her +expression skeptical. + +“Nothin' the matter with you, Bo, but the crack on the conk.” + +“Right-o!” agreed Hawksley. + +“Lemme see your hands. Humph. Soft. Now stand on that threshold. That's +it. Walk t' the' end o' the hall an' back. Step lively.” + +“But,” began Miss Frances in protest. This was cruelty. + +“I'm the doctor, miss,” interrupted Ryan, crisply. “If he falls down he +goes t' bed, an' you stay. If he makes it, he follows my instructions.” + +When Hawksley returned to the starting line the walls rocked, there were +two or three blinding stabs of pain; but he faced this unusual Irishman +with never a hint of the torture. A wild longing to be gone from this +kindly prison--to get away from the thought of the girl. + +“All right,” said Ryan. “Now toddle back t' bed.” + +“Bed?” + +“Yep. Goin' t' give you a rub that'll start all your machinery workin'.” + +Docilely Hawksley obeyed. He wasn't going to let them know, but that bed +was going to be tolerably welcome. + +“Well!” said Miss Frances. “I don't see how he did it.” + +“I do,” said the ex-pugilist. “I told him to. Either he was a false +alarm, or he'd attempt the job even if he fell down. The hull thing +is this: Make a guy wanta get well an' he'll get well. If he's got any +pride, dig it up. Go after 'em. He hasn't lost any blood. No serious +body wound. A crack on the conk. It mighta killed him. It didn't. He +didn't wabble an' fall down. So my dope is right. Drop in in a few days +an' I'll show yuh.” + +Miss Frances held out her hand. “You've handled men,” she said, with +reluctant admiration. + +“Oh, boy!--millions of 'em, an' each guy different. Believe me! Make 'em +wanta.” + +Cutty attended his conferences. He learned immediately that he was +booked to sail the first week in May. His itinerary began at Piraeus, +in Greece, and might end in Vladivostok. But they detained him +in Washington overtime because he was a fount of information the +departments found it necessary to draw upon constantly. The political +and commercial aspects of the polyglot peoples, what they wanted, what +they expected, what they needed; racial enmities. The bugaboo of the +undesirable alien was no longer bothering official heads in Washington. +Stringent immigration laws were in the making. What they wanted to +know was an American's point of view, based upon long and intimate +associations. + +Washington reminded him of nothing so much as a big sheep dog. The +hazardous day was over; the wolves had been driven off and the sheep +into the fold; and now the valiant guardian was turning round and round +and round preparatory to lying down to sleep. For Washington would go to +sleep again, naturally. + +Often it occurred to him what a remarkable piece of machinery the human +brain was. He could dig up all this dry information with the precise +accuracy of an economist, all the while his actual thoughts upon Kitty. +His nights were nightmares. And all this unhappiness because he had been +touched with the lust for loot. Fundamentally, this catastrophe could be +laid to the drums of jeopardy. + +The alluring possibility of finding those damnable green stones--the +unsuspected kink in his moral rectitude--had tumbled him into this pit. +Had not Kitty pronounced the name Stefani Gregor--in his mind always +linked with the emeralds--he would have summoned an ambulance and had +Hawksley carried off, despite Kitty's protests; and perhaps he would +have seen her but two or three times before sailing, seen her in +conventional and unemotional parts. At any rate, there would have been +none of this peculiar intimacy--Kitty coming to him in tears, opening +her young heart to him and discovering all its loneliness. If she +loved some chap it would not be so hard, the temptation would not be +so keen--to cheat her. Marry her, and then tell her. This dogged his +thoughts like a murderer's deed, terrible in the watches of the night. +Marry her, and then tell her. Cheat her. Break her heart and break his +own. + +Fifty-two. Never before had he thought old. His splendid health and +vigorous mentality were the results of thinking young. But now he heard +the avalanche stirring, the whispering slither of the first pebbles. He +would grow old swiftly, thunderously. Kitty's youth would shore up the +debacle, suspend it indefinitely. Marry her, cheat her, and stay young. +Green stones, accursed. + +Kitty's days were pleasant enough, but her nights were sieges. One +evening someone put Elman's rendition of Schubert's “Ave Maria” on the +phonograph. Long after it was over she sat motionless in her chair. +Echoes. The Tschaikowsky waltz. She got up suddenly, excused herself, +and went to her room. + +Six days, and her problem was still unsolved. Something in +her--she could not define it, she could not reach it, it defied +analysis--something, then, revolted at the idea of marrying Cutty, +divorcing him, and living on his money. There was a touch of horror in +the suggestion. It was tearing her to pieces, this hidden repellence. +And yet this occult objection was so utterly absurd. If he died and left +her a legacy she would accept it gratefully enough. Cutty's plan was +only a method of circumventing this indefinite wait. + +Comforts, the good things of life, amusements--simply by nodding her +head. Why not? It wasn't as if Cutty was asking her to be his wife; +he wasn't. Just wanted to dodge convention, and give her freedom and +happiness. He was only giving her a mite out of his income. Because +he had loved her mother; because, but for an accident of chance, she, +Kitty, might have been his daughter. Why, then, this persistent and +unaccountable revulsion? Why should she hesitate? The ancient female +fear of the trap? That could not be it. For a more honourable, a +more lovable man did not walk the earth. Brave, strong, handsome, +whimsical--why, Cutty was a catch! + +Comfy. Never any of that inherent doubt of man when she was with him. +Absolute trust. An evil thought had entered her head; fate had made it +honourably possible. And still this mysterious repellence. + +Romance? She was not surrendering her right to that. What was a year out +of her life if afterward she would be in comfortable circumstances, free +to love where she willed? She wasn't cheating herself or Cutty: she was +cheating convention, a flimsy thing at best. + +Windows. We carry our troubles to our windows; through windows we see +the stars. We cannot visualize God, but we can see His stars pinned +to the immeasurable spaces. So Kitty sought her window and added her +question to the countless millions forlornly wandering about up there, +and finding no answer. + +But she would return to New York on the morrow. She would not summon +Bernini as she had promised. She would go back by train, alone, +unhampered. + +And in his cellar Boris Karlov spun his web for her. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +Hawksley heard the lift door close, and he knew that at last he was +alone. He flung out his arms, ecstatically. Free! He would see no more +of that nagging beggar Ryan until tomorrow. Free to put into execution +the idea that had been bubbling all day long in his head, like a fine +champagne, firing his blood with reckless whimsicality. + +Quietly he stole down the corridor. Through a crack in the kitchen door +he saw Kuroki's back, the attitude of which was satisfying. It signified +that the Jap was pegging away at his endless studies and that only the +banging of the gong would rouse him. The way was as broad and clear as +a street at dawn. Not that Kuroki mattered; only so long as he did not +know, so much the better. + +With careful step Hawksley manoeuvred his retreat so that it brought +him to Cutty's bedroom door. The door was unlocked. He entered the room. +What a lark! They would hide his own clothes; so much the worse for the +old beggar's wardrobe. Street clothes. Presently he found a dark suit, +commendable not so much for its style as for the fact that it was the +nearest fit he could find. He had to roll up the trouser hems. + +Hats. Chuckling like a boy rummaging a jam closet, he rifled the shelves +and pulled down a black derby of an unknown vintage. Large; but a runner +of folded paper reduced the size. As he pressed the relic firmly down +on his head he winced. A stab over his eyes. He waited doubtfully; but +there was no recurrence. Fit as a fiddle. Of course he could not stoop +without a flash of vertigo; but on his feet he was top-hole. He was +gaining every day. + +Luck. He might have come out of it with the blank mind of a newborn +babe; and here he was, keen to resume his adventures. Luck. They had not +stopped to see if he was actually dead. Some passer-by in the hall +had probably alarmed them. That handkerchief had carried him round the +brink. Perhaps Fate intended letting him get through--written on his +pass an extension of his leave of absence. Or she had some new torture +in reserve. + +Now for a stout walking stick. He selected a blackthorn, twirled it, +saluted, and posed before the mirror. Not so bally rotten. He would +pass. Next, he remembered that there were some flowers in the dining +room--window boxes with scarlet geraniums. He broke off a sprig and drew +it through his buttonhole. + +Outside there was a cold, pale April sky, presaging wind and rain. +Unimportant. He was going down into the streets for an hour or so. The +colour and action of a crowded street; the lure was irresistible. Who +would dare touch him in the crowd? These rooms had suddenly become +intolerable. + +He leaned against the side of the window. Roofs, thousands of them, +flat, domed, pinnacled; and somewhere under one of these roofs Stefani +Gregor was eating his heart out. It did not matter that this queer old +eagle whom everybody called Cutty had promised to bring Stefani home. +It might be too late. Stefani was old, highly strung. Who knew what +infernal lies Karlov had told him? Stefani could stand up under physical +torture; but to tear at his soul, to twist and rend his spirit! + +The bubble in the champagne died down--as it always will if one permits +it to stand. He felt the old mood seep through the dikes of his gayety. +Alone. A familiar face--he would have dropped on his knees and thanked +God for the sight of a familiar face. These people, kindly as they +were--what were they but strangers? Yesterday he had not known them; +to-morrow he would leave them behind forever. All at once the mystery +of this bubbling idea was bared: he was going to risk his life in the +streets in the vague hope of seeing some face he had known in the days +before the world had gone drunk on blood. One familiar face. + +Of course he would never forget--at any rate, not the girl whose courage +had made possible this hour. Those chaps, scared off temporarily, might +have returned. What had become of her? He was always seeing her lovely +face in the shadows, now tender, now resolute, now mocking. Doubtless he +thought of her constantly because his freedom of action was limited. +He hadn't diversion enough. Books and fiddling, these carried him but +halfway through the boredom. Where was she? Daily he had called her by +telephone; no answer. The Jap shook his head; the slangy boy in the lift +shook his. + +She was a thoroughbred, even if she had been born of middle-class +parentage. He laughed bitterly. Middle class. A homeless, countryless +derelict, and he had the impudence to revert to comparisons that no +longer existed in this topsy-turvy old world. He was an upstart. The +final curtain had dropped between him and his world, and he was still +thinking in the ancient make-up. Middle class! He was no better than a +troglodyte, set down in a new wilderness. + +He heard the curtain rings slither on the pole. Believing the intruder +to be Kuroki he turned belligerently. And there she stood--the girl +herself! The poise of her reminded him of the Winged Victory in +the Louvre. Where there had been a cup of champagne in his veins +circumstance now poured a magnum. + +“You!” he cried. + +“What has happened? Where are you going in those clothes?” demanded +Kitty. + +“I am running away--for an hour or so.” + +“But you must not! The risks--after all the trouble we've had to help +you!” + +“I shall be perfectly safe, for you are going with me. Aren't you +my guardian angel? Well, rather! The two of us--people, lights, shop +windows! Perfectly splendiferous! Honestly, now, where's the harm?” He +approached her rapidly as he spoke, and before the spell of him could be +shaken off Kitty found her hands imprisoned in his. “Please! I've been +so damnably bored. The two of us in the streets, among the crowds! +No one will dare touch us. Can't you see? And then--I say, this is +ripping!--we'll have dinner together here. I will play for you on the +old Amati. Please!” + +The fire of him communicated to the combustibles in Kitty's soul. A +wild, reckless irony besieged her. This adventure would be exactly what +she needed; it would sweep clear the fog separating one side of her +brain from the other. For it was plain enough that part of her brain +refused to cooperate with the other. A break in the trend of thought: +she might succeed in getting hold of the puzzle if she could drop it +absolutely for a little while and then pick it up again. + +She had not gone home. She had not notified Bernini. She had checked her +luggage in the station parcel room and come directly here. For what? To +let the sense of luxury overcome the hidden repugnance of the idea of +marrying Cutty, divorcing him, and living on his money. To put herself +in the way of visible temptation. What fretted her so, what was wearing +her down to the point of fatigue, was the patent imbecility of her +reluctance. There would have been some sense of it if Cutty had proposed +a real marriage. All she had to do was mumble a few words, sign her name +to a document, live out West for a few months, and be in comfortable +circumstances all the rest of her life. And she doddered! + +She would run the streets with Johnny Two-Hawks, return, and dine with +him. Who cared? Proper or improper, whose business was it but Kitty +Conover's? Danger? That was the peculiar attraction. She wanted to rush +into danger, some tense excitement the strain of which would lift her +out of her mood. A recurrent touch of the wild impulsiveness of her +childhood. Hadn't she sometimes flown out into thunderstorms, after +merited punishment, to punish the mother whom thunder terrorized? And +now she was going to rush into unknown danger to punish Fate--like a +silly child! Nevertheless, she would go into the streets with Johnny +Two-Hawks. + +“But are you strong enough to venture on the streets?” + +“Rot! Dash it all, I'm no mollycoddle! All nonsense to keep me pinned in +like this. Will you go with me--be my guide?” + +“Yes!” She shot out the word and crossed the Rubicon before reason +could begin to lecture. Besides, wasn't reason treating her shabbily in +withholding the key to the riddle? “Johnny Two-Hawks, I will go as far +as Harlem if you want me to.” + +“Johnny Two-Hawks!” He laughed joyously, then kissed her hands. But he +had to pay for this bending--a stab that filled his eyes with flying +sparks. He must remember, once out of doors, not to stoop quickly. “I +say, you're the jolliest girl I ever met! Just the two of us, what?” + +“The way you speak English is wonderful!” + +“Simple enough to explain. Had an English nurse from the beginning. +Spoke English and Italian before I spoke Russian.” + +He seized the wooden mallet and beat the Burmese gong--a flat piece of +brass cut in the shape of a bell. The clear, whirring vibrations filled +the room. Long before these spent themselves Kuroki appeared on the +threshold. He bobbed. + +“Kuroki, Miss Conover is dining here with me to-night. Seven o'clock +sharp. The best you have in the larder.” + +“Yes, sair. You are going out, sair?” + +“For a bit of fresh air.” + +“And I am going with him, Kuroki,” said Kitty. Kuroki bobbed again. +“Dinner at seven, sair.” Another bob, and he returned to the kitchen, +smiling. The girl was free to come and go, of course, but the ancient +enemy of Nippon would not pass the elevator door. Let him find that out +for himself. + +When the elevator arrived the boy did not open the door. He noted the +derby on Hawksley's head. + +“I can take you down, Miss Conover, but I cannot take Mr. Hawksley. When +the boss gives me an order I obey it--if I possibly can. On the day the +boss tells me you can go strolling, I'll give you the key to the city. +Until then, nix! No use arguing, Mr. Hawksley.” + +“I shan't argue,” replied Hawksley, meekly. “I am really a prisoner, +then?” + +“For your own good, sir. Do you wish to go down, Miss Conover?” + +“No.” + +The boy swung the lever, and the car dropped from sight. + +“I'm sorry,” said Kitty. + +Hawksley smiled and laid a finger on his lips. “I wanted to know,” he +whispered. “There's another way down from this Matterhorn. Come with +me. Off the living room is a storeroom. I found the key in the lock the +other day and investigated. I still have the key. Now, then, there's +a door that gives to the main loft. At the other end is the stairhead. +There is a door at the foot of the first flight down. We can jolly well +leave this way, but we shall have to return by the lift. That bally +young ruffian can't refuse to carry us up, y' know!” + +Kitty laughed. “This is going to be fun!” + +“Rather!” + +They groped their way through the dim loft--for it was growing dark +outside--and made the stairhead. The door to the seventeenth floor +opened, and they stepped forth into the lighted hallway. + +“Now what?” asked Kitty, bubbling. + +“The floor below, and one of the other lifts, what?” Twenty minutes +later the two of them, arm in arm, turned into Broadway. + +“This, sir,” began Kitty with a gesture, “is Broadway--America's +backyard in the daytime and Ali Baba's cave at night. The way of the +gilded youth; the funnel for papa's money; the chorus lady; the starting +point of the high cost of living. We New Yorkers despise it because we +can't afford it.” + +“The lights!” gasped Hawksley. + +“Wreckers' lights. Behold! Yonder is a highly nutritious whisky blinking +its bloomin' farewell. Do you chew gum? Even if you don't, in a few +minutes I'll give you a cud for thought. Chewing gum was invented by a +man with a talkative wife. He missed the physiological point, however, +that a body can chew and talk at the same time. Come on!” + +They went on uptown, Hawksley highly amused, exhilarated, but frequently +puzzled. The pungent irony of her observations conveyed to him that +under this gayety was a current of extreme bitterness. “I say, are all +American girls like you?” + +“Heavens, no! Why?” + +“Because I never met one like you before. Rather stilted--on their good +behaviour, I fancy.” + +“And I interest you because I'm not on my good behaviour?” Kitty whipped +back. + +“Because you are as God made you--without camouflage.” + +“The poor innocent young man! I'm nothing but camouflage to-night. Why +are you risking your life in the street? Why am I sharing that risk? +Because we both feel bound and are blindly trying to break through. What +do you know about me? Nothing. What do I know about you? Nothing. But +what do we care? Come on, come on!” + +Tumpitum--tump! tumpitum--tump! drummed the Elevated. Kitty laughed. The +tocsin! Always something happened when she heard it. + +“Pearls!” she cried, dragging him toward a jeweller's window. + +“No!” he said, holding back. “I hate--jewels! How I hate them!” He broke +away from her and hurried on. + +She had to run after him. Had she hesitated they might have become +separated. Hated jewels? No, no! There should be no questions, verbal or +mental, this night. She presently forced him to slow down. “Not so fast! +We must never become separated,” she warned. “Our safety--such as it +is--lies in being together.” + +“I'm an ass. Perhaps my head is ratty without my realizing it. I fancy +I'm like a dog that's been kicked; I'm trying to run away from the pain. +What's this tomb?” + +“The Metropolitan Opera House.” + +As they were passing a thin, wailing sound came to the ears of both. +Seated with his back to the wall was a blind fiddler with a tin cup +strapped to a knee. He was out of bounds; he had no right on Broadway; +but he possessed a singular advantage over the law. He could not be +forced to move on without his guide--if he were honestly blind. Hundreds +of people were passing; but the fiddler's “Last Rose of Summer” wasn't +worth a cent. His cup was empty. + +“The poor thing!” said Kitty. + +“Wait!” Hawksley approached the fiddler, exchanged a few words with him, +and the blind man surrendered his fiddle. + +“Give me your hat!” cried Kitty, delighted. + +Carefully Hawksley pried loose his derby and handed it to Kitty. No stab +of pain; something to find that out. He turned the instrument, tucked it +under his chin and began “Traumerei.” Kitty, smiling, extended the hat. +Just the sort of interlude to make the adventure memorable. She knew +this thoroughfare. Shortly there would be a crowd, and the fiddler's cup +would overflow--that is, if the police did not interfere too soon. + +As for the owner of the wretched fiddle, he raised his head, his mouth +opened. Up there, somewhere, a door to heaven had opened. + +True to her expectations a crowd slowly gathered. The beauty of the girl +and the dark, handsome face of the musician, his picturesque bare head, +were sufficient for these cynical passers-by. They understood. Operatic +celebrities, having a little fun on their own. So quarters and dimes and +nickels began to patter into Cutty's ancient derby hat. Broadway will +always contribute generously toward a novelty of this order. Famous +names were tossed about in undertones. + +Entered then the enemy of the proletariat. Kitty, being a New Yorker +born, had had her weather eye roving. The brass-buttoned minion of the +law was always around when a bit of innocent fun was going on. As +the policeman reached the inner rim of the audience the last notes of +Handel's “Largo” were fading on the ear. + +“What's this?” demanded the policeman. + +“It's all over, sir,” answered Kitty, smiling. + +“Can't have this on Broadway, miss. Obstruction.” He could not speak +gruffly in the face of such beauty--especially with a Broadway crowd at +his back. + +“It's all over. Just let me put this money in the blind man's cup.” + Kitty poured her coins into the receptacle. At the same time Hawksley +laid the fiddle in the blind man's lap. Then he turned to Kitty and +boomed a long Russian phrase at her. Her quick wit caught the intent. +“You see, he doesn't understand that this cannot be done in New York. I +couldn't explain.” + +“All right, miss; but don't do it again.” The policeman grinned. + +“And please don't be harsh with the blind man. Just tell him he mustn't +play on Broadway again. Thank you!” + +She linked her arm in Hawksley's, and they went on; and the crowd +dissolved; only the policeman and the blind man remained, the one +contemplating his duty and the other his vision of heaven. + +“What a lark!” exclaimed Hawksley. + +“Were you asking me for your hat?” + +“I was telling the bobby to go to the devil!” + +They laughed like children. + +“March hares!” he said. + +“No. April fools! Good heavens, the time! Twenty minutes to seven. Our +dinner!” + +“We'll take a taxi.... Dash it!” + +“What's wrong?” + +“Not a bally copper in my pockets!” + +“And I left my handbag on the sideboard! We'll have to walk. If we hurry +we can just about make it.” + +Meantime, there lay in wait for them--this pair of April fools--a +taxicab. It stood snugly against the curb opposite the entrance to +Cutty's apartment. The door was slightly ajar. + +The driver watched the south corner; the three men inside never took +their gaze off the north corner. + +“But, I say, hasn't this been a jolly lark?” + +“If we had known we could have borrowed a dollar from the blind man; +he'd never have missed it.” + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +Champagne in the glass is a beautiful thing to see. So is water, +the morning after. That is the fault with frolic; there is always an +inescapable rebound. The most violent love drops into humdrum tolerance. +A pessimist is only a poor devil who has anticipated the inevitable; he +has his headache at the start. Mental champagnes have their aftermaths +even as the juice of the grape. + +Hawksley and Kitty, hurrying back, began to taste lees. They began to +see things, too--menace in every loiterer, threat in every alley. They +had had a glorious lark; somewhere beyond would be the piper with an +appalling bill. They exaggerated the dangers, multiplied them; perhaps +wisely. There would be no let-down in their vigilance until they reached +haven. But this state of mind they covered with smiling masks, banter, +bursts of laughter, and flashes of wit. + +They were both genuinely frightened, but with unselfish fear. Kitty's +fear was not for herself but for Johnny Two-Hawks. If anything happened +the blame would rightly be hers. With that head he wasn't strictly +accountable for what he did; she was. A firm negative on her part and +he would never have left the apartment. And his fear was wholly for this +astonishing girl. He had recklessly thrust her into grave danger. Who +knew, better than he, the implacable hate of the men who sought to kill +him? + +Moreover, his strength was leaving him. There was an alarming weakness +in his legs, purely physical. He had overdone, and if need rose he would +not be able to protect her. Damnable fool! But she had known. That was +the odd phase of it. She hadn't come blindly. What mood had urged her +to share the danger along with the lark? Somehow, she was always just +beyond his reach, this girl. He would never forget that fan popping out +of the pistol, the egg burning in the pan. + +The apartment was only three blocks away when Kitty decided to drop her +mask. “I'd give a good deal to see a policeman. They are never around +when you really want them. Johnny Two-Hawks, I'm a little fool! You +wouldn't have left the apartment but for me. Will you forgive me?” + +“It is I who should ask forgiveness. I say, how much farther is it?” + +“Only about two blocks; but they may be long ones. Let's step into this +doorway for a moment. I see a taxicab. It looks to be standing opposite +the building. Don't like it. Suppose we watch it for a few minutes?” + +Hawksley was grateful for the respite; and together they stared at the +unwinking red eye of the tail light. But no man approached the cab or +left it. + +“I believe I've hit upon a plan,” said Kitty. “Certainly we have not +been followed. In that event they would have had a dozen chances. If +someone saw us leave together, naturally they will expect us to return +together. We'll walk to the corner of our block, then turn east; but +I shall remain just out of sight while you will go round the block. +Fifteen minutes should carry you to the south corner. I'll be on watch +for you. The moment you turn I'll walk toward you. It will give us a bit +of a handicap in case that taxi is a menace. If any one appears, run for +it. Where's the cane you had?” + +“What a jolly ass I am! I remember now. I left the stick against the +wall of the opera house. Blockhead! With a stick, now!... I'm hopeless!” + +“Never mind. Let's start. That taxi may be perfectly honest. It's our +guilty consciences that are peopling the shadows with goblins. What +really bothers us is that we have broken our word to the kindliest man +in all this world.” + +Hawksley wondered if he could walk round the block without falling down. +He saw that he was facing a physical collapse, hastened by the knowledge +that the safety of the girl depended largely upon himself. What he +had accepted at the beginning as strength had been nothing more than +exhilaration and nerve energy. There was now nothing but the latter, and +only feeble straws at that. Oh, he would manage somehow; he jolly well +had to; and there was a bare chance of falling in with a bobby. But run? +Honestly, now, how the devil was a chap to run on a pair of spools? + +Arriving at the appointed spot they separated. He waved his hand airily +and marched off. If he fell it would be out of sight, where the girl +could not see him. Clever chap--what? Damned rotter! For himself he did +not care. He was weary of this game of hide and seek. But to have lured +the girl into it! When he turned the first corner of his journey he +paused and leaned against the wall, his eyes shut. When he opened them +the sidewalk and the street lamps were normal again. + +As soon as he disappeared a new plan came to Kitty. She put it into +execution at once, on the basis that yonder taxicab was an enemy +machine. She left her retreat and walked boldly down the street, her +eyes alert for the least suspicious sign. If she could make the entrance +before they suspected the trick, she could obtain help before Johnny +Two-Hawks made the south turn. She reached her objective, pushed through +the revolving doors, and turned. Dimly she could see the taxi driver; +but he appeared to be dozing on the seat. + +As a matter of fact, one of the three men in the taxi recognized +Kitty, but too late to intercept her. Her manoeuvre had confused him +temporarily. And while he and his companions were debating, Kitty had +time to summon Cutty's man from Elevator Four. + +“Step into the car!” he roughly ordered, after she had given him a gist +of her suspicions. He turned off the lights, stepped out, and shut the +gates with a furious bang. “And stick to the corner! I'll attend to the +other fool.” + +He rushed into the street, his automatic ready, eyed the taxicab +speculatively, wheeled suddenly, and ran south at a dog-trot. He rounded +the south corner, but he did not see Hawksley anywhere. The dog-trot +became a dead run. As he wheeled round the corner of the parallel street +he almost bumped into Hawksley, who had a policeman in tow. + +“Officer,” said the man with the boy's face, “this is Federal business. +Aliens. Come along. There may be trouble. If there should be any +shooting don't bother with the atmosphere. Pick out a real target.” + +“Anarchists?” + +“About the size of it.” + +“Miss Conover?” asked Hawksley. + +“Safe. No thanks to you, though. I'd like to knock your block off, if +you want to know!” + +“Do it! Damned little use to me,” declared Hawksley, sagging. + +“Here, what's the matter with you?” cried the policeman, throwing his +arm round Hawksley. + +“They nearly killed him a few days gone. A crack on the bean; but he +wasn't satisfied. Help him along. I'll be hiking back.” + +But the taxicab was gone. + +Before Cutty's lieutenant opened the gate to the apartment he spoke to +Hawksley. “The boss is doing everything he can to put you through, sir. +Miss Conover's wit saved you. For if you hadn't separated they'd have +nailed you. I've been running round like a chicken with its head cut +off. I forgot that door on the seventeenth floor. I tell you honestly, +you've been playing with death. It wasn't fair to Miss Conover.” + +“It was my fault,” volunteered Kitty. + +“Mine,” protested Hawksley. + +“Well, they know where you roost now, for a fact. You've spilled the +beans. I'm sorry I lost my temper. The devil fly away with you both!” + The boy laughed. “You're game, anyhow. But darn it all, if anything had +happened to you the boss would never have forgiven me. He's the whitest +old scout God ever put the breath of life into. He's always doing +something for somebody. He'd give you the block if you had the gall to +ask for it. Play the game fifty-fifty with him and you'll land on both +feet. And you, Miss Conover, must not come here again.” + +“I promise.” + +“I'll tell you a little secret. It was the boss who sent you out of +town. He was afraid you'd do something like this. When you are ready to +go home you'll find Tony Bernini downstairs. Sore as a crab, too, I'll +bet.” + +“I'll be glad to go home with him,” said Kitty, thoroughly chastened in +spirit. + +“That's all for to-night.” + +Kitty and Hawksley stepped out into the corridor, the problem they +had sought to shake off reestablished in their thoughts, added too, if +anything. + +“How do you feel?” + +“Top-hole,” lied Hawksley. “My word, though, I wobbled a bit going +round that block. I almost kissed the bobby. I say, he thought I'd been +tilting a few. But it was a lark!” + +“Dinner is served,” announced Kuroki at their elbows. His expression was +coldly bland. + +“Dinner!” cried Hawksley, brightening. “What does the American soldier +say?” + +“Eats!” answered Kitty. + +All tension vanished in the double laughter that followed. They +approached dinner with something of the spirit that had induced Hawksley +to fiddle and Kitty to pass the hat in front of the Metropolitan Opera +House. Hawksley's recuperative powers promised well for his future. By +the time coffee was served his head had cleared and his legs had resumed +their normal functions of support. + +“I was so infernally bored!” + +“And now?” asked Kitty, recklessly. + +“Fancy asking me that!” + +“Do you realize that all this is dreadfully improper?” + +“Oh, I say, now! Where's the harm? If ever there was a young woman +capable of taking care of herself--” + +“That isn't it. It's just being here alone with you.” + +“But you are not alone with me!” + +“Kuroki?” Kitty shrugged. + +“No. At my side of the table is Stefani Gregor; at yours the man who has +befriended me.” + +“Thank you for that. I don't know of anything nicer you could say. But +the outside world would see neither of our friends. I did not come here +to see you.” + +“No need of telling me that.” + +“I had a problem--a very difficult one--to solve; and I believed that I +might solve it if I came to these rooms. I had quite forgotten you.” + +Instantly, upon receiving this blunt explanation, he determined that she +should never cease to remember him after this night. His vanity was not +touched; it was something far more elusive. It was perhaps a recurrence +of that inexplicable desire to hurt. Somehow he sensed the flexible +steel behind which lay the soul of this baffling girl. He would +presently find a chink in the armour with that old Amati. + +Blows on the head have few surgical comparisons. That which kills one +man only temporarily stuns another. One man loses his identity; another +escapes with all his faculties and suffers but trifling inconvenience. +In Hawksley's case the blow had probably restricted some current +of thought, and that which would have flowed normally now shot out +obliquely, perversely. It might be that the natural perverseness of his +blood, unchecked by the noble influence of Stefani Gregor and liberated +by the blow, governed his thoughts in relation to Kitty. The subjugation +of women, the old cynical warfare of sex--the dominant business of his +rich and idle forbears, the business that had made Boris Karlov a deadly +and implacable enemy--became paramount in his disordered brain. + +She had forgotten him! Very well. He would stir the soul of her, play +with it, lift it to the stars and dash it down--if she had a soul. +Beautiful, natural, alone. He became all Latin under the pressure of +this idea. + +“I will play for you,” he said, quietly. + +“Please! And then I'll go home where I belong. I'll be in the living +room.” + +When he returned he found her before a window, staring at the myriad +lights. + +“Sit here,” he said, indicating the divan. “I shall stand and walk about +as I play.” + +Kitty sat down, touching the pillows, reflectively. She thought of +the tears she had wept upon them. That sinister and cynical thought! +Suddenly she saw light. Her problem would have been none at all if Cutty +had said he loved her. There would have been something sublime in making +him happy in his twilight. He had loved and lost her mother. To pay +him for that! He was right. Those twenty-odd years--his seniority--had +mellowed him, filled him with deep and tender understanding. To be with +him was restful; the very thought of him now was resting. No matter how +much she might love a younger man he would frequently torture her by +unconscious egoism; and by the time he had mellowed, the mulled wine +would be cold. If only Cutty had said he loved her! + +“What shall I play?” + +Kitty raised her eyes in frank astonishment. There was a fiercely proud +expression on Hawksley's face. It was not the man, it was the artist who +was angry. + +“Forgive me! I was dreaming a little,” she apologized with quick +understanding. “I am not quite--myself.” + +“Neither am I. I will play something to fit your dream. But wait! When +I play I am articulate. I can express myself--all emotions. I am what +I play--happy, sad, gay, full of the devil. I warn you. I can speak all +things. I can laugh at you, weep with you, despise you, love you! All +in the touch of these strings. I warn you there is magic in this Amati. +Will you risk it?” + +Ordinarily--had this florid outburst come from another man--Kitty would +have laughed. It had the air of piqued vanity; but she knew that this +was not the interpretation. On the streets he had been the most amusing +and surprising comrade she had ever known, as merry and whimsical as +Cutty--young and handsome--the real man. He had been real that night +when he entered through her kitchen window, with the drums of jeopardy +about his neck. He had been real that night she had brought him his +wallet. + +Electric antagonism--the room seemed charged with it. The man had +stepped aside for a moment and the great noble had taken his place. It +was not because she had been reared in rather a theatrical atmosphere +that she transcribed his attitude thus. She knew that he was noble. +That she did not know his rank was of no consequence. Cutty's narrative, +which she had pretended to believe, had set this man in the middle +class. Never in this world. There was only one middle class out of which +such a personality might, and often did, emerge--the American middle +class. In Europe, never. No peasant blood, no middle-class corpuscle, +stirred in this man's veins. The ancient boyar looked down at her. + +“Play!” said Kitty. There was a smile on her lips, but there was fiery +challenge in her slate-blue eyes. The blood of Irish kings--and what +Irishman dares deny it?--surged into her throat. + +We wear masks, we inherit generations of masks; and a trivial incident +reveals the primordial which lurks in each one of us. Savages--Kitty +with her stone hatchet and Hawksley swinging the curved blade of Hunk. + +He began one of those tempestuous compositions, brilliant and +bewildering, that submerge the most appreciative lay mentality--because +he was angry, a double anger that he should be angry over he knew not +what--and broke off in the middle of the composition because Kitty sat +upright, stonily unimpressed. + +Tschaikowsky's “Serenade Melancolique.” Kitty, after a few measures, +laid aside her stone hatchet, and her body relaxed. Music! She began to +absorb it as parched earth absorbs the tardy rain. Then came the waltz +which had haunted her. Her face grew tenderly beautiful; and Hawksley, a +true artist, saw that he had discovered the fifth string; and he played +upon it with all the artistry which was naturally his and which had been +given form by the master who had taught him. + +For the physical exertions he relied upon nerve energy again. Nature +is generous when we are young. No matter how much we draw against the +account she always has a little more for us. He forgot that only an hour +gone he had been dizzy with pain, forgot everything but the glory of +the sounds he was evoking and their visible reaction upon this girl. The +devil was not only in his heart, but in his hand. + +Never had Kitty heard such music. To be played to in this +manner--directly, with embracing tenderness, with undivided fire--would +have melted the soul of Gobseck the money lender; and Kitty was +warm-blooded, Irish, emotional. The fiddle called poignantly to the +Irish in her. She wanted to go roving with this man; with her hand on +his shoulder to walk in the thin air of high places. Through it all, +however, she felt vaguely troubled; the instinct of the trap. The +sinister and cynical idea which had clandestinely taken up quarters +in her mind awoke and assailed her from a new angle, that of youth. +Something in her cried out: “Stop! Stop!” But her lips were mute, her +body enchained. + +Suddenly Hawksley laid aside the fiddle and advanced. He reached +down and drew her up. Kitty did not resist him; she was numb with +enchantment. He held her close for a second, then kissed her--her hair, +eyes, mouth--released her and stepped back, a bantering smile on his +lips and cold terror in his heart. The devil who had inspired this phase +of the drama now deserted his victim, as he generally does in the face +of superior forces. + +Kitty stood perfectly still for a full minute, stunned. It was that +smile--frozen on his lips--that brought her back to intimacy with cold +realities. Had he asked her pardon, had he shown the least repentance, +she might have forgiven, forgotten. But knowing mankind as she did she +could give but one interpretation to that smile--of which he was no +longer conscious. + +Without anger, in quiet, level tones she said: “I had foolishly thought +that we two might be friends. You have made it impossible. You have also +abused the kindly hospitality of the man who has protected you from your +enemies. A few days ago he did me the honour to ask me to marry him. I +am going to. I wish you no evil.” She turned and walked from the room. + +Even then there was time. But he did not move. It was not until he +heard the elevator gate crash that he was physically released from +the thraldom of the inner revelation. Love--in the blinding flash of a +thunderbolt! He had kissed her not because he was the son of his father, +but because he loved her! And now he never could tell her. He must let +her go, believing that the man she had saved from death had repaid her +with insult. On top of all his misfortunes, his tragedies--love! There +was a God, yes, but his name was Irony. Love! He stepped toward the +divan, stumbled, and fell against it, his arms spread over the pillows; +and in this position he remained. + +For a while his thoughts were broken, inconclusive; he was like a man in +the dark, groping for a door. Principally, his poor head was trying to +solve the riddle of his never-ending misfortunes. Why? What had he +done that these calamities should be piled upon his head? He had lived +decently; his youth had been normal; he had played fair with men and +women. Why make him pay for what his forbears had done? He wasn't fair +game. + +He! A singular revelation cleared one corner. Kitty had spoken of a +problem; and he, by those devil-urged kisses, had solved it for her. She +had been doddering, and his own act had thrust her into the arms of that +old thoroughbred. That cynical suggestion of his the other morning +had been acted upon. God had long ago deserted him, and now the devil +himself had taken leave. Hawksley buried his face in the pillow once +made wet with Kitty's tears. + +The great tragedy in life lies in being too late. Hawksley had learned +this once before; it was now being driven home again. Cutty was to find +it out on the morrow, for he missed his train that night. + +The shuttles of the Weaver in this pattern of life were two green stones +called the drums of jeopardy, inanimate objects, but perfect tools +in the hands of Destiny. But for these stones Hawksley would not +have tarried too long on a certain red night; Cutty would not now be +stumbling about the labyrinths into which his looting instincts had +thrust him; and Kitty Conover would have jogged along in the humdrum +rut, if not happy at least philosophically content with her lot. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +Decision is always a mental relief, hesitance a curse. Kitty, having +shifted her burdens to the broad shoulders of Cutty, felt as she reached +the lobby as if she had left storm and stress behind and entered calm. +She would marry Cutty; she had published the fact, burned her bridges. + +She had stepped into the car, her heart full of cold fury. Now she began +to find excuses for Hawksley's conduct. A sick brain; he was not really +accountable for his acts. Her own folly had opened the way. Of course +she would never see him again. Why should she? Their lives were as far +apart as the Volga and the Hudson. + +Bernini met her in the lobby. “I've got a cab for you, Miss Conover,” he +said as if nothing at all had happened. + +“Have you Cutty's address?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then take me at once to a telegraph office. I have a very important +message to send him.” + +“All right, Miss Conover.” + +“Say: 'Decision made. It is yes.' And sign it just Kitty.” + +Without being conscious of it her soul was still in the clouds, where it +had been driven by the music of the fiddle; thus, what she assumed to be +a normal sequence of a train of thought was only a sublime impulse. She +would marry Cutty. More, she would be his wife, his true wife. For his +tenderness, his generosity, his chivalry, she would pay him in kind. +There would be no nonsense; love would not enter into the bargain; +but there would be the fragrance of perfect understanding. That he +was fifty-two and she was twenty-four no longer mattered. No more +loneliness, no more genteel poverty; for such benefits she was ready to +pay the score in full. A man she was genuinely fond of, a man she could +look up to, always depend upon. + +Was there such a thing as perfect love? She had her doubts. She reasoned +that love was what a body decided was love, the psychological moment +when the physical attraction became irresistible. Who could tell before +the fact which was the true and which the false? Lived there a woman, +herself excepted, who had not hesitated between two men--a man who had +not doddered between two women--for better or for worse? What did the +average woman know of the man, the average man know of the woman--until +afterward? To stake all upon a guess! + +She knew Cutty. Under her own eyes he had passed through certain proving +fires. There would be no guessing the manner of man he was. He was +fifty-two; that is to say, the grand passion had come and gone. There +would be mutual affection and comradeship. + +True, she had her dreams; but she could lay them away without any +particular regret. She had never been touched by the fire of passion. +Let it go. But she did know what perfect comradeship was, and she would +grasp it and never loose her hold. Something out of life. + +“A narrow squeak, Miss Conover,” said Berumi, breaking the long silence. + +“A miss is as good as a mile,” replied Kitty, not at all grateful for +the interruption. + +“We've done everything we could to protect you. If you can't see +now--why, the jig is up. A chain is as strong as its weakest link. And +in a game like this a woman is always the weakest link.” + +“You're quite a philosopher.” + +“I have reason to be. I'm married.” + +“Am I expected to laugh?” + +“Miss Conover, you're a wonder. You come through these affairs with a +smile, when you ought to have hysterics. I'll bet a doughnut that when +you see a mouse you go and get it a piece of cheese.” + +“Do you want the truth? Well, I'll tell it to you. You have all kept me +on the outer edge of this affair, and I've been trying to find out why. +I have the reportorial instinct, as they say. I inherited it from my +father. You put a strange weapon in my hands, you tell me it is deadly, +but you don't tell me which end is deadly. Do you know who this Russian +is?” + +“Honestly, I don't.” + +“Does Cutty?” + +“I don't know that, either.” + +“Did you ever hear of a pair of emeralds called the drums of jeopardy?” + +“Nope. But I do know if you continue these stunts you'll head the whole +game into the ditch.” + +“You may set your mind at ease. I'm going to marry Cutty. I shall not go +to the apartment again until Hawksley, as he is called, is gone.” + +“Well, well; that's good news! But let me put you wise to one fact, +Miss Conover: you have picked some man! I'm not much of a scholar, but +knowing him as I do I'm always wondering why they made Faith, Hope, and +Charity in female form. But this night's work was bad business. They +know where the Russian is now; and if the game lasts long enough they'll +reach the chief, find out who he is; and that'll put the kibosh on his +usefulness here and abroad. Well, here's home, and no more lecture from +me.” + +“Sorry I've been so much trouble.” + +“Perhaps we ought to have shown you which end shoots.” + +“Good-night.” + +If Kitty had any doubt as to the wisdom of her decision, the cold, +gloomy rooms of her apartment dissipated them. She wandered through the +rooms, musing, calling back animated scenes. What would the spirit of +her mother say? Had she doddered between Conover and Cutty? Perhaps. +But she had been one of the happy few who had guessed right. Singular +thought: her mother would have been happy with Cutty, too. + +Oh, the relief of knowing what the future was going to be! She took off +her hat and tossed it upon the table. The good things of life, and a +good comrade. + +Food. The larder would be empty and there was her breakfast to consider. +She passed out into the kitchen, wrote out a list of necessities, and +put it on the dumb waiter. Now for the dishes she had so hurriedly left. +She rolled up her sleeves, put on the apron, and fell to the task. After +such a night--dish-washing! She laughed. It was a funny old world. + +Pauses. Perhaps she should have gone to a hotel, away from all familiar +objects. Those flatirons intermittently pulled her eyes round. Her fancy +played tricks with her whenever her glance touched the window. Faces +peering in. In a burst of impatience she dropped the dish towel, hurried +to the window, and threw it up. Black emptiness!... Cutty, crossing the +platform with Hawksley on his shoulders. She saw that, and it comforted +her. + +She finished her work and started for bed. But first she entered the +guest room and turned on the lights. Olga. She had intended to ask him +who Olga was. + +A great pity. They might have been friends. The back of her hand went +to her lips but did not touch them. She could not rub away those burning +kisses--that is, not with the back of her hand. Vividly she saw him +fiddling bareheaded in front of the Metropolitan Opera House. It seemed, +though, that it had happened years ago. A great pity. The charm of that +frolic would abide with her as long as she lived. A brave man, too. +Hadn't he left her with a gay wave of the hand, not knowing, for want of +strength, if he could make the detour of the block? That took courage. +His journey halfway across the world had taken courage. Yet he could so +basely disillusion her. It was not the kiss; it was the smile. She had +seen that smile before, born of evil. If only he had spoken! + +The heavenly magic of that fiddle! It made her sad. Genius, the ability +to play with souls, soothe, tantalize, lift up; and then to smile at her +like that! + +She shut down the curtain upon these cogitations and summoned Cutty, +visualized his handsome head, shot with gray, the humour of his smile. +She did care for him; no doubt of that. She couldn't have sent that +telegram else. Cutty--name of a pipe, as the Frenchmen said! All at once +she rocked with laughter. She was going to marry a man whose given name +she could not recall! Henry, George, John, William? For the life of her +she could not remember. + +And with this laughter still bubbling in a softer note she got into bed, +twisted about from side to side, from this pillow to that, the tired +body seeking perfect relaxation. + +A broken melody entered her head. Sleepily she sought one channel of +thought after another to escape; still the melody persisted. As her +consciousness dodged hither and thither the bars and measures joined.... +She sat up, chilled, bewildered. That Tschaikowsky waltz! She could +hear it as clearly as if Johnny Two-Hawks and the Amati were in the very +room. She grew afraid. Of what? She did not know. + +And while she sat there in bed threshing out this fear to find the +grain, Cutty was tramping the streets of Washington, her telegram +crumpled in his hand. From time to time he would open it and reread it +under a street lamp. + +To marry her and then to cheat her. It wasn't humanly possible to marry +her and then to let her go. He thought of those warm, soft arms round +his neck, the absolute trust of that embrace. Molly's girl. No, he could +not do it. He would have to back down, tell her he could not put the +bargain through, invent some other scheme. + +The idea had been repugnant to her. It had taken her a week to fight it +out. It was a little beyond his reach, however, why the idea should have +been repugnant to her. It entailed nothing beyond a bit of mummery. The +repugnance was not due to religious training. The Conover household, as +he recalled it, had been rather lax in that respect. Why, then, should +Kitty have hesitated? + +He thought of Hawksley, and swore. But for Hawksley's suggestion no +muddle like this would have occurred. Devil take him and his infernal +green stones! + +Cutty suddenly remembered his train. He looked at his watch and saw that +his lower berth was well on the way to Baltimore. Always and eternally +he was missing something. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +Not unusually, when we burn our bridges, we have in the back of our +minds the dim hope that there may be a shallow ford somewhere. Thus, +bridges should not be burned impulsively; there may be no ford. + +The idea of retreat pushed forward in Kitty's mind the moment she awoke; +but she pressed it back in shame. She had given her word, and she would +stand by it. + +The night had been a series of wild impulses. She had not sent that +telegram to Cutty as the result of her deliberations in the country. +Impulse; a flash, and the thing was done, her bridges burned. To crush +Johnny Two-Hawks, fill his cup with chagrin, she had told him she was +going to marry Cutty. That was the milk in the cocoanut. Morning has a +way of showing up night-gold for what it is--tinsel. Kitty saw the stage +of last night's drama dismantled. If there was a shallow ford, she would +never lower her pride to seek it. She had told Two-Hawks, sent that wire +to Cutty, broke the news to Bernini. + +But did she really want to go back? Not to know her own mind, to swing +back and forth like a pendulum! Was it because she feared that, having +married Cutty, she might actually fall in love with some other man +later? She could still go through the mummery as Cutty had planned; but +what about all the sublime generosity of the preceding night? + +A queer feeling pervaded her: She was a marionette, a human manikin, +and some invisible hand was pulling the wires that made her do all +these absurd things. Her own mind no longer controlled her actions. The +persistence of that waltz! It had haunted her, broken into her dreams, +awakened her out of them. Why should she be afraid? What was there to be +afraid of in a recurring melody? She had heard a dozen famed +violinists play it. It had never before affected her beyond a flash of +emotionalism. Perhaps it was the romantic misfortune of the man, the +mystery surrounding him, the menace which walled him in. + +Breakfast. Human manikins had appetites. So she made her breakfast. +Before leaving the kitchen she stopped at the window. The sun filled +the court with brilliant light. The patches of rust on the fire-escape +ladder, which was on the Gregor side of the platform, had the semblance +of powdered gold. + +Half an hour later she was speeding downtown to the office. All through +the day she walked, worked, talked as one in the state of trance. +There were periods of stupefaction which at length roused Burlingame's +curiosity. + +“Kitty, what's the matter with you? You look dazed about something.” + +“How do you clean a pipe?” she countered, irrelevantly. + +“Clean a pipe?” he repeated, nearly overbalancing his chair. + +“Yes. You see, I may make up my mind to marry a man who smokes a pipe,” + said Kitty, desperately, eager to steer Burlingame into another channel; +“and certainly I ought to know how to clean one.” + +“Kitty, I'm an old-timer. You can't sidetrack me like this. Something +has happened. You say you had a great time in the country, and you come +in as pale as the moon, like someone suffering from shell shock. Ever +since Cutty came in here that day you've been acting oddly. You may not +know it, but Cutty asked me to send you out of town. You've been in some +kind of danger. What's the yarn?” + +“So big that no newspaper will ever publish it, Burly. If Cutty wants to +tell you some day he can. I haven't the right to.” + +“Did he drag you into it or did you fall into it?” + +“I walked into it, as presently I shall walk out of it--all on my own. + +“Better keep your eyes open. Cutty's a stormy petrel; when he flies +there's rough weather.” + +“What do you know about him?” + +“Probably what he has already told you--that he is a foreign agent of +the Government. What do you know?” + +“Everything but one thing, and that's a problem particularly my own.” + +“Alien stuff, I suppose. Cutty's strong on that. Well, mind your step. +The boys are bringing in queer scraps about something big going to +happen May Day--no facts, just rumours. Better shoot for home the +shortest route each night and stick round there.” + +There are certain spiritual exhilarants that nullify caution, warning +the presence of danger. The boy with his first pay envelope, the lover +who has just been accepted, the debutante on the way to her first ball; +the impetus that urges us to rush in where angels fear to tread. + +At a quarter after five Kitty left the office for home, unaware that +the attribute designated as caution had evaporated from her system. She +proceeded toward the Subway mechanically, the result of habit. Casually +she noted two taxicabs standing near the Subway entrance. That she +noted them at all was due to the fact that Subway entrances were not +fortuitous hunting grounds for taxicabs. Only the unusual would have +attracted her in her present condition of mind. It takes time and +patience to weave a good web--observe any spider--time in finding a +suitable place for it; patience in the spinning. All that worried Karlov +was the possibility of her not observing him. If he could place +his taxicabs where they would attract her, even casually, the main +difficulty would be out of the way. The moment she turned her head +toward the cabs he would step out into plain view. The girl was +susceptible and adventuresome. + +Kitty saw a man step out of the foremost taxicab, give some instructions +to the chauffeur, and get back into the cab, immediately to be driven +off at moderate speed. She recognized the man at once. Never would she +forget that squat, gorilla-like body. Karlov! Yonder, in that cab! She +ran to the remaining cab; wherein she differed from angels. + +“Are you free?” + +“Yes, miss.” + +“See that taxi going across town? Follow it and I will give you ten +extra fare.” + +“You're on, miss.” + +Karlov peered through the rear window of his cab. If she had in tow a +Federal agent the manoeuvre would fail, at a great risk to himself. But +he would soon be able to tell whether or not she was being followed. + +As a matter of fact, she was not. She had returned to New York a day +before she was expected. Her unknown downtown guardian would not turn +up for duty until ordered by Cutty to do so. She entered the second cab +with no definite plan in her head. Karlov, the man who wanted to kill +Johnny Two-Hawks, the man who held Stefani Gregor a prisoner! For the +present these facts were sufficient. “Don't get too near,” said Kitty +through the speaking tube. “Just keep the cab in sight.” + +A perfectly logical compensation. She herself had set in motion the +machinery of this amazing adventure; it was logically right that she +should end it. Poor dear old Cutty--to fancy he could pull the wool over +Kitty Conover's eyes! Cutty, the most honest man alive, had set his foot +upon an unethical bypath and now found himself among nettles. To keep +Johnny Two-Hawks prisoner in that lofty apartment while he hunted for +the drums of jeopardy! Hadn't he said he had seen emeralds he would +steal with half a chance? Cutty, playing at this sort of game, +his conscience biting whichever way he turned! He had been hunting +unsuccessfully for the stones that night he had come in with his face +and hands bloody. Why hadn't he kissed her? + +Johnny Two-Hawks--bourgeois? Utter nonsense! Of course it did not matter +now what he was; he had dug a bridgeless chasm with that smile. Sometime +to-morrow he and Stefani Gregor would be on their way to Montana; and +that would be the last of them both. To-morrow would mark the fork in +the road. But life would never again be humdrum for Kitty Conover. + +The taxicabs were bumping over cobbles, through empty streets. It was +six by now; at that hour this locality, which she recognized as the +warehouse district, was always dead. The deserted streets, how ever, set +in motion a slight perturbation. Supposing Karlov grew suspicious and +turned aside from his objective? Even as this disturbing thought +took form Karlov's taxicab stopped. Kitty's stopped also, but without +instructions from her. She had intended to drive on and from the rear +window observe if Karlov entered that old red-brick house. + +“Go on!” she called through the tube. + +The chauffeur obeyed, but he stopped again directly behind Karlov's +taxicab. He slid off his seat and opened the door. His face was grim. + +Tumpitum-tump! Tumpitum-tump! She did not hear the tocsin this time; she +felt it on her spine--the drums of fear. If they touched her! + +“Come with me, miss. If you are sensible you will not be harmed. If you +cut up a racket I'll have to carry you.” + +“What does this mean?” faltered Kitty. + +“That we have finally got you, miss. You can see for yourself that there +isn't any help in sight. Better take it sensibly. We don't intend to +hurt you. It's somebody else we want. There's a heavy score against you, +but we'll overlook it if you act sensibly. You were very clever last +night; but the game depends upon the last trick.” + +“I'll go sensibly,” Kitty agreed. They must not touch her! + +Karlov did not speak as he opened the door of the house for her. His +expression was Buddha-like. + +“This way, miss,” said the chauffeur, affably. + +“You are an American?” + +“Whenever it pays.” + +Presently Kitty found herself in the attic, alone. They hadn't touched +her; so much was gained. Poor little fool that she was! It was fairly +dark now, but overhead she could see the dim outlines of the scuttle +or trap. The attic was empty except for a few pieces of lumber and some +soap boxes. She determined to investigate the trap at once, before they +came again. + +She placed two soap boxes on end and laid a plank across. After testing +its stability she mounted. She could reach the trap easily, with plenty +of leverage to spare. She was confident that she could draw herself +up to the roof. She sought for the hooks and liberated them, then she +placed her palms against the trap and heaved. Not even a creak answered +her. She pressed upward again and again. The trap was immovable. + +Light. She turned, to behold Karlov in the doorway, a candlestick in his +hand. “The scuttle is covered with cement, Miss Conover. Nobody can get +in or out.” + +Kitty got down, her knees uncertain. If he touched her! Oh, the fool she +had been! + +“What are you going to do with me?” she asked through dry lips. + +“You are to me a bill of exchange, payable in something more precious +to me than gold. I am going to keep you here until you are ransomed. The +ransom is the man you have been shielding. If he isn't here by midnight +you vanish. Oh, we shan't harm you. Merely you will disappear until my +affairs in America are terminated. You are clever and resourceful for so +young a woman. You will understand that we are not going to turn aside. +You are not a woman to me; you are a valuable pawn. You are something to +bargain for.” + +“I understand,” said Kitty, her heart trying to burst through. It seemed +impossible that Karlov should not hear the thunder. To placate him, to +answer his questions, to keep him from growing angry! + +“I thought you would.” Karlov set the candle on Kitty's impromptu +stepladder. “We saw your interest in the affair, and attacked you on +that side. You had seen me once. Being a newspaper writer--the New York +kind--you would not rest until you learned who I was. You would not +forget me. You were too well guarded uptown. You have been out of +the city for a week. We could not find where. You were reported seen +entering your office this morning; and here you are. My one fear was +that you might not see me. Personally you will have no cause to worry. +No hand shall touch you. + +“Thank you for that.” + +“Don't misunderstand. There is no sentiment behind this promise. I +imagine your protector will sacrifice much for your sake. Simply it is +unnecessary to offer you any violence. Do you know who the man is your +protector is shielding?” + +Kitty shook her head. + +“Has he played the fiddle for you?” + +“Yes.” + +Karlov smiled. “Did you dance?” + +“Dance? I don't understand.” + +“No matter. He can play the fiddle nearly as well as his master. The two +of them have gone across the world fiddling the souls of women out of +their bodies.” + +Kitty sat down weakly on the plank. Terror from all points. Karlov's +unexcited tones--his lack of dramatic gesture--convinced her that this +was deadly business. Terror that for all the promise of immunity they +might lay hands on her. Terror for Johnny Two-Hawks, for Cutty. + +“Has he injured you?” she asked, to gain time. + +“He is an error in chronology. He represents an idea which no longer +exists.” He spoke English fluently, but with a rumbling accent. + +“But to kill him for that!” + +“Kill him? My dear young lady, I merely want him to fiddle for me,” said +Karlov with another smile. + +“You tried to kill him,” insisted Kitty, the dryness beginning to leave +her throat. + +“Bungling agents. Do know what became of them--the two who invaded your +bedroom?” + +“They were taken away the police.” + +“So I thought. What became of the wallet?” + +“I found it hidden on the back of my stove.” + +“I never thought to look there,” said Karlov, musingly. “Who has the +drums?” + +“The emeralds? You haven't them!” cried Kitty, becoming her mother's +daughter, though her heart never beat so thunderously as now. “We +thought you had them!” + +Karlov stared at her, moodily. “What is that button for, at the side of +your bed?” + +Kitty comprehended the working of the mind that formulated this +question. If she answered truthfully he would accept her statements. “It +rings an alarm in the basement.” + +Karlov nodded. “You are truthful and sensible I haven't the emeralds.” + +“Perhaps one of your men betrayed you.” + +“I have thought of that. But if he had betrayed me the drums would have +been discovered by the police.... Damn them to hell!” Kitty wondered +whether he meant the police or the emeralds. + +“Later, food and a blanket will be brought to you. If your ransom does +not appear by midnight you will be taken away. If you struggle we may +have to handle you roughly. That is as you please.” + +Karlov went out, locking the door. + +Oh, the blind little fool she had been! All those constant warnings, and +she had not heeded! Cutty had warned her repeatedly, so had Bernini; and +she had deliberately walked into this trap. As if this cold, murderous +madman would risk showing himself without some grim and terrible +purpose. She had written either Cutty's or Johnny Two-Hawks' death +warrant. She covered her eyes. It was horrible. + +Perhaps not Cutty, but assuredly Two-hawks. His life for her liberty. + +“And he will come!” she whispered. She knew it. How, was not to be +analyzed. She just knew that he would come. What if he had smiled like +that! The European point of view and her own monumental folly. He would +come quietly, without protest, and give himself up. + +“God forgive me! What can I do? What can I do?” + +She slid to the floor and rocked her body. Her fault! He would +come--even as Cutty would have come had he been the man demanded. And +Karlov would kill him--because he was an error in chronology! She sensed +also that the anarchist would not look upon his act as murder. He would +be removing an obstacle from the path of his sick dreams. + +Comparisons! She saw how much alike the two were. Cutty was only Johnny +Two-Hawks at fifty-two--fearless and whimsical. Had Cutty gone through +life without looking at some woman as, last night, Two-Hawks had looked +at her? All the rest of her life she would see Two-Hawks' eyes. + +Abysmal fool, to pit her wits against such men as Karlov! Because +she had been successful to a certain extent, she had overrated her +cleverness, with this tragic result... He had fiddled the soul out of +her. But death! + +She sprang up. It was maddening to sit still, to feel the approach +of the tragedy without being able to prevent it. She investigated the +windows. No hope in this direction. It was rapidly growing dark outside. +What time was it? + +The door opened. A man she had not seen before came in with a blanket, +a pitcher of water, and some graham crackers. His fingers were stained a +brilliant yellow and a peculiar odour emanated from his clothes. He did +not speak to her, but set the articles on the floor and departed. + +Kitty did not stir. An hour passed; she sat as one in a trance. The +tallow dip was sinking. By and by she became conscious of a faint +sound, a tapping. Whence it came she could not tell. She moved about +cautiously, endeavouring to locate it. When she finally did the blood +drummed in her ears. The trap! Someone was trying to get in through the +trap! + +Cutty! Thus soon! Who else could it be? She hunted for a piece of lumber +light enough to raise to the trap. She tapped three times, and waited. +Silence. She repeated the signal. This time it was answered. Cutty! In a +little while she would be free, and Two-Hawks would not have to pay for +her folly with his life. Terror and remorse departed forthwith. + +She took the plank to the door and pushed one end under the door knob. +Then she piled the other planks against the butt. The moment she heard +steps on the stairs she would stand on the planks. It would be difficult +to open that door. She sat down on the planks to wait. From time to time +she built up the falling tallow. Cutty must have light. The tapping on +the trap went on. They were breaking away the cement. Perhaps an hour +passed. At least it seemed a very long time. + +Steps on the stairs! She stood up, facing the door, the roots of her +hair tingling. She heard the key turn in the lock; and then as in a +nightmare she felt the planks under her feet stir slightly but with +sinister persistence. She presently saw the toe of a boot insert, itself +between the door and the jamb. The pressure increased; the space between +the door and the jamb widened. Suddenly the boot vanished, the door +closed, and the plank fell. Immediately thereafter Karlov stood inside +the room, scowling suspiciously. + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +Cutty arrived at the apartment in time to share dinner with Hawksley. +He had wisely decided to say nothing about the escapade of Hawksley +and Kitty Conover, since it had terminated fortunately. Bernini had +telegraphed the gist of the adventure. He could readily understand +Hawksley's part; but Kitty's wasn't reducible to ordinary terms of +expression. The young chap had run wild because his head still wobbled +on his shoulders and because his isolation was beginning to scratch +his nerves. But for Kitty to run wild with him offered a blank wall to +speculation. (As if he could solve the riddle when Kitty herself could +not!) So he determined to shut himself up in his study and shuffle the +chrysoprase. Something might come of it. Looking backward, he recognized +the salient, at no time had he been quite sure of Kitty. She seemed to +be a combination of shallows and unfathomable deeps. + +From the Pennsylvania Station he had called up the office. Kitty had +gone. Bernini informed him that Kitty was dining at a cafe on the way +home. Cutty was thorough. He telephoned the restaurant and was advised +that Miss Conover had reserved a table. He had forgotten to send down +the operative who guarded Kitty at that end. But the distance from the +office to the Subway was so insignificant! + +“You are looking fit,” he said across the table. + +“Ought to be off your hands by Monday. But what about Stefani Gregor? I +can't stir, leaving him hanging on a peg.” + +“I am going into the study shortly to decide that. Head bother you?” + +“Occasionally.” + +“Ryan easy to get along with?” + +“Rather a good sort. I say, you know, you've seen a good deal of +life. Which do you consider the stronger, the inherited traits or +environment?” + +“Environment. That is the true mould. There is good and bad in all of +us. It is brought into prominence by the way we live. An angel cannot +touch pitch without becoming defiled. On the other hand, the worst +gutter rats in the world saved France. Do you suppose that thought will +not always be tugging at and uplifting those who returned from the first +Marne?” + +“There is hope, then, for me!” + +“Hope?” + +“Yes. You know that my father, my uncle, and my grandfather were fine +scoundrels.” + +“Under their influence you would have been one, too. But no man could +live with Stefani Gregor and not absorb his qualities. Your environment +has been Anglo-Saxon, where the first block in the picture is fair +play. You have been constantly under the tutelage of a fine and lofty +personality, Gregor's. Whatever evil traits you may have inherited, they +have become subject to the influences that have surrounded you. Take +me, for instance. I was born in a rather puritanical atmosphere. My +environments have always been good. Yet there lurks in me the taint of +Macaire. Given the wrong environment, I should now have my picture in +the Rogues' Gallery.” + +“You?” + +“Yes.” + +Hawksley played with his fork. “If you had a daughter would you trust me +with her?” + +“Yes. Any man who can weep unashamed over the portrait of his mother may +be trusted. Once you are out there in Montana you'll forget all about +your paternal forbears.” + +Handsome beggar, thought Cutty; but evidently born under the opal. An +inexplicable resentment against his guest stirred his heart. He resented +his youth, his ease of manner, his fluency in the common tongue. He was +theoretically a Britisher; he thought British; approached subjects from +a British point of view. A Britisher--except when he had that fiddle +tucked under his chin. Then Cutty admitted he did not know what he was. +Devil take him! + +There must have been something electrical in Cutty's resentment, for +the object of it felt it subtly, and it fired his own. He resented the +freedom of action that had always been denied him, resented his host's +mental and physical superiority. Did Cutty care for the girl, or was he +playing the game as it had been suggested to him? Money and freedom. But +then, it was in no sense a barter; she would be giving nothing, and the +old beggar would be asking nothing. His suggestion! He laughed. + +“What's the joke?” asked Cutty, looking up from his coffee, which he was +stirring with unnecessary vigour. + +“It isn't a joke. I'm bally well twisted. I laugh now when I think of +something tragic. I am sorry about last night. I was mad, I suppose.” + +“Tell me about it.” + +Cutty listened intently and smiled occasionally. Mad as hatters, both of +them. He and Kitty couldn't have gone on a romp like this, but Kitty and +Hawksley could. Thereupon his resentment boiled up again. + +“Have you any idea why she took such a risk? Why she came here, knowing +me to be absent?” + +“She spoke of a problem. I fancy it related to your approaching +marriage. She told me.” + +Cutty laid down his spoon. “I'd like to dump Your Highness into the +middle of East River for putting that idea into my head. She has +consented to it; and now, damn it, I've got to back out of it!” Cutty +rose and flung down his napkin. + +“Why?” asked the bewildered Hawksley. + +“Because there is in me the making of a first-rate scoundrel, and I +never should have known it if you and your affairs hadn't turned up.” + +Cutty entered his study and slammed the door, leaving Hawksley prey to +so many conflicting emotions that his head began to bother him. Back +out of it! Why? Why should Kitty have a problem to solve over such a +marriage of convenience, and why should the old thoroughbred want to +back out? + +Kitty would be free, then? A flash of fire, which subsided quickly under +the smothering truth. What if she were free? He could not ask her to be +his wife. Not because of last night's madness. That no longer troubled +him. She was the sort who would understand, if he told her. She had +a soul big with understanding. It was that he walked in the shadow of +death, and would so long as Karlov was free; and he could not ask any +woman to share that. + +He pushed back his chair slowly. In the living room he took the Amati +from its case and began improvising. What the chrysoprase did for Cutty +the fiddle did for this derelict--solved problems. + +He reviewed all the phases as he played. That dish of bacon and eggs, +the resolute air of her, that popping fan! [Allegretto.] She had found +him senseless on the floor. She had had the courage to come to his +assistance. [Andante con espressione.] What had been in her mind that +night she had taken flight from his bedroom, after having given him the +wallet? Something like tears. What about? An American girl, natural, +humorous, and fanciful. Somehow he felt assured that it had not been his +kisses; she had looked into his eyes and seen the taint. Always there, +the beast that old Stefani had chained and subdued. He knew now that +this beast would never again lift its head. And he had let her go +without a sign. [Dolorosomente.] To have gone through life with a woman +who would have understood his nature. The test of her had been last +night in the streets. His mood had been hers. [Allegretto con amore.] + +“Love,” he said, lowering the bow. + +“Love,” said Cutty, shifting his chrysoprase. There was no fool like an +old fool. It did not serve to recall Molly in all her glory, to reach +hither and yon for a handhold to pull him out of this morass. Molly had +become an invisible ghost. He loved her daughter. Double sunset; the +phenomenon of the Indian Ocean was now being enacted upon his own +horizon. Double sunset. + +But why should Kitty have any problem to solve? Why should she dodder +over such a trifle as this prospective official marriage? It was only +a joke which would legalize his generosity. She had sent that telegram +after leaving this apartment. What had happened here to decide her? Had +Hawksley fiddled? There was something the matter with the green stones +to-night; they evoked nothing. + +He leaned back in his chair, listening, the bowl of his pipe touching +the lapel of his coat. Music. Queer, what you could do with a fiddle if +you knew how. + +After all there was no sense in venting his anger on Hawksley. He was +hoist by his own petard. Why not admit the truth? He had had a crack +on the head the same night as Hawksley; only, he had been struck by an +idea, often more deadly than the butt of a pistol. He would apologize +for that roaring exit from the dining room. The poor friendless devil! +He bent toward the green stones again. In the living room Hawksley sat +in a chair, the fiddle across his knees. He understood now. The old +chap was in love with the girl, and was afraid of himself; couldn't +risk having her and letting her go.... A curse on the drums of jeopardy! +Misfortune followed their wake always. The world would have been +different this hour if he--The break in the trend of thought was caused +by the entrance of Kuroki, who was followed by a man. This man dropped +into a chair without apparently noticing that the room was already +tenanted, for he never glanced toward Hawksley. A haggard face, dull +of eye. Kuroki bobbed and vanished, but returned shortly, beckoning the +stranger to follow him into the study. + +“Coles?” cried Cutty delightedly. Here was the man he had sent to +negotiate for the emeralds, free. “How did you escape? We've combed the +town for you.” + +“They had me in a room on Fifteenth Street. Once in a while I got +something to eat. But I haven't escaped. I'm still a prisoner.” + +“What do you mean by that?” + +“I am here as an emissary. There was nothing for me to do but accept the +job.” + +“Did he have the stones?” asked Cutty, without the least suspicion of +what was coming. + +“That I don't know. He pretended to have them in order to get me where +he wanted me. I've been hungry a good deal because I wouldn't talk. I'm +here as a negotiator. A rotten business. I agreed because I've hopes +you'll be able to put one over on Karlov. It's the girl.” + +“Kitty?” + +“Karlov has her. The girl wasn't to blame. Any one in the game would +have done as she did. Karlov is bugs on politics; but he's shrewd enough +at this sort of game. He trapped the girl because he'd studied her +enough to learn what she would or would not do. Now they are not going +to hurt her. They merely propose exchanging her for the man you've been +hiding up here. There's a taxi downstairs. It will carry me back to +Fifteenth; then it will return and wait. If the man is not at the +appointed place by midnight--he must go in this taxi--the girl will be +carried off elsewhere, and you'll never lay eyes on her again. Karlov +and his gang are potential assassins; all they want is excuse. Until +midnight they will not touch the girl; but after midnight, God knows! +What message am I to take back?” + +“Do you know where she is?” + +Cutty spoke without much outward emotion. + +“Not the least idea. Whenever Karlov wanted to quiz me, he appeared late +at night from some other part of the town. But he never got much.” + +“You saw him this evening?” + +“Yes. It probably struck him as a fine joke to send me.” + +“And if you don't go back?” + +“The girl will be taken away. I'm honestly afraid of the man. He's too +quiet spoken. That kind of a man always goes the limit.” + +“I see. Wait here.” + +At Cutty's approach Hawksley looked up apathetically. + +“Want me?” + +“Perhaps.” + +“You are pale. Anything serious?” + +“Yes. Karlov has got Kitty.” + +For a minute Hawksley did not stir. Then he got up, put away the Amati, +and came back. He was pale, too. + +“I understand,” he said. “They will exchange her for me. Am I right?” + +“Yes. But you are not obliged to do anything like that, you know.” + +“I am ready.” + +“You give yourself up?” + +“Why not?” + +“You're a man!” Cutty burst out. + +“I was brought up by one. Honestly, now, could I ever look a white man +in the face again if I didn't give myself up? I did begin to believe +that I might get through. But Fate was only playing with me. May I use +your desk to write a line?” + +“Come with me,” said Cutty, unsteadily. This was not the result +of environment. Quiet courage of this order was race. No questions +demanding if there wasn't some way round the inevitable. Cutty's heart +glowed; the boy had walked into it, never to leave it. “I'm ready.” It +took a man to say that when the sequence was death. + +“Coles,” said Cutty upon reentering the study, “tell Karlov that His +Highness will give himself up. He will be there before midnight.” + +“That's enough for me. But if there's the least sign that you're not +playing straight it will be all off. Two men will be watching the taxi +and the entrance. If you appear, it's good-night. They told me to warn +you.” + +“I promise not to appear.” + +Coles smiled enigmatically and reached for his hat. He held his hand out +to Hawksley. “You're a white man, sir.” + +“Thanks,” said Hawksley, absently. To have it all over with! + +As soon as the captive Federal agent withdrew Hawksley sat down at the +desk and wrote. + +“Will this hold legally?” he asked, extending the written sheet to +Cutty. + +Cutty saw that it was a simple will. In it Hawksley gave half of his +possessions to Kitty and half to Stefani Gregor. In case the latter was +dead the sum total was to go to Kitty. + +“I got you into a muddle; this will take you out of it. Karlov will kill +me. I don't know how. I am his obsession. He will sleep better with me +off his mind. Will this hold legally?” + +“Yes. But why Kitty Conover, a stranger?” + +“Is a woman who saves your life a stranger?” + +“Well, not exactly. This is what we might call zero hour. I gave you a +haven here not particularly because I was sorry for you, but because I +wanted those emeralds. Once upon a time Gregor showed them to me. Until +I examined your wallet I supposed you had smuggled in the stones; and +that would have been fair game. But you had paid your way in honestly. +Now, what did you do to Kitty Conover last night that decided her to +accept that fool proposition? She sent her acceptance after she left +you. + +“I did not know that. I played for her. She became music-struck, and +I took advantage of it--kissed her. Then she told me she was going to +marry you.” + +“And that is why you asked me if I would trust you with a daughter of +mine?” + +“Yes.” + +“Conscience. That explains this will.” + +“No. Why did you accept my suggestion to marry her?” + +“To make her comfortable without sidestepping the rules of convention.” + +“No. Because you love her--the way I do.” + +Cutty's pipe slipped from his teeth. It did not often do that. He +stamped out the embers and laid the pipe on the tray. + +“What makes you think I love her?” + +“What makes me tell you that I do?” + +“Yes, death may be at the end of to-night's work; so I'll admit that I +love her. She is like a forest stream, wild at certain turns, but always +sweet and clear. I'm an old fool, old enough to be her father. I loved +her mother. Can a man love two women with all his heart, one years after +the other?” + +“It is the avatar; she is the reincarnation of the mother. I understand +now. What was a beautiful memory takes living form again. You still love +the mother; the daughter has revived that love.” + +“By the Lord Harry, I believe you've struck it! Walked into the fog and +couldn't find the way out. Of course. What an old ass I've been! Simple +as daylight. I've simply fallen in love with Molly all over again, +thinking it was Kitty. Plain as the nose on my face. And I might have +made a fine mess of it if you hadn't waked me up.” + +All this gentle irony went over Hawksley's head. “When do you wish me to +go down to the taxi?” + +“Son, I'm beginning to like you. You shall have your chance. In fact, +we'll take it together. There'll be a taxi but I'll hire it. I'm quite +positive I know where Kitty is. If I'm correct you'll have your chance. +If I'm wrong you'll have to pay the score. We'll get her out or we'll +stay where she is. In any event, Karlov will pay the price. Wouldn't you +prefer to go out--if you must--in a glorious scrap?” + +“Fighting?” Hawksley was on his feet instantly. “Do you mean that? I can +die with free hands?” + +“With a chance of coming out top-hole.” + +“I say, what a ripping thing hope is--always springing back!” + +Cutty nodded. But he knew there was one hope that would never warm his +heart again. Molly!... Well, he'd let the young chap believe that. Kitty +must never know. Poor little chick, fighting with her soul in the dark +and not knowing what the matter was! Such things happened. He had loved +Molly on sight. He had loved Kitty on sight. In neither case had he +known it until too late to turn about. Mother and daughter; a kind +of sacrilege, as if he had betrayed Molly! But what a clear vision +acknowledged love lent to the mind! He understood Kitty, who did not +understand herself. Well, this night's adventure would decide things. + +He smiled. Neither Kitty nor the drums of jeopardy; nothing. The gates +of paradise again--for somebody else! Whoever heard of a prompter +receiving press notices? + +“Let's look alive! We haven't any time to waste. We'll have to change +to dungarees--engineer togs. There'll be some tools to carry. We go +straight down to the boiler room. We come up the ash exit on the street +side. Remember, no suspicious haste. Two engineers off for their evening +swig of beer at the corner groggery. Through the side door there, and +into my taxi. Obey every order I give. Now run along to Kuroki and say +night work for both of us. He'll understand what's wanted. I'll set the +machinery in motion for a raid. How do you feel? I want the truth. I +don't want to turn to you for help and not get it.” + +Hawksley laughed. “Don't worry about me. I'll carry on. Don't you +understand? To have an end of it, one way or the other! To come free or +to die there!” + +“And if Kitty is not where I believe her to be?” + +“Then I'll return to the taxi outside.” + +To be young like that! thought Cutty, feeling strangely sad and old. “To +come free or to die there!” That was good Anglo-Saxon. He would make a +good American citizen--if he were in luck. + +At half after nine the two of them knelt on the roof before the cemented +trap. Nothing but raging heat disintegrates cement. So the liberation of +this trap, considering the time, was a Herculean task, because it had to +be accomplished with little or no noise. Cold chisels, fulcrums, prying, +heaving, boring. To free the under edge; the top did not matter. Not +knowing if Kitty were below--that was the worst part of the job. + +The sweat of agony ran down Hawksley's face; but he never faltered. He +was going to die to-night, somehow, somewhere, but with free hands, the +way Stefani would have him die, the way the girl would have him die. All +these thousands of miles--to die in a house he had never seen before, +just when life was really worth something! + +An hour went by. Then they heard Kitty's signal. Instinctively the two +of them knew that the taps came from her. They were absolutely certain +when her signal was repeated. She was below, alone. + +“Faster!” whispered Cutty. + +Hawksley smiled. To say that to a chap when he was digging into his +tomb! + +When the sides of the trap were free Cutty tapped to Kitty again. There +was a long, agonizing wait. Then three taps came from below. Cutty +flashed a signal to the warehouse windows. In five minutes the raid +would be in full swing--from the roof, from the street, from the cellar. + +With their short crowbars braced by stout fulcrums the two men heaved. +Noise did not matter now. Presently the trap went over. + +“Look out for your hands; there's lots of loose glass. And together when +we drop.” + +“Right-o!” whispered Hawksley, assured that when he dropped through the +trap the result would be oblivion. Done in. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +Karlov, upon forcing his way past Kitty's barricade, stared at her +doubtfully. This was a clever girl; she had proved her cleverness +frequently. She might have some reason other than fear in keeping him +out. So he put a fresh candle in the sconce and began to prowl. He +pierced the attic windows with a ranging glance; no one was in the yard +or on the Street. The dust on the windows had not been disturbed. + +To Kitty the suspense was intolerable. At any moment Cutty might tap a +query to her. How to warn him that all was not well? A scream would +do it; but in that event when Cutty arrived there would be no Kitty +Conover. Something that would sound unusual to Cutty and accidental to +Karlov. She hit upon it. She seized a plank from her barricade, raised +it to a perpendicular position, then flung it down violently. Would +Cutty hear and comprehend that she was warning him? As a matter of +fact, Cutty never heard the crash, for at that particular minute he was +standing up to get the kinks out of his knees. + +Karlov whirled on his heels, ran to Kitty, and snatched her wrist. “Why +did you do that?” + +Kitty remained mute. “Answer!”--with a cruel twist. + +“You hurt!” she gasped. Anything to gain time. She tried to break away. + +“Why did you do that?” + +“I was going to thrust it through a window to attract attention. It was +too heavy.” + +This explanation was within bounds of reason. It is possible that +Karlov--who had merely come up with a fresh candle--would have departed +but for a peculiarly grim burst of humour on the part of Fate. + +Tap--tap--tap? inquired the unsuspecting man on the roof--exactly to +Kitty like some innocent, inquisitive child embarrassing the family +before company. + +Karlov flung her aside roughly, stepped under the trap, and cupped an +ear. He required no explanations from Kitty, who shrank to the wall and +remained pinned there by terror. Karlov's intuition was keen. Men on +the roof held but one significance. The house was surrounded by Federal +agents. For a space he wavered between two desires, the political and +the private vengeance. + +A call down the stairs, and five minutes afterward there would be +nothing on the spot but a jumble of smoking wood and brick. But not to +see them die! + +His subsequent acts, cold and methodical, fascinated Kitty. He took a +step toward her. The scream died in her throat. But he did not go beyond +that step. The picture of her terror decided his future actions. He +would see them die, here, with the girl looking on. A full measure. Well +enough he knew who were digging away the cement of the trap. What gave +lodgment to this conviction he did not bother to analyze. The man he had +not yet seen, who had balked him, now here, now there, from that first +night; and who but the last of that branch of the hated house should be +with him? To rend, batter, crush, kill! If he were bound for hell, to +go there with the satisfaction of knowing that his private vengeance +had been cancelled. The full reckoning for Anna's degradation: Stefani +Gregor, broken and dying, and all the others dead! + +He would shoot them as they dropped through the trap. Not to kill, but +to maim, render helpless; then he would taunt them and grind his heels +in their faces. Up there, the two he most hated of all living men! + +First he restored Kitty's barricade--to keep assistance from entering +before his work was completed. The butt of the first plank he pushed +under the door knob. The other planks he laid flat, end to end, with the +butt of the last snug against the brick chimney. The door would never +give as a whole; it would have to be smashed in by axes. He then set the +candle on the floor, backed by an up-ended soapbox. His enemies would +drop into a pool of light, while they would not be able to see him at +once. The girl would not matter. Her terror would hold her for some +time. These manoeuvres completed, he answered the signal, sat down on +another box and waited, reminding Kitty of some grotesque Mongolian +idol. + +Kitty saw the inevitable. Thereupon her terror ceased to bind her. As +Cutty flung back the trap she would cry out a warning. Karlov might--and +probably would--kill her. Her share in this night's work--her incredible +folly--required full payment. Having decided to die with Cutty, all her +courage returned. This is the normal result of any sublime resolve. But +with the return of her courage she evolved another plan. She measured +the distance between herself and Karlov, calculating there would be +three strides. As Cutty dropped she would fling herself upon the madman. +The act would at least give Cutty something like equal terms. What +became of Kitty Conover thereafter was of no importance to the world. + +Sounds. She became conscious of noises elsewhere in the house. The floor +trembled. There came a creaking and snapping of wood, and she heard +the trap fall. Karlov stood up, menacing, terrible. She saw where Cutty +would drop, and now understood the cunning of the manoeuvre of placing +the candle in front of the soapbox. Cutty would be an absolute mark for +Karlov, protected by the shadow. She set herself, as a runner at the +tape. + +Karlov was not the type criminal, which when cornered, thinks only of +personal safety. He was a political fanatic. All who opposed his beliefs +must not be permitted to survive. There was a touch of Torquemada of the +Inquisition in his cosmos. He could not kill directly; he had to torture +first. + +He knew by the ascending sounds that there would be no way out of this +for him. To the American, Russia was an outlaw. He would be treated as +a dangerous alien enemy and locked up. Boris Karlov should never live to +eat his heart out behind bars. + +Unique angle of thought, he mused. He wanted mud to trample them in, +Russian mud. The same mud that had filled the mouth of Anna's destroyer. + +He was, then, a formidable antagonist for any two strong men; let alone +two one of whom was rather spent, the other dizzy with pain, holding +himself together by the last shreds of his will. They dropped through +the trap, Cutty in front of the candle, Hawksley a little to one side. +The elder man landed squarely, but Hawksley fell backward. He crawled to +his feet, swaying drunkenly. For a space he was not sure of the reality +of the scene.... Torches and hobnailed boots! + +“So!” said Karlov. + +The torturer must talk; he must explain the immediate future to double +the agony. He could have maimed them both, then trampled them to death, +but he had to inform them of the fact. He pointed the automatic at Cutty +because he considered this man the more dangerous of the two. He at once +saw that the other was a negligible factor. He spoke slowly. + +“And the girl shall witness your agonies,” he concluded. + +Cutty, bereft of invention, could only stare. Death! He had faced it +many times, but always with a chance. There was none here, and the +absolute knowledge paralyzed him. + +Had Cutty been alone Kitty would have rushed at the madman; but the +sight of Hawksley robbed her of all mobility. His unexpected appearance +was to her the Book of Revelation. The blind alley she had entered and +reentered so many times and so futilely crumbled.... Johnny Two-Hawks! + +As for Hawksley, he knew he had but little time. The floor was +billowing; he saw many candles where he knew there was only one. He +was losing his senses. There remained but a single idea--to do the old +thoroughbred one favour for the many. Scorning death--perhaps inviting +it--he lunged headlong at Karlov's knees. + +This reckless challenge to death was so unexpected that Karlov had no +time to aim. He fired at chance. The bullet nipped the left shoulder +of Hawksley's coat and shattered the laths of the partition between the +attic and the servant's quarters. Under the impact of the human catapult +Karlov staggered back, desperately striving to maintain his balance. He +succeeded because Hawksley's senses left him in the instant he struck +Karlov's knees. Still, the episode was a respite for Cutty, who dashed +at Karlov before the latter could set himself or raise the smoking +automatic. + +Kitty then witnessed--dimly--a primordial, titanic conflict which +haunted her dreams for many nights to come. They were no longer men, but +animals; the tiger giving combat to the gorilla, one striking the quick, +terrible blows of the tiger, the other seeking always to come to grips. + +The floor answered under the step and rush. Rare athletes, these two; +big men who were light on their feet. Kitty could see their faces +occasionally and the flash of their bare hands, but of their bodies +little or nothing. Nor could she tell how the struggle was going. Indeed +until the idea came that they might be trampling Johnny Two-Hawks there +was no coherent thought in her head, only broken things. + +She ran to the soapbox and kicked it aside. She saw Hawksley on his +face, motionless. At least they should not trample his dead body. She +caught hold of his arms and dragged him to the wall--to discover that +she was sobbing, sobs of rage and despair that tore at her breast +horribly and clogged her throat. She was a woman and could not help; she +could not help Cutty! She was a woman, and all she could do was to drag +aside the lifeless body of the man who had given Cutty his chance! + +She knelt, turning Hawksley over on his back. There was a slight gash +on one grimy cheek, possibly caused by contact with the latchets of +Karlov's boots. She raised the handsome head, pressed it to her bosom, +and began to sway her body from side to side. Tumult. The Federal +agents were throwing their bodies against the door repeatedly. In the +semi-darkness Cutty fought for his life. But Kitty neither heard nor +saw. The world had suddenly contracted; there was only this beautiful +head in her arms; beyond and about, nothing. + +Cutty felt his strength ebbing; soon he would not be able to wrench +himself loose from those terrible arms. He knew all the phases of the +fighting game. Chivalry and fair play had no part in this contest. Clear +light, to observe what his blows were accomplishing; a minute or two of +clear light! Half the time his blows glanced. The next time those arms +wound about him, that would be the end. He was growing tired, winded; he +had not gone into battle fresh. He knew that many of his blows had gone +home. Any ordinary man would have dropped; but Karlov came on again and +again. + +And all the while Karlov was not fighting Cutty; he was endeavouring +to remove him. He was an obstacle. What Karlov wanted was that head +the girl was holding in her arms; to grind his heel into it. Had Cutty +stepped aside Karlov would have rushed for the other man. + +“Kitty, the door, the door!” Cutty shouted in despair, taking a terrible +kick on the thigh. “The door!” + +Kitty did not stir. + +A panel in the door crushed in. The sole of a boot appeared and +vanished. Then an arm reached in, groping, touched the plank propped +under the door knob, wrenched and tugged until it fell. Immediately the +attic became filled with men. It was time. Karlov had Cutty in his arms. + +This turn in the affair roused Kitty. Presently she saw men in a snarl, +heaving and billowing, with a sudden subsidence. The snarl untangled +itself; men began to step back and produce pocketlamps. Kitty saw +Cutty's face, battered and bloody, appear and disappear in a flash. She +saw Karlov's, too, as he was pulled to his feet, his hands manacled. +Again she saw Cutty. With shaking hand he was trying to attach the loose +end of his collar to the button. The absurdity of it! + +“Take him away. But don't be rough with him. He's only a poor devil of a +madman,” said Cutty. + +Karlov turned and calmly spat into Cutty's face. A dozen fists were +raised, but Cutty intervened. + +“No! Let him be. Just take him away and lock him up. He's a rough road +to travel. And hustle a comfortable car for me to go home in. Not a word +to the newspapers. This isn't a popular raid.” + +As soon as the attic was cleared Cutty limped over to Molly Conover's +daughter. The poor innocent! The way she was holding that head was an +illumination. With a reassuring smile--an effort, for his lips were +puffed and burning--he knelt and put his hand on Hawksley's heart. + +“Done in, Kitty; that's all.” + +“He isn't dead?” + +“Lord, no! He had nine lives, this chap, and only one of 'em missing to +date. But I had no right to let him come. I thought he was fairly fit, +but he wasn't. Saved my life, though. Kitty, your Johnny Two-Hawks is +a real man; how real I did not know until to-night. He has earned his +American citizenship. Fights like he fiddles--on all four strings. All +our troubles are at an end; so buck up.” + +“Alive? He is alive?” + +The wild joy in her voice! “Yes, ma'am; and we two can regularly thank +him for being alive also. That lunge gave me my chance. He's only +stunned. Perhaps he'll need a nurse again. Anyhow, he'll be coming round +in a minute or two. I'll wager the first thing he does is to smile. I +should.” + +Suddenly Kitty grew strangely shy. She became conscious of her anomalous +position. She had promised to marry Cutty, promised herself that she +would be his true wife--and here she was, holding another man's head +to her heart as if it were the most precious head in all the world. +She could not put that head upon the floor at once; that would be a +confession of her embarrassment; and yet she could not continue to hold +Hawksley while Cutty eyed her with semi-humorous concern. Cutty was +merciful, however. “Let me hold him while you make a pillow out of your +coat.” After he had laid Hawksley's head on the coat he said: “He'll +come about quicker this way. We've had some excitement, haven't we?” + +“I don't want any more, Cutty; never any more. I've been a silly, +romantic fool!” + +“Not silly, only glorious.” + +“Your poor face!” + +“Banged up? Well, honestly, it feels as it looks, Kitty, this chap was +going to give himself up in exchange for you. Not a word of protest, not +a question. All he said was: 'I am ready.' That's why I'm always going +to be on his side.” + +“He did that--for me?” + +“For you. Did it never occur to you that you're the sort folks always +want to do things for if you'll let them?” + +“God bless you, Cutty!” + +“He's always blessing me, Kitty. He blessed me with your mother's +friendship, now yours. Kitty, I'm going to jilt you.” + +“Jilt me?”--her heart leaping. + +“Yes, ma'am. We can't go through with that mummery. We aren't built that +way. I'll figure it out in some other fashion. But marriage is a sacred +contract; and this farce would have left a scar on your honest mind. +You'd have to tell some man. Your kind can't go through life without +being loved. Would he understand? I wonder. He'll be human or you +wouldn't fall in love with him; and always he'll be pondering and +bedevilling himself with queer ideas--because he'll be human. Of course +there's a loophole--you can sue me for breach of promise.” + +“Please, Cutty; don't laugh! You're one of those men they call +Greathearts. And now I'm going to tell you something. It wasn't going +to be a farce. I intended to become your true wife, Cutty, make you as +happy as I could.” + +Cutty patted her hand and got up. Lord, how bruised and sore his old +body was!... His true wife! She might have been his if he had not missed +that train. But for this hour, hot with life, she might never have +discovered that she loved Hawksley. His true wife! Ah, she would have +been all of that--Molly's girl! + +“Will you mind waiting here until I see where old Stefani Gregor is?” + +“No,” answered Kitty, dreamily. + +Cutty limped to the door. Outside he leaned against the partition. Done +in, body and soul. Always opening the gates of paradise for somebody +else... His true wife! Slowly he descended the stairs. + +Alone, Kitty smoothed back the dank hair from Hawksley's brow, which she +kissed. Benediction and good-bye. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +Because it was assumed that some of Karlov's pack might be at large and +unsuspectingly return to the trap, Federal agents would remain on guard +all night. They explored the house, hunting for chemicals, documents, +letters, and addresses. They found enough high explosive to blow up the +district. And they found Stefani Gregor. They were standing by the cot +as Cutty came in. + +“Yes, sir. Just this minute went out.” + +“Did he speak?” + +“A woman's name.” + +“Rosa?” + +“Yes, sir. Looks to me as if he had been starved to death. Know who he +was?” + +“Yes. Tell the coroner to be gentle. Once upon a time Stefani Gregor +spoke to kings by right of genius.” + +The thought that he himself might have been the indirect cause of +Gregor's death shocked Cutty, who was above all things tender. + +He had held back the raid for several days, to serve his own ends. He +could have ordered the raid from Washington, and it would have gone +through as smoothly as to-night. The drums of jeopardy. Well, that phase +of the game was done with. He had held up this raid so that he might +be on hand to search Karlov; and until now he had forgotten the drums. +Accurst! They were accurst. The death of Stefani Gregor would always be +on his conscience. + +Cutty stared--not very clearly--at the cameo-like face so beautifully +calm. As in life, so it was in death; the calm that had brooked and +beaten down the turbulent instincts of the boy, the imperturbable calm +of a great soul. Rosa. The sublime unselfishness of the man! He had +sacrificed wealth and fame for the love of the boy's mother--unspoken, +unrequited love, the quality that passes understanding. And his reward: +to die on this cot, in horrid loneliness. Rosa. + +All at once Cutty felt himself little, trivial, beside this forlorn +bier. What did he know about love? He had never made any sacrifices; he +had simply carried in his heart a bittersweet recollection. But here! +Twenty-odd years of unremitting devotion to the son of the woman he +had loved--Stefani Gregor. Creating environments that would develop the +noble qualities in the boy, interposing himself between the boy and the +evil pleasures of the uncle, teaching him the beautiful, cleansing his +soul of the inherited mud. Reverently Cutty drew the coverlet over the +fine old head. + +“What's this?” asked one of the operatives. “Looks like the pieces of a +broken fiddle.” + +Out of those dark red bits of wood--some of them bearing the imprints of +hobnails--Cutty constructed the scene. A wave of bitter rage rolled over +him. The beast! Karlov had done this thing, with poor old Gregor looking +on, too weak to intervene. Not so many years ago these bits of wood, +under the master's touch, had entranced the souls of thousands. Cutty +recalled a fairy tale he had read when a boy about a prince whose soul +had been transformed into a flower which, if plucked or broken, died. +Karlov had murdered Stefani Gregor, perhaps not legally but actually +nevertheless. + +Rehabilitated in soul, Cutty left the room. He had read a compelling +lesson in self-sacrifice. He was going to pick up his cross and go on +with it, smiling. After all, Kitty was only an interlude; the big thing +was the game; and shortly he would be in the thick of great events +again. But Kitty should be happy. + +His old analytical philosophy resumed its functions. The contempt and +jealousy of one race for another; what was God's idea in implanting that +in souls? Hawksley was at base Russian. The boy's English education, +his adopted outlook upon life, made it possible for Cutty to ignore the +racial antagonism of the Anglo-Saxon for all other races. Stefani Gregor +at one end of the world and he at the other, blindly working out the +destinies of Kitty Conover and Ivan Mikhail Feodorovich and so forth and +so on, with the blood of Catharine in his veins! Made a chap dizzy to +think of it. Traditions were piling up along with crowns and sceptres in +the abyss. + +When he returned to the attic he felt himself fortified against any +inevitability. Hawksley was sitting up, his back to the wall, staring +groggily but with reckless adoration into Kitty's lovely face. Youth +will be served. As if, watching these two, there could be any doubt of +it! And he had bent part of his energies toward keeping them separated. + +“Ha!” he cried, cheerfully. “Back on top again, I see. How's the head?” + +“Haven't any; no legs; I'm nothing at all but a bit of my own +imagination. How do you feel?” + +“Like the aftermath of an Irish wake.” Then Cutty's battered face +assumed an expression that was meant to typify gravity. “John,” he aid, +“I've bad news for you.” + +John. A glow went over the young man's aching body. John. What could +that signify except that he had passed into the eternal friendship of +this old thoroughbred? John. + +“About Stefani?” + +“Stefani is dead. He died speaking your mother's name.” + +Hawksley's head sank; his chin touched his chest. He spoke without +looking up. “Something told me I would never see him alive again. Old +Stefani! If there is any good in me it will be his handiwork. I say,” + he added, his eyes now seeking Cutty's, “you called me John. Will you +carry on?” + +“Keep an eye on you? So long as you may need me.” + +“I come from a lawless race. Stefani had to fight. Even now I'm afraid +sometimes. God knows I want to be all he tried to make me.” + +“You're all right, John. You've reached haven; the storms hereafter will +be outside. Besides, Stefani will always be with you. You'll never pick +up that old Amati without feeling Stefani near. Can you stand?” + +“Between the two of you, perhaps.” + +With Kitty on one side and Cutty on the other Hawksley managed the +descent tolerably well. Often a foot dragged. How strong she was, this +girl! No hysterics, no confusion, after all that racket, with death--or +something worse--reaching out toward her; calmly telling him that there +was another step, warning him not to bear too heavily on Cutty! Holding +him up physically and morally, these two, now all he had in life to care +for. Yesterday, unknown to him; this night, bound by hoops of steel. +The girl had forgiven him; he knew it by the touch of her arm.... Old +Stefani! A sob escaped him. Their arms tightened. + +“No; I was thinking of Stefani. Rather hard--to die all alone--because +he loved me.” + +Kitty longed to be alone. There were still many unshed tears--some for +Cutty, some for Stefani Gregor, some for Johnny Two-Hawks, and some for +herself. + +In the limousine Cutty sat in the middle, Kitty on his left and Hawksley +on his right, his arms round them both. Presently Hawksley's head +touched his shoulder and rested there; a little later Kitty did +likewise. His children! Lord, he was going to have a tremendous interest +in life, after all! He smiled with kindly irony at the back of the +chauffeur. His children, these two; and he knew as he planned their +future that they were thinking over and round but not of him, which is +the way of youth. + +At the apartment Cutty decided to let Hawksley sit in an easy chair in +the living room until Captain Harrison arrived. Kuroki was ordered +to prepare a supper, which would be served on the tea cart, set at +Hawksley's knees. Kitty--because it was impossible for her to remain +inactive--set the linen and silver. She was in and out of the room, ill +at ease, angry, frightened, bitter, avoiding Hawksley's imploring eyes +because she was not sure of her own. + +She was sure of one thing, however. All the nonsense was out of her +head. To-morrow she would be returning to the regular job. She would +have a page from the Arabian Nights to look upon in the days to come. +She understood, though it twisted her heart dreadfully: she was in the +eyes of this man a plaything, a pretty woman he had met in passing. If +she had saved his life he had in turn saved hers; they were quits. She +did not blame him for his point of view. He had come from the top of the +world, where women were either ornaments or playthings, while she and +hers had always struggled to maintain equilibrium in the middle stratum. +Cutty could give him friendship; but she could not because she was a +woman, young and pretty. + +Love him? Well, she would get over it. It might be only the glamour of +the adventure they had shared. Anyhow, she wouldn't die of it. Cutty +hadn't. Of course it hurt; she was a silly little fool, and all that. +Once he was in Montana he would be sending for his Olga. There wasn't +the least doubt in her mind that if ever autocracy returned to power, +he'd be casting aside his American citizenship, his chaps and sombrero, +for the old regalia. Well--truculently to the world at large--why not? + +So she avoided Hawksley's gaze, sensing the sustained persistence of it. +But, oh, to be alone, alone, alone! + +Cutty washed the patient's hands and face and patched up the cut on +the cheek, interlarding his chatter with trench idioms, banter, jokes. +Underneath, though, he was chuckling. He was the hero of this tale; +he had done all the thrilling stunts, carried limp bodies across fire +escapes in the rain, climbed roofs, eluded newspaper reporters, fought +with his bare fists, rescued the girl.... All with one foot in the +grave! Fifty-two, gray haired--with a prospect of rheumatism on the +morrow--and putting it over like a debonair movie idol! + +Hawksley met these pleasantries halfway by grousing about being babied +when there was nothing the matter with him but his head, his body, and +his legs. + +Why didn't she look at him? What was the meaning of this persistent +avoidance? She must have forgiven last night. She was too much of a +thoroughbred to harbour ill feeling over that. Why didn't she look at +him? + +The telephone called Cutty from the room. + +Kitty went into the dining room for an extra pair of salt cellars and +delayed her return until she heard Cutty coming back. + +“Karlov is dead,” he announced. “Started a fight in the taxi, got out, +and was making for safety when one of the boys shot him. He hadn't +the jewels on him, John. I'm afraid they are gone, unless he hid them +somewhere in that--What's the matter, Kitty?” + +For Kitty had dropped the salt cellars and pressed her hands against her +bosom, her face colourless. + +Hawksley, terrified, tried to get up. + +“No, no! Nothing is the matter with me but my head.... To think I could +forget! Good--heavens!” She prolonged the words drolly. “Wait.” + +She turned her back to them. When she faced them again she extended a +palm upon which lay a leather tobacco pouch, cracked and parched and +blistered by the reactions of rain and sun. + +“Think of my forgetting them! I found them this morning. Where do you +suppose? On a step of the fire-escape ladder.” + +“Well, I'll be tinker-dammed!” said Cutty. + +“I've reasoned it out,” went on Kitty, breathlessly, looking at Cutty, +“When the anarchist tore them from Mr. Hawksley's neck, he threw them +out of the window. The room was dark; his companion could not see. Later +he intended, no doubt, to go into the court and recover them and cheat +his master. I was looking out of the window, when I noticed a brilliant +flash of purple, then another of green. The pouch was open, the stones +about to trickle out. I dared not leave them in the apartment or tell +anybody until you came home. So I carried them with me to the office. +The drums, Cutty! The drums! Tumpitum-tump! Look!” + +She poured the stones upon the white linen tablecloth. A thousand fires! + +“The wonderful things!” she gasped. “Oh, the wonderful things! I don't +blame you, Cutty. They would tempt an angel. The drums of jeopardy; and +that I should find them!” + +“Lord!” said Cutty, in an awed whisper. Green stones! The magnificent +rubies and sapphires and diamonds vanished; he could see nothing but the +exquisite emeralds. He picked up one--still warm with Kitty's pulsing +life--and toyed with it. Actually, the drums! And all this time they had +been inviting the first comer to appropriate them. Money, love, tragedy, +death; history, pageants, lovely women; murder and loot! All these +days on the step of the fire-escape ladder! He must have one of them; +positively he must. Could he prevail upon Hawksley to sell one? Had he +carried them through sentiment? + +He turned to broach the suggestion of purchase, but remained mute. + +Hawksley's head was sunk upon his chest; his arms hung limply at the +sides of his chair. + +“He is fainting!” cried Kitty, her love outweighing her resolves. +“Cutty!”--desperately, fearing to touch Hawksley herself. + +“No! The stones, the stones! Take them away--out of sight! I'm too done +in! I can't stand it! I can't--The Red Night! Torches and hobnailed +boots!” + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +Her fingers seemingly all thumbs, her heart swelling with misery and +loneliness, wanting to go to him but fearing she would be misunderstood, +Kitty scooped up the dazzling stones and poured them hastily into the +tobacco pouch, which she thrust into Cutty's hands. What she had heard +was not the cry of a disordered brain. There was some clear reason for +the horror in Hawksley's tones. What tragedy lay behind these wonderful +prisms of colour that the legitimate owner could not look upon them +without being stirred in this manner? + +“Take them into the study,” urged Kitty. + +“Wait!” interposed Hawksley. “I give one of the emeralds to you, Cutty. +They came out of hell--if you want to risk it! The other is for Miss +Conover, with Mister Hawksley's compliments.” He was looking at Kitty +now, his face drawn, his eyes bloodshot. “Don't be apprehensive. They +bring evil only to men. With one in your possession you will be happy +ever after, as the saying goes. Oh, they are mine to give; mine by right +of inheritance. God knows I paid for them!” + +“If I said Mister--” began Kitty, her brain confused, her tongue clumsy. + +“You haven't forgiven!” he interrupted. “A thoroughbred like you, +to hold last night against me! Mister--after what we two have shared +together! Why didn't you leave me there to die?” + +Cutty observed that the drama had resolved itself into two characters; +he had been relegated to the scenes. He tiptoed toward his study door, +and as he slipped inside he knew that Gethsemane was not an orchard +but a condition of the mind. He tossed the pouch on his desk, eyed it +ironically, and sat down. His, one of them--one of those marvellous +emeralds was his! He interlaced his fingers and rested his brow upon +them. He was very tired. + +Kitty missed him only when she heard the latch snap. + +She was alone with Hawksley; and all her terror returned. Not to touch +him, not to console him; to stand staring at him like a dumb thing! + +“I do forgive--Johnny! But your world and my world--” + +“Those stains! The wretches hurt you!” + +“What? Where?”--bewildered. + +“The blood on your waist!” + +Kitty looked down. “That is not my blood, Johnny. It is yours.” + +“Mine?” Johnny. Something in the way she said it. “Mine?”--trying to +solve the riddle. + +“Yes. It is where your cheek rested when--I thought you were dead.” + +The sense of misery, of oppression, of terror, all fell away +miraculously, leaving only the flower of glory. She would be his +plaything if he wanted her. + +Silence. + +“Kitty, I came out of a dark world--to find you. I loved you the moment +I entered your kitchen that night. But I did not know it. I loved you +the night you brought the wallet. Still I did not understand. It +was when I heard the lift door and knew you had gone forever that I +understood. Loved you with all my heart, with all that poor old Stefani +had fashioned out of muck and clay. If you held my head to your heart, +if that is my blood there--Do you, can you care a little?” + +“I can and do care very much, Johnny.” + +Her voice to his ears was like the G string of the Amati. “Will you go +with me?” + +“Anywhere. But you are a prince of some great Russian house, Johnny, and +I am nobody.” + +“What am I, Kitty? Less than nobody--a homeless outcast, with only you +and Cutty. An American! Well, when I'm that it will be different; I'll +be somebody. God forgive me if I do not give it absolute loyalty, this +new country!... Never call me anything but Johnny.” + +“Johnny.” Anywhere, whatever he willed her to be. + +“I'm a child, Kitty. I want to grow up--if I can--to be an American, +something like that ripping old thoroughbred yonder.” + +Cutty! Johnny wanted to be something like Cutty. Johnny would have to +grow up to be his own true self; for nobody could ever be like Cutty. He +was as high and far away from the average man as this apartment was from +hers. Would he understand her attitude? Could she say anything until it +would be too late for him to interfere? She was this man's woman. She +would have her span of happiness, come ill, come good, even if it +hurt Cutty, whom she loved in another fashion. But for Johnny dropping +through that trap she might never have really known, married Cutty, and +been happy. Happy until one or the other died; never gloriously, never +furiously, but mildly happy; perhaps understanding each other far better +than Johnny and she would understand each other. The average woman's +lot. But to give her heart, her mind, her body in a whirlwind of +emotions, absolute surrender, to know for once the highest state of +exaltation--to love! + +All this tender exchange with half a dozen feet between them. Kitty had +not stirred from the far side of the tea cart, and he had not opened his +arms. She had given herself with magnificent abandon; for the present +that satisfied her instincts. As for him, he was not quite sure this +miracle might not be a dream, and one false move might cause her to +vanish. + +“Johnny, who is Olga?” The question was irrepressible. Perhaps it was +the last shred of caution binding her. All of him or none of him. There +must be no other woman intervening. + +Hawksley stiffened in his chair. His hands closed convulsively and his +eyes lost their brightness. “Johnny?” Kitty ran round the tea cart. +“What is it?” She knelt beside the chair, alarmed, for the horror had +returned to his face. “What did they do to you back there?” She clasped +one of his hands tensely in hers. + +“In my dreams at night!” he said, staring into space. “I could run away +from my pursuers, but I could not run away from my dreams! Torches and +hobnailed boots!... They trampled on her; and I, up there in the gallery +with those damned emeralds in my hands! Ah, if I hadn't gone for them, +if I hadn't thought of the extra comforts their sale would bring! There +would have been time then, Kitty. I had all the other jewels in the +pouch. Horses were ready for us to flee on, loyal servants ready to help +us; but I thought of the drums. A few more worldly comforts--with hell +forcing in the doors! + +“I didn't tell her where I was going. When I came back it was to see +her die! They saw me, and yelled. I ran away. I hadn't the courage to +go down there and die with her! She thought I was in that hell pit. She +went down there to die with me and died horribly, alone! Ah, if I could +only shut it out, forget! Olga, my tender young sister, Kitty, the last +one of my race I could love. And I ran away like a yellow dog, like a +yellow dog! I don't know where her grave is, and I could not seek it if +I did! I dared not write Stefani; tell him I had seen Olga go down under +Karlov's heels, and then ran away!... Day by day to feel those stones +against my heart!” + +Nothing is more terrible to a woman than the sight of a brave man +weeping. For she knew that he was brave. The sudden recollection of +the emeralds; a little more comfort for himself and sister if they were +permitted to escape. Not a cowardly instinct, not even a greedy one; a +normal desire to fortify them additionally against an unknown future, +and he had surrendered to it impulsively, without explaining to Olga +where he was going. + +“Johnny, Johnny, you mustn't!” She sprang up, seizing his head and +wildly kissing him. “You mustn't! God understands, and Olga. Oh, you +mustn't sob like that! You are tearing my heart to pieces!” + +“I ran away like a yellow dog! I didn't go down there and die with her!” + +“You didn't run away to-night when you offered your life for my liberty. +Johnny, you mustn't!” + +Under her tender ministrations the sobs began to die away and soon +resolved into little catching gasps. He was weak and spent from his +injuries; otherwise he would not have given way like this, discovered to +her what she had not known before, that in every man, however strong and +valiant he may be, there is a little child. + +“It has been burning me up, Kitty.” + +“I know, I know! It is because you have a soul full of beautiful things, +Johnny. God held you back from dying with Olga because He knew I needed +you.” + +“You will marry me, knowing that I did this thing?” + +Marry him! A door to some blinding radiance opened, and she could not +see for a little while. Marry him! What a miserable wretch she was to +think that he would want her otherwise! Johnny Two-Hawks, fiddling in +front of the Metropolitan Opera House, to fill a poor blind man's cup! + +“Yes, Johnny. Now, yesterdays never were. For us there is nothing but +to-morrows. Out there, in the great country--where souls as well as +bodies may stretch themselves--we'll start all over again. You will be +the cowman and I'll be the kitchen wench. As in the beginning, so it +will always be hereafter, I'll cook your bacon and eggs.” + +She pulled his chair round and pushed it toward a window, dropped beside +it and laid her cheek against his hand. + +“Let us look at the stars, Johnny. They know.” Kuroki, having arrived +with coffee and sandwiches, paused on the threshold, gazed, wheeled +right about face, and returned to the kitchen. + +By and by Kitty looked up into Hawksley's face. He was asleep. She got +up carefully, lightly kissed the top of his head--the old wound--and +crossed to Cutty's door. She must tell dear old Cutty of the wonderful +happiness that was going to be hers. She opened the study door, but did +not enter at once. Asleep on his arms. Why, he hadn't even opened that +Ali Baba's bag! Tired out--done in, as Johnny Two-Hawks called it in his +English fashion. She waited; but as he did not stir she approached with +noiseless step. The light poured full upon his head. How gray he was! A +boundless pity surged over her that this tender, valiant knight should +have missed what first her mother had known--now she herself--requited +love. To have everything in the world without that was to have nothing. +She would not wake him; she would let him sleep until Captain Harrison +came. Lightly she touched the gray head with her lips and stole from the +study. + +“Oh, Molly, Molly!” Cutty whispered into his rigid fingers. + +And so they were married, in the apartment, at the top of the world, on +a May night thick with stars. It was not a wedding; it was a marriage. +The world never knew because it was none of the world's business. Who +was Kitty Conover? A nobody. Who was John Hawksley? Something to be. + +Out of the storm into the calm; which is something of a reversal. +Generally in love affairs happiness is found in the approach to the +marriage contract; the disillusions come afterward. It was therefore +logical that Kitty and her lover should be happy, as they had run the +gamut of test and fire beforehand. + +The young people were to leave for the West soon after the supper for +three. At midnight Cutty's ship would be boring down the bay. Did Kitty +regret, even a little, the rice and old shoes, the bridesmaids and +cake, so dear to the female of the species? She did not. Did she think +occasionally of the splendour of the title that was hers? She did. To +her mind Mrs. John Hawksley was incomparably above and beyond anything +in that Bible of autocracy--the Almanach de Gotha. + +After supper Cutty brought in the old Amati. + +“Play,” he said, lighting his pipe. + +So Hawksley played--played as he never had played before and perhaps as +he would never play again. We reach zenith sometimes, but we never stay +there. But he was not playing to Cutty. Slate-blue eyes, two books with +endless pages, the soul of this wife of his. He had come through. The +miracle had been accomplished. Love. + +Kitty smiled and smiled, the doors of her soul thrown wide to absorb +this magic message. Love. + +Cutty smoked on, with his eyes closed. He heard it, too. Love. + +“Well,” he said, sighing, “I see innovations out there in Montana. The +round-up will be different. The Pied Fiddler of Bar-K will stand in +the corral and fiddle, and the bossies will come galloping in, two +by two--and a few jackrabbits!” He laughed. “John, the Amati is yours +conditionally. If after one year it is not reclaimed it becomes yours +automatically. My wedding present. Remember, next winter, if God wills, +you'll come and visit me.” + +“As if we could forget!” cried Kitty, embracing Cutty, who accepted the +embrace stoically. “I'll be needing clothes, and Johnny will have to +have his hair cut. Oh, Cutty, I'm so foolishly happy!” + +“Time we started for the choo-choo. Time-tables have no souls. But, +Lord, what a racket we've had!” + +“Well, rather!”--from Hawksley. + +“Bo, listen to me. Out there you must remember that 'bally' and +'ripping' and 'rather' are premeditated insults. Gee-whiz! but I'd +like a look-see when you say to your rough-and-readies: 'Bally rotten +weather. What?' They'll shoot you up.” + +More banter; which fooled none of the three, as each understood the +other perfectly. The hour of separation was at hand, and they were +fortifying their courage. + +“Funny old top,” was Hawksley's comment as they stood before the train +gate. “Three months gone we were strangers.” + +“And now--” began Cutty. + +“With hoops of steel!” interrupted Kitty. “You must write, Cutty, and +Johnny and I will be prompt.” + +“You'll get one from the Azores.” + +“Train going west!” + +“Good luck, children!” Cutty pressed Hawksley's hand and pecked at +Kitty's cheek. “Shan't go through with you to the car. Kuroki is +waiting. Good-bye!” + +The redcaps seized the luggage, and Hawksley and his bride followed them +through the gate. Because he was tall Cutty could see them until they +reached the bumper. Funny old world, for a fact. Next time they met the +wounds would be healed--Hawksley's head and old Cutty's heart. Queer how +he felt his fifty-two. He began to recognize one of the truths that had +passed by: One did not sense age if one ran with the familiar pack. +But for an old-timer to jog along for a few weeks with youth! That was +it--the youth of these two had knocked his conceit into a cocked hat. + +“Poor dear old Cutty!” said Kitty. + +“Old thoroughbred!” said Hawksley. + +And there you were, relegated to the bracket where the family kept the +kaleidoscope, the sea-shell, and the album. His children, though; from +now on he would have that interest in life. The blessed infant--Molly's +girl--taking a sunbonnet when she might have worn a tiara! And that boy, +stepping down from the pomp of palaces to the dusty ranges of Bar-K. +An American citizen. It was more than funny, this old top; it was stark +raving mad. + +Well, he had one of the drums. It reposed in his wallet. Another queer +thing, he could not work up a bit of the old enthusiasm. It was only +a green stone. One of the finest examples of the emerald known, and he +could not conjure up the panorama of murder and loot behind it. Possibly +because he was no longer detached; the stone had entered his own life +and touched it with tragedy. For it was tragedy to be fifty-two and +to realize it. Thus whenever he took out the emerald he found his +imagination walled in. Besides, it was a kind of magic mirror; he saw +always his own tentative villainy. He was not quite the honest man he +had once been. + +But what was happening down the line there? The passengers were making +way for someone. Kitty, and racing back to the gate! She did not pause +until she stood in front of him, breathless. + +“Forget something?” he asked, awkwardly. + +“Uh-hm!” Suddenly she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him. “If +only the three of us could be always together! Take care of yourself. +Johnny and I need you.” Then she caught his hand, gave it a pressure, +and was off again. Cutty stood there, staring blindly in her direction. +Old Stefani Gregor; sacrifice. By and by he became conscious of +something warm and hard in his palm. He looked down. + +A green stone, green as the turban of a Mecca pilgrim, green as the eye +of a black panther in the thicket. He dropped the emerald into a vest +pocket and fumbled round for his pipe--always his mental crutch. He +lit it and marched out of the station into the night--chuckling +sardonically. For the second time the thought occurred to him: Of all +his earthly possessions he would carry into the Beyond--a chuckle. + +Molly, then Kitty; but the drums of jeopardy were his! + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Drums Of Jeopardy, by Harold MacGrath + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DRUMS OF JEOPARDY *** + +***** This file should be named 1913-0.txt or 1913-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/1913/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/1913-0.zip b/1913-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bb8e77a --- /dev/null +++ b/1913-0.zip diff --git a/1913-h.zip b/1913-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cf96579 --- /dev/null +++ b/1913-h.zip diff --git a/1913-h/1913-h.htm b/1913-h/1913-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c59bb00 --- /dev/null +++ b/1913-h/1913-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13238 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Drums of Jeopardy, by Harold Macgrath + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Drums Of Jeopardy, by Harold MacGrath + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Drums Of Jeopardy + +Author: Harold MacGrath + +Release Date: October 10, 2008 [EBook #1913] +Last Updated: March 16, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DRUMS OF JEOPARDY *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE DRUMS OF JEOPARDY + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Harold MacGrath + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + A fast train drew into Albany, on the New York Central, from the West. It + was three-thirty of a chill March morning in the first year of peace. A + pall of fog lay over the world so heavy that it beaded the face and hands + and deposited a fairy diamond dust upon wool. The station lights had the + visibility of stars, and like the stars were without refulgence—a + pale golden aureola, perhaps three feet in diameter, and beyond, nothing. + The few passengers who alighted and the train itself had the same + nebulosity of drab fish in a dim aquarium. + </p> + <p> + Among the passengers to detrain was a man in a long black coat. The high + collar was up. The man wore a derby hat, well down upon his head, after + the English mode. An English kitbag, battered and scarred, swung heavily + from his hand. He immediately strode for the station wall and stood with + his back to it. He was almost invisible. He remained motionless until the + other detrained passengers swam past, until the red tail lights of the + last coach vanished into the deeps; then he rushed for the exit to the + street. + </p> + <p> + Away toward the far end of the platform there appeared a shadowy patch in + the fog. It grew and presently took upon itself the shape of a man. For + one so short and squat and thick his legs possessed remarkable agility, + for he reached the street just as the other man stopped at the side of a + taxicab. + </p> + <p> + The fool! As if such a movement had not been anticipated. Sixteen thousand + miles, always eastward, on horses, camels, donkeys, trains, and ships; + down China to the sea, over that to San Francisco, thence across this + bewildering stretch of cities and plains called the United States, always + and ever toward New York—and the fool thought he could escape! + Thought he was flying, when in truth he was being driven toward a wall in + which there would be no breach! Behind and in front the net was closing. + Up to this hour he had been extremely clever in avoiding contact. This was + his first stupid act—thought the fog would serve as an impenetrable + cloak. + </p> + <p> + Meantime, the other man reached into the taxicab and awoke the sleeping + chauffeur. + </p> + <p> + “A hotel,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Which one?” + </p> + <p> + “Any one will do.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. Two dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “When we arrive. No; I'll take the bag inside with me.” Inside the cab the + fare chuckled. For those who fished there would be no fish in the net. + This fog—like a kindly hand reaching down from heaven! + </p> + <p> + Five minutes later the taxicab drew up in front of a hotel. The unknown + stepped out, took a leather purse from his pocket and carefully counted + out in silver two dollars and twenty cents, which he poured into the + chauffeur's palm. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You are an American?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure! I was born in this burg.” + </p> + <p> + “Like the idea?” + </p> + <p> + “Huh?” + </p> + <p> + “The idea of being an American?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say yes! This is one grand little gob o' mud, believe me! It's + going to be dry in a little while, and then it will be some grand little + old brick. Say, let me give you a tip! The gas in this joint is extra if + you blow it out!” + </p> + <p> + Grinning, the chauffeur threw on the power and wheeled away into the fog. + </p> + <p> + His late fare followed the vehicle with his gaze until it reached the + vanishing point, then he laughed. An American cockney! He turned and + entered the hotel. He marched resolutely up to the desk and roused the + sleeping clerk, who swung round the register. The unknown without + hesitance inscribed his name, which was John Hawksley. But he hesitated + the fraction of a second before adding his place of residence—London. + </p> + <p> + “A room with a bath, if you please; second flight. Have the man call me at + seven.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. Here, boy!” + </p> + <p> + Sleepily the bellboy lifted the battered kitbag and led the way to the + elevator. + </p> + <p> + “Bawth!” said the night clerk, as the elevator door slithered to the + latch. “Bawth! The old dear!” + </p> + <p> + He returned to his chair, hoping that he would not be disturbed again + until he was relieved. + </p> + <p> + What do we care, so long as we don't know? What's the stranger to us but a + fleeting shadow? The Odysseys that pass us every day, and we none the + wiser! + </p> + <p> + The clerk had not properly floated away into dreams when he was again + roused. Resentfully he opened his eyes. A huge fist covered with a fell of + black hair rose and fell. Attached to this fist was an arm, and joined to + that were enormous shoulders. The clerk's trailing, sleep-befogged glance + paused when it reached the newcomer's face. The jaws and cheeks and upper + lip were blue-black with a beard that required extra-tempered razors once + a day. Black eyes that burned like opals, a bullet-shaped head well + cropped, and a pudgy nose broad in the nostrils. Because this second + arrival wore his hat well forward the clerk was not able to discern the + pinched forehead of the fanatic. Not wholly unpleasant, not particularly + agreeable; the sort of individual one preferred to walk round rather than + bump into. The clerk offered the register, and the squat man scratched his + name impatiently, grabbed the extended key, and trotted to the elevator. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” mused the clerk, “we have with us Mr. Poppy—Popo—” He + stared at the signature close up. “Hanged if I can make it out! It looks + like some new brand of soft drink we'll be having after July first. Greek + or Bulgarian. Anyhow, he didn't awsk for a bawth. Looks as if he needed + one, too. Here, boy!” + </p> + <p> + “Ye-ah!” + </p> + <p> + “Take a peek at this John Hancock.” + </p> + <p> + “Gee! That must be the guy who makes that drugstore drink—Boolzac.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk swung out, but missed the boy's head by a hair. The boy stood + off, grinning. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you ast me!” + </p> + <p> + “All right. If anybody else comes in tell 'em we're full up. I'll be a + wreck to-morrow without my usual beauty sleep.” The clerk dropped into his + chair again and elevated his feet to the radiator. + </p> + <p> + “Want me t' git a pillow for yuh?” + </p> + <p> + “No back talk!”—drowsily. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! boy, but I got one on you!” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “This Boolzac guy didn't have no baggage, and yuh give 'im the key without + little ol' three-per in advance.” + </p> + <p> + “No grip?” + </p> + <p> + “Nix. Not a toot'brush in sight.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the damage is done. I might as well go to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + It was not premeditated on the part of the clerk to give the squat man the + room adjoining that of Hawksley's. The key had been nearest his hand. But + the squat man trembled with excitement when he noted that it was stamped + 214. He had taken particular pains to search the register for Hawksley's + number before rousing the clerk. He hadn't counted on any such luck as + this. His idea had been merely to watch the door of Room 212. + </p> + <p> + He had the feline foot, as they say. He moved about lightly and without + sound in the dark. Almost at once he approached one of the two doors and + put his ear to the panel. Running water. The fool had time to take a bath! + </p> + <p> + A plan flashed into his head. Why not end the affair here and now, and + reap the glory for himself? What mattered the net if the fish swam into + your hand? Wasn't this particularly his affair? It was the end, not the + means. A close touch in Hong-Kong, but the fool had slipped away. But + there, in the next room, assured that he had escaped—it would be + easy. The squat man tiptoed to the window. Luck of luck, there was a + fire-escape platform! He would let half an hour pass, then he would act. + The ape, with his British mannerisms! Death to the breed, root and branch! + He sat down to wait. + </p> + <p> + On the other side of the wall the bather finished his ablutions. His body + was graceful, vigorous, and youthful, tinted a golden bronze. His nose was + hawky; his eyes a Latin brown, alert and roving, though there was a hint + of weariness in them, the pressure of long, racking hours of ceaseless + vigilance. His top hair was a glossy black inclined to curl; but the four + days' growth of beard was as blond as a ripe chestnut burr. In spite of + this mark of vagabondage there were elements of beauty in the face. The + expanse of the brow and the shape of the head were intellectual. The mouth + was pleasure-loving, but the nose and the jaw neutralized this. + </p> + <p> + After he had towelled himself he reached down for a brown leather pouch + which lay on the three-legged bathroom stool. It was patently a tobacco + pouch, but there was evidently something inside more precious than + Saloniki. He held the pouch on his palm and stared at it as if it + contained some jinn clamouring to be let out. Presently he broke away from + this fascination and rocked his body, eyes closed—like a man + suffering unremitting pain. + </p> + <p> + “God's curse on them!” he whispered, opening his eyes. He raised the pouch + swiftly, as though he intended dashing it to the tiled floor; but his arm + sank gently. After all, he would be a fool to destroy them. They were + future bread and butter. + </p> + <p> + He would soon have their equivalent in money—money that would bring + back no terrible recollections. + </p> + <p> + Strange that every so often, despite the horror, he had to take them out + and gaze at them. He sat down upon the stool, spread a towel across his + knees, and opened the pouch. He drew out a roll of cotton wool, which he + unrolled across the towel. Flames! Blue flames, red, yellow, violet, and + green—precious stones, many of them with histories that reached back + into the dim centuries, histories of murder and loot and envy. The young + man had imagination—perhaps too much of it. He saw the stones + palpitating upon lovely white and brown bosoms; he saw bloody and greedy + hands, the red sack of towns; he heard the screams of women and the + raucous laughter of drunken men. Murder and loot. + </p> + <p> + At the end of the cotton wool lay two emeralds about the size of half + dollars and half an inch in thickness, polished, and as vividly green as a + dragonfly in the sun, fit for the turban of Schariar, spouse of + Scheherazade. + </p> + <p> + Rodin would have seized upon the young man's attitude—the limp body, + the haggard face—hewn it out of marble and called it Conscience. The + possessor of the stones held this attitude for three or four minutes. Then + he rolled up the cotton wool, jammed it into the pouch, which he hung to + his neck by a thong, and sprang to his feet. No more of this brooding; it + was sapping his vitality; and he was not yet at his journey's end. + </p> + <p> + He proceeded to the bedroom, emptied the battered kitbag, and began to + dress. He put on heavy tan walking shoes, gray woollen stockings, gray + knickerbockers, gray flannel shirt, and a Norfolk jacket minus the third + button. + </p> + <p> + Ah, that button! He fingered the loose threads which had aforetime snugged + the button to the wool. The carelessness of a tailor had saved his life. + Had that button held, his bones at this moment would be reposing on the + hillside in far-away Hong-Kong. Evidently Fate had some definite plans + regarding his future, else he would not be in this room, alive. But what + plans? Why should Fate bother about him further? She had strained the + orange to the last drop. Why protect the pulp? Perhaps she was only making + sport of him, lulling him into the belief that eventually he might win + through. One thing, she would never be able to twist his heart again. You + cannot fill a cup with water beyond the brim. And God knew that his cup + had been full and bitter and red. + </p> + <p> + His hand swept across his eyes as if to brush away the pictures suddenly + conjured up. He must keep his thoughts off those things. There was a taint + of madness in his blood, and several times he had sensed the brink at his + feet. But God had been kind to him in one respect: The blood of his + glorious mother predominated. + </p> + <p> + How many were after him, and who? He had not been able to recognize the + man that night in Hong-Kong. That was the fate of the pursued: one never + dared pause to look back, while the pursuers had their man before them + always. If only he could have broken through into Greece, England would + have been easy. The only door open had been in the East. It seemed + incredible that he should be standing in this room, but three hours from + his goal. + </p> + <p> + America! The land of the free and the brave! And the irony of it was that + he must seek in America the only friends he had in the world. All the + Englishmen he had known and loved were dead. He had never made friends + with the French, though he loved France. In this country alone he might + successfully lose himself and begin life anew. The British were British + and the French were French; but in this magnificent America they possessed + the tenacity of the one and the gayety of the other—these joyous, + unconquered, speed-loving Americans. + </p> + <p> + He took up the overcoat. Under the light it was no longer black but a very + deep green. On both sleeves there were narrow bands of a still deeper + green, indicating that gold or silver braid had once befrogged the cuffs. + Inside, soft silky Persian lamb; and he ran his fingers over the fur + thoughtfully. The coat was still impregnated with the strong odour of + horse. He cast it aside, never to touch it again. From the discarded small + coat he extracted a black wallet and opened it. That passport! He wondered + if there existed another more cleverly forged. It would not have served an + hour west of the Hindenburg Line; but in the East and here in America no + one had questioned it. In San Francisco they had scarcely glanced at it, + peace having come. Besides this passport the wallet contained a will, ten + bonds, a custom appraiser's receipt and a sheaf of gold bills. The will, + however, was perhaps one of the most astonishing documents conceivable. It + left unreservedly to Capt. John Hawksley the contents of the wallet! + </p> + <p> + Within three hours of his ultimate destination! He knew all about great + cities. An hour after he left the train, if he so willed, he could lose + himself for all time. + </p> + <p> + From the bottom of the kitbag he dug up a blue velours case, which after a + moment's hesitation he opened. Medals incrusted with precious stones; but + on the top was the photograph of a charming girl, blonde as ripe wheat, + and arrayed for the tennis court. It was this photograph he wanted. + Indifferently he tossed the case upon the centre table, and it upset, + sending the medals about with a ring and a tinkle. + </p> + <p> + The man in the next room heard this sound, and his eye roved desperately. + Some way to peer into yonder room! But there was no transom, and he would + not yet dare risk the fire escape. The young man raised the photograph to + his lips and kissed it passionately. + </p> + <p> + Then he hid it in the lining of his coat, there being a convenient rent in + the inside pocket. + </p> + <p> + “I must not think!” he murmured. “I must not!” + </p> + <p> + He became the hunted man again. He turned a chair upend and placed it + under the window. He tipped another in front of the door. On the threshold + of the bathroom door he deposited the water carafe and the glasses. His + bed was against the connecting door. No man would be able to enter + unannounced. He had no intention of letting himself fall asleep. He would + stretch out and rest. So he lit his pipe, banked the two pillows, switched + out the light, and lay down. Only the intermittent glow of his pipe coal + could be seen. Near the journey's end; and no more tight-rope walking, + with death at both ends, and death staring up from below. Queer how the + human being clung to life. What had he to live for? Nothing. So far as he + was concerned, the world had come to an end. Sporting instinct; probably + that was it; couldn't make up his mind to shuffle off this mortal coil + until he had beaten his enemies. English university education had dulled + the bite of his natural fatalism. To carry on for the sport of it; not to + accept fate but to fight it. + </p> + <p> + By chance his hand touched his spiky chin. Nevertheless, he would have to + enter New York just as he was. He had left his razor in a Pullman washroom + hurriedly one morning. He dared not risk a barber's chair, especially + these American chairs, that stretched one out in a most helpless manner. + </p> + <p> + Slowly his pipe sank toward his breast. The weary body was overcoming the + will. A sound broke the pleasant spell. He sat up, tense. Someone had + entered through the window and stumbled over the chair! Hawksley threw on + the light. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + When the day clerk arrived the night clerk sleepily informed him that the + guest in Room 214 was without baggage and had not paid in advance. + </p> + <p> + “Lave a call?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I thought I'd put you wise. I didn't notice that the man had no grip + until he was in the elevator.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. I'll send the bell-hop captain up with a fake call to see if + the man's still there.” + </p> + <p> + When the captain—late of the A.E.F. in France—returned to the + office he was mildly excited. + </p> + <p> + “Gee, there's been a whale of a scrap in Room 212. The chambermaid let me + in.” + </p> + <p> + “Murder?” whispered the clerks in unison. + </p> + <p> + “Murder your granny! Naw! Just a fight between 212 and 214, because both + of 'em have flown the roost. But take a peek at what I found on the + table.” + </p> + <p> + It was a case of blue velours. The boy threw back the lid dramatically. + </p> + <p> + “War medals?” + </p> + <p> + “If they are I never piped 'em before. They ain't French or British.” The + captain of the bell-boys scratched his head ruminatively. “Gee, I got it! + Orders, that's what they all 'em. Kings pay 'em out Saturdays when the pay + roll is nix. Will you pipe the diamonds and rubies? There's your room + rents, monseer.” + </p> + <p> + The day clerk, who considered himself a judge, was of the opinion that + there were two or three thousand dollars tied up in the stones. It was a + police affair. Some ambassador had been robbed, and the Britisher and the + Greek or Bulgarian were mixed up in it. Loot. + </p> + <p> + “I thought the war was over,” said the night clerk. + </p> + <p> + “The shootin' is over, that's all,” said the captain of the bellboys, + sagely. + </p> + <p> + What had happened in Room 212? A duel of wits rather than of physical + contact. Hawksley realized instantly that here was the crucial moment. + Caught and overpowered, he was lost. If he shouted for help and it came, + he was lost. Once the police took a hand in the affair, the newspaper + publicity that would follow would result in the total ruin of all his + hopes. There was only one chance—to finish this affair outside the + hotel, in some fog-dimmed street. There leaped into his mind, obliquely + and queerly, a picture in one of Victor Hugo's tales—Quasimodo. And + there he stood, in every particular save the crooked back. And on the top + of this came the recollection that he had seen the man before.... The + torches! The red torches and the hobnailed boots! + </p> + <p> + There began an odd game, a dancing match, which the young man led + adroitly, always with his thought upon the open window. There would be no + shooting; Quasimodo would not want the police either. Half a dozen times + his fingers touched futilely the dancing master's coat. Back and forth + across the room, over the bed, round the stand and chairs. Persistently, + as if he understood the young man's manoeuvres, the squat individual kept + to the window side of the room. + </p> + <p> + An inspiration brought the affair to an end. Hawksley snatched up the + bedclothes and threw them as the ancient retiarius threw his net. He + managed to win to the lower platform of the fire escape before Quasimodo + emerged. + </p> + <p> + There was a fourteen-foot drop to the street, and the man with the golden + stubble on his chin and cheeks swung for a moment to gauge his landing. + Quasimodo came after with the agility of an ape. The race down the street + began with about a hundred yards in between. + </p> + <p> + Down the hill they went, like phantoms. The distance did not widen. Bears + will run amazingly fast and for a long while. The quarry cut into Pearl + Street for a block, turned a corner, and soon vaguely espied the Hudson + River. He made for this. + </p> + <p> + To the mind of Quasimodo this flight had but one significance—he was + dealing with an arrant coward; and he based his subsequent acts upon this + premise, forgetting that brave men run when need says must. It would have + surprised him exceedingly to learn that he was not driving, that he was + being led. Hawksley wanted his enemy alone, where no one would see to + interfere. Red torches and hobnailed boots! For once the two bloods, + always more or less at war, merged in a common purpose—to kill this + beast, to grind the face of him into pulp! Red torches and hobnailed + boots! + </p> + <p> + Presently one of the huge passenger boats, moored for the winter, loomed + up through the fog; and toward this Hawksley directed his steps. He made a + flying leap aboard and vanished round the deckhouse to the river side. + </p> + <p> + Quasimodo laughed as he followed. It was as if the tobacco pouch and the + appraiser's receipt were in his own pocket; and broad rivers made capital + graveyards. They two alone in the fog! He whirled round the deckhouse—and + backed on his heels to get his balance. Directly in front, in a very + understandable pose, was the intended victim, his jaw jutting, his eyelids + narrowed. + </p> + <p> + Quasimodo tried desperately to reach for his pistol; but a bolt of + lightning stopped the action. There is something peculiar about a blow on + the nose, a good blow. The Anglo-Saxon peoples alone possess the + counterattack—a rush. To other peoples concentration of thought is + impossible after the impact. Instinctively Quasimodo's hands flew to his + face. He heard a laugh, mirthless and terrible. Before he could drop his + hands from his face-blows, short and boring, from this side and from that, + over and under. The squat man was brave enough; simply he did not know how + to fight in this manner. He was accustomed to the use of steel and the + hobnails on his boots. He struck wildly, swinging his arms like a Flemish + mill in a brisk wind. + </p> + <p> + Some of his blows got home, but these provoked only sardonic laughter. + </p> + <p> + Wild with rage and pain he bored in. He had but one chance—to get + this shadow in his gorilla-like arms. He lacked mental flexibility. An + idea, getting into his head, stuck; it was not adjustable. Like an arrow + sped from the bowstring, it had to fulfill its destiny. It never occurred + to him to take to his heels, to get space between himself and this enemy + he had so woefully underestimated. Ten feet, and he might have been able + to whirl, draw his pistol, and end the affair. + </p> + <p> + The coup de grace came suddenly: a blow that caught Quasimodo full on the + point of the jaw. He sagged and went sprawling upon his face. The victor + turned him over and raised a heel.... No! He was neither Prussian nor + Sudanese black. He was white; and white men did not stamp in the faces of + fallen enemies. + </p> + <p> + But there was one thing a white man might do in such a case without + disturbing the ethical, and he proceeded about it forthwith: Draw the + devil's fangs; render him impotent for a few hours. He deliberately knelt + on one of the outspread arms and calmly emptied the insensible man's + pockets. He took everything—watch, money, passport, letters, pistol, + keys—rose and dropped them into the river. He overlooked Quasimodo's + belt, however. The Anglo-Saxon idea was top hole. His fists had saved his + life. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + Hawksley heard the panting of an engine and turned his head. Dimly he saw + a giant bridge and a long drab train moving across it. He picked up the + fallen man's cap and tried it on. Not a particularly good fit, but it + would serve. He then trotted round the deckhouse to the street side, + jumped to the wharf, and sucking the cracked knuckles of his right hand + fell into a steady dogtrot which carried him to the station he had left so + hopefully an hour and a half gone. + </p> + <p> + An accommodation train eventually deposited him in Poughkeepsie, where he + purchased a cap and a sturdy walking stick. The stubble on his chin and + cheeks began to irritate him intensely, but he could not rid himself of + the idea that a barber's chair would be inviting danger. He was now + tolerably certain that from one end of the continent to the other his + presence was known. His life and his property, they would be after both. + Even now there might be men in this strange town seeking him. The closer + he got to New York, the more active and wide-awake they would become. + </p> + <p> + He walked the streets, his glance constantly roving. But apparently no one + paid the least attention to him. Finally he returned to the railway + station; and at six o'clock that evening he left the platform of the 125th + Street Station, and appraised covertly the men who accompanied him to the + street. He felt assured that they were all Americans. Probably they were; + but there are still some stray fools of American birth who cannot accept + the great American doctrine as the only Ararat visible in this present + flood. Perhaps one of these accompanied Hawksley to the street. Whatever + he was, one had upon order met every south-going train since seven o'clock + that morning, when Quasimodo, paying from the gold hidden in his belt, had + sent forth the telegraphic alarm. The man hurried across the street and + followed Hawksley by matching his steps. His business was merely to learn + the other's destination and then to report. + </p> + <p> + Across the earth a tempest had been loosed; but Ariel did not ride it, + Caliban did. The scythe of terror was harvesting a type; and the innocent + were bending with the guilty. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Hawksley felt young, revivified, free. He had arrived. + Surmounting indescribable hazards and hardships he walked the pavement of + New York. In an hour the mutable quicksands of a great city would swallow + him forever. Free! He wanted to stroll about, peer into shop windows, + watch the amazing electric signs, dally; but he still had much to + accomplish. + </p> + <p> + He searched for a telephone sign. It was necessary that he find one + immediately. He had once spent six weeks in and about this marvellous + city, and he had a vague recollection of the blue-and-white enamel signs. + Shortly he found one. It was a pay station in the rear of a news and + tobacco shop. + </p> + <p> + He entered a booth, but discovered that he had no five-cent pieces in his + purse. He hurried out to the girl behind the cigar stand. She was + exhibiting a box of cigars to a customer, who selected three, paid for + them, and walked away. Hawksley, boiling with haste to have his affair + done, flung a silver coin toward the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Five-cent pieces!” + </p> + <p> + “Will you take them with you or shall I send them?” asked the girl, + earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “I beg pardon!” + </p> + <p> + “Any particular kind of ribbon you want the box tied with?” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon!” repeated Hawksley, harried and bewildered. “But I'm + in a hurry—” + </p> + <p> + “Too much of a hurry to leave out the bark when you ask a favour? I make + change out of courtesy. And you all bark at me Nickel! Nickel! as if that + was my job.” + </p> + <p> + “A thousand apologies!”—contritely. + </p> + <p> + “And don't make it any worse by suggesting a movie after supper. My mother + never lets me go out after dark.” + </p> + <p> + “I rather fancy she's quite sensible. Still, you seem able to take care of + yourself. I might suggest—” + </p> + <p> + “With that black eye? Nay, nay! I'll bet somebody's brother gave it to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Venus was not on that occasion in ascendancy. Thank you for the change.” + Hawksley swung on his heel and reentered the booth. + </p> + <p> + A great weariness oppressed him. A longing, almost irresistible, came to + him to go out and cry aloud: “Here I am! Kill me! I am tired and done!” + For he had recognized the purchaser of the cigars as one of the men who + had left the 125th Street Station at the same time as he. He remembered + distinctly that this man had been in a hurry. Perhaps the whole dizzy + affair was reacting upon his imagination psychologically and turning + harmless individuals into enemies. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” said a man's voice over the wire. + </p> + <p> + “Is Mr. Rathbone there?” + </p> + <p> + “Captain Rathbone is with his regiment at Coblenz, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Coblenz?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. I do not expect his return until near midsummer, sir. Who is + this talking?” + </p> + <p> + “Have you opened a cable from Yokohama?” + </p> + <p> + “This is Mr. Hawksley!” The voice became excited. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sir! You will come right away. I alone understand, sir. You will + remember me when you see me. I'm the captain's butler, sir—Jenkins. + He cabled back to give you the entire run of the house as long as you + desired it. He advised me to notify you that he had also prepared his + banker against your arrival. Have your luggage sent here at once, sir. + Dinner will be at your convenience.” + </p> + <p> + Hawksley's body relaxed. A lump came into his throat. Here was a friend, + anyhow, ready to serve him though he was thousands of miles away. + </p> + <p> + When he could trust himself to speak he said: “Sorry. It will be + impossible to accept the hospitality at present. I shall call in a few + days, however, to establish my identity. Thank you. Good evening.” + </p> + <p> + “Just a moment, sir. I may have an important cable to transmit to you. It + would be wise to leave me your address, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Hawksley hesitated a moment. After all, he could trust this perfect old + servant, whom he remembered. He gave the address. + </p> + <p> + As he came out of the booth the girl stretched forth an arm to detain him. + He stopped. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry I spoke like that,” she said. “But I'm so tired! I've been on + my feet all day, and everybody's been barking and growling; and if I'd + taken in as many nickels as I've passed out in change the boss would be + rich.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me a dozen of those roses there.” She sold flowers also. “The pink + ones. How much?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Two-fifty.” + </p> + <p> + He laid down the money. “Never mind the box. They are for you. Good + evening.” + </p> + <p> + The girl stared at the flowers as Ali Baba must have stared at the cask + with rubies. + </p> + <p> + “For me!” she whispered. “For nothing!” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes blurred. She never saw Hawksley again; but that was of no + importance. She had a gentle deed to put away in the lavender of + recollection. + </p> + <p> + Outside Hawksley could see nothing of the man who had bought the cigars. + At any rate, further dodging would be useless. He would go directly to his + destination. Old Gregor had sent him a duplicate key to the apartment. He + could hide there for a day or two; then visit Rathbone's banker at his + residence in the night to establish his identity. Gregor could be trusted + to carry the wallet and the pouch to the bank. Once these were walled in + steel half the battle would be over. He would have nothing to guard + thereafter but his life. He laughed brokenly. Nothing but the clothes he + stood in. He never could claim the belongings he had been forced to leave + in that hotel back yonder. But there was loyal old Gregor. Somebody would + be honestly glad to see him. The poor old chap! Astonishing, but of late + he was always thinking in English. + </p> + <p> + He hailed the first free taxicab he saw, climbed in, and was driven + downtown. He looked back constantly. Was he followed? There was no way of + telling. The street was alive with vehicles tearing north and south, with + frequent stoppage for the passage of those racing east and west. The + destination of Hawksley's cab was an old-fashioned apartment house in + Eightieth Street. + </p> + <p> + Gregor would have a meal ready; and it struck Hawksley forcibly that he + was hungry, that he had not touched food since the night before. Gregor, + valeting in a hotel, pressing coats and trousers and sewing on buttons! + Groggy old world, wasn't it? Gregor, pressing the trousers of the hoi + polloi! Gregor, who could have sent New York mad with that old + Stradivarius of his! But Gregor was wise. Safety for him lay in obscurity; + and what was more obscure than a hotel valet? + </p> + <p> + He did not seek the elevator but mounted the first flight of stairs. He + saw two doors, one on each side of the landing. He sought one, stooped and + peered at the card over the bell. Conover. Gregor's was opposite. Having a + key he did not knock but unlocked the door and stepped into the dark hall. + </p> + <p> + “Stefani Gregor?” he called, joyously. “Stefani, my old friend, it is I!” + </p> + <p> + Silence. But that was understandable. Either Gregor had not returned from + his labours or he was out gathering the essentials for the evening meal. + Judging from the variety of odours that swam the halls of this human + warren many suppers were in the process of making, and the top flavour was + garlic. He sniffed pleasurably. Not that the smell of garlic quickened his + hunger. It merely sent his thought galloping backward a score of years. He + saw Stefani Gregor and a small boy in mountain costume footing it sturdily + along the dizzy goat paths of the rugged hills; saw the two sitting on + some ruddy promontory and munching black bread rubbed with garlic. + Ambrosia! His mother's horror, when she smelt his breath—as if + garlic had not been one of her birthrights! His uncle, roaring out in his + bull's voice that black bread and garlic were good for little boys' + stomachs, and made the stuff of soldiers. Black bread and garlic and the + Golden Age! + </p> + <p> + After he had flooded the hall with light he began a tour of inspection. + The rooms were rather bare but clean and orderly. Here and there were + items that kept the homeland green in the recollection. He came to the + bedroom last. He hesitated for a moment before opening the door. The + lights told him why Gregor had not greeted his entering hail. + </p> + <p> + The overturned reading lamp, the broken chair, the letters and papers + strewn about the floor, the rifled bureau drawers—these things spoke + plainly enough. Gregor was a prisoner somewhere in this vast city; or he + was dead. + </p> + <p> + Hawksley stood motionless for a space. And he must remain here at least + for a night and a day! He would not dare risk another hotel. He could, of + course, go to the splendid Rathbone place; but it would not be fair to + invite tragedy across that threshold. + </p> + <p> + A ball of crushed paper at his feet attracted his attention. He kicked it + absently, followed and picked it up, his thought on other things. He was + aimlessly smoothing it out when an English word caught his eye. English! + He smoothed the crumpled sheet and read: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If you find this it is the will of God. I have been watched + for several days, and am now convinced that they have always + known I was here but were leaving me alone for some unknown + purpose. I roll this ball because anything folded and left + in a conspicuous place would be useless should they come for + me. I understand. It is you, poor boy. They are watching + me in hopes of catching you, and I've no way to warn you not + to come here. It was after I sent you the key that I learned + the truth. God bless you and guard you! + STEFANI. +</pre> + <p> + Hawksley tore the note into scraps. Food and sleep. He walked toward the + kitchen, musing. What an odd mixture he was! Superficially British, with + the British outlook; and yet filled with the dancing blood of the Latin + and the cold, phlegmatic blood of the Slav. He was like a schoolmaster + with two students too big for him to handle. Always the Latin was + dispossessing the Slav or the Slav was ousting the Latin. With fatalistic + confidence that nevermore would he look upon the kindly face of Stefani + Gregor, alive, he went in search of food. + </p> + <p> + Not a crust did he find. In the ice-chest there was a bottle of milk—soured. + Hungry; and not a crumb! And he dared not go out in search of food. No one + had observed his entrance to the apartment, but it was improbable that + such luck would attend him a second time. + </p> + <p> + He returned to the bedroom. He did not turn on the light because a novel + idea had blossomed unexpectedly—a Latin idea. There might be food on + some window ledge. He would leave payment. He proceeded to the window, + throwing up both it and the curtain, and looked out. Ripping! There was a + fire escape. + </p> + <p> + As he slipped a leg over the sill a golden square sprang into existence + across the way. Immediately he forgot his foraging instincts. In a moment + he was all Latin, always susceptible to the enchantment of beauty. + </p> + <p> + The distance across the court was less than forty feet. He could see the + girl quite plainly as she set about the preparation of her evening meal. + He forgot his danger, his hunger, his code of ethics, which did not permit + him to gaze at a young woman through a window. + </p> + <p> + Alone. He was alone and she was alone. A novel idea popped into his head. + He chuckled; and the sound of that chuckle in his ears somehow brought + back his resolve to carry on, to pass out, if so he must, fighting. He + would knock on yonder window and ask the beautiful lady slavey for a bit + of her supper! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + Kitty Conover had inherited brains and beauty, and nothing else but the + furniture. Her father had been a famous reporter, the admiration of cubs + from New York to San Francisco; handsome, happy-go-lucky, generous, rather + improvident, and wholly lovable. Her mother had been a comedy actress + noted for her beauty and wit and extravagance. Thus it will be seen that + Kitty was in luck to inherit any furniture at all. + </p> + <p> + Kitty was twenty-four. A body is as old as it is, but a brain is as old as + the facts it absorbs; and Kitty had absorbed enough facts to carry her + brain well into the thirties. + </p> + <p> + Conover had been dead twenty years; and Kitty had scarcely any + recollections of him. Improvident as the run of newspaper writers are, + Conover had fulfilled one obligation to his family—he had kept up + his endowment policies; and for eighteen years the insurance had taken + care of Kitty and her mother, who because of a weak ankle had not been + able to return to the scenes of her former triumphs. In 1915 this darling + mother, whom Kitty loved to idolatry, had passed on. + </p> + <p> + There was enough for the funeral and the cleaning up of the bills; but + that was all. The income ceased with Mrs. Conover's demise. Kitty saw that + she must give up writing short stories which nobody wanted, and go to + work. So she proceeded at once to the newspaper office where her father's + name was still a tradition, and applied for a job. It was frankly a + charity job, but Kitty was never to know that because she fell into the + newspaper game naturally; and when they discovered her wide acquaintance + among theatrical celebrities they switched her into the dramatic + department, where she had astonishing success as a raconteur. She was now + assistant dramatic editor of the Sunday issue, and her pay envelope had + four crisp ten-dollar notes in it each Monday. + </p> + <p> + She still remained in the old apartment; sentiment as much as anything. + She had been born in it and her happiest days had been spent there. She + lived alone, without help, being one of that singular type of womanhood + that is impervious to the rust of loneliness. Her daily activities + sufficed the gregarious instincts, and it was often a relief to move about + in silence. + </p> + <p> + Among other things Kitty had foresight. She had learned that a little + money in the background was the most satisfying thing in existence. So + many times she and her mother had just reached the insurance check, with + grumbling bill collectors in the hall, that she was determined never to be + poor. She had to fight constantly her love of finery inherited from her + mother, and her love of good times inherited from her father. So she + established a bank account, and to date had not drawn a check against it; + which speaks well for her will power, an attribute cultivated, not + inherited. + </p> + <p> + Kitty was as pleasing to the eye as a basket of fruit. Her beauty was + animated. There was an expression in her eyes and on her lips that spoke + of laughter always on tiptoe. An enviable inheritance, this, the desire to + laugh, to be searching always for a vent to laughter; it is something + money cannot buy, something not to be cultivated; a true gift of the gods. + This desire to laugh is found invariably in the tender and valorous; and + Kitty was both. Brown hair with running threads of gold that was always + catching light; slate-blue eyes with heavy black fringe-Irish; colour that + waxed and waned; and a healthy, shapely body. Topped by a sparkling + intellect these gifts made Kitty desirable of men. + </p> + <p> + Kitty had no beau. After the adolescent days beaux ceased to interest her. + This would indicate that she was inclined toward suffrage. Nothing of the + kind. Intensely romantic, she determined to await the grand passion or go + it alone. No experimental adventures for her. Be assured that she weighed + every new man she met, and finding some flaw discarded him as a + matrimonial possibility. Besides, her unusual facilities to view and judge + men had shown her masculine phases the average woman would have discovered + only after the fatal knot was tied. She did not suspect that she was + romantical. She attributed her wariness to common sense. + </p> + <p> + If there is one place where a pretty young woman may labour without having + to build a wall of liquid air about her to fend off amatory advances that + place is the editorial room of a great metropolitan daily. One must have + leisure to fall in love; and only the office boys could assemble enough + idle time to call it leisure. + </p> + <p> + Her desk faced Burlingame's; and Burlingame was the dramatic editor, a + scholar and a gentleman. He liked to hear Kitty talk, and often he lured + her into the open; and he gathered information about theatrical folks that + was outside even his wide range of knowledge. + </p> + <p> + A drizzly fog had hung over New York since morning. Kitty was finishing up + some Sunday special. Burlingame was reading proofs. All day theatrical + folks had been in and out of this little ten-by-twelve cubby-hole; and now + there would be quiet. + </p> + <p> + But no. The door opened and an iron-gray head intruded. + </p> + <p> + “Will I be in the way?” + </p> + <p> + “Lord, no!” cried Burlingame, throwing down his proofs. “Come along in, + Cutty.” + </p> + <p> + The great war correspondent came in and sat down, sighing gratefully. + </p> + <p> + Cutty was a nickname; he carried and smoked—everywhere they would + permit him—the worst-looking and the worst-smelling pipe in + Christendom. You may not realize it, but a nickname is a round-about + Anglo-Saxon way of telling a fellow you love him. He was Cutty, but only + among his dear intimates, mind you; to the world at large, to presidents, + kings, ambassadors, generals, and capitalists he is known by another name. + You will find it on the roster of the Royal Geographical; on the title + page of several unique books on travel, jewels, and drums; in magazines + and newspapers; on the membership roll of the Savage in London and the + Lambs in New York. But you will not find it in this story; because it + would not be fair to set his name against the unusual adventures that + crossed his line of life with that of the young man who wore the tobacco + pouch suspended from his neck. + </p> + <p> + Tall, bony, graceful enough except in a chair, where his angles became + conspicuous; the ruddy, weather-bitten complexion of a deep-sea sailor, + and a sailor man's blue eye; the brow of a thinker and the mouth of a + humourist. Men often call another man handsome when a woman knows they + mean manly. Among men Cutty was handsome. + </p> + <p> + Kitty considerately rose and gathered up her manuscript. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Kitty! I'd rather talk to you than Burly, here. You're always + reminding me of that father of yours. Best comrade I ever had. You laugh + just like him. Did your mother ever tell you that old Cutty is your + godfather?” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious!” + </p> + <p> + “Fact. I told your dad I'd watch over you.” + </p> + <p> + “And a fat lot of watching you've done to date,” jeered Burlingame. + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't help that. But I can be on the job until I return to the + Balkans.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty laughed joyously and sat down, perhaps a little thrilled. She had + always admired Cutty from afar, shyly. Once in a blue moon he had in the + old days appeared for tea; and he and Mrs. Conover would spend the balance + of the afternoon discussing the lovable qualities of Tommy Conover. Kitty + had seen him but twice during the war. + </p> + <p> + “Every so often,” began Cutty, “I have to find listeners. Fact. I used to + hate crowds, listeners; but those ten days in an open boat, a thousand + miles from anywhere, made me gregarious. I'm always wanting company and + hating to go to bed, which is bad business for a man of fifty-two.” + Cutty's ship had been torpedoed. + </p> + <p> + To Kitty, with his tired eyes and weather-bitten face, his bony, gangling + body, he had the appearance of a lazy man. Actually she knew him to be a + man of tremendous vitality and endurance. Eagles when they roost are + heavy-lidded and clumsy. She wondered if there was a corner on the globe + he had not peered into. + </p> + <p> + For thirty years he had been following two gods—Rumour and War. For + thirty years he had been the slave of cables and telegrams. Even now he + was preparing to return to the Balkans, where the great fire had started + and where there were still some threatening embers to watch. + </p> + <p> + Cutty was not well known in America; his reputation was European. He + played the game because he loved it, being comfortably fortified with + worldly goods. He was a linguist of rare attainments, specializing in the + polyglot of southeastern Europe. He came and went like cloud shadow. His + foresight was so keen he was seldom ordered to go here or there; he was + generally on the spot when the orders arrived. + </p> + <p> + He was interested in socialism and its bewildering ramifications, but only + as an analytical student. He could fit himself into any environment, + interview a prime minister in the afternoon and take potluck that night + with the anarchist who was planning to blow up the prime minister. + </p> + <p> + Burlingame, an intimate, often exposed for Kitty's delectation the amazing + and colourful facets of Cutty's diamond-brilliant mind. Cutty wrote + authoritatively on famous gems and collected drums. He had one of the + finest collections of chrysoprase in the world. He loved these + semi-precious stones because of their unmatchable, translucent green—like + the pulp of a grape. From Burlingame Kitty had learned that Cutty, rather + indifferent to women, carried about with him the photographs—large + size—of famous professional beauties and a case filled with polished + chrysoprase. He would lay a photograph on a table and adorn the lovely + throat with astonishing necklaces and the head with wonderful tiaras, all + the while his brain at work with some intricate political puzzle. + </p> + <p> + And he collected drums. The walls of his apartment—part of the loft + of a midtown office building—were covered with a most startling + assortment of drums: drums of war, of the dance, of the temples of the + feast, ancient and modern, some of them dreadful looking objects, as Kitty + had cause to remember. + </p> + <p> + Though Cutty had known her father and mother intimately, Kitty was a + comparative stranger. He recollected seeing her perhaps a dozen times. She + had been a shy child, not given to climbing over visitors' knees; not the + precocious offspring of the average theatrical mother. So in the past he + had somewhat overlooked her. Then one day recently he had dropped in to + see Burlingame and had seen Kitty instead; which accounts for his presence + here this day. Neither Kitty nor Burlingame suspected the true attraction. + The dramatic editor accepted the advent as a peculiar compliment to + himself. And it is to be doubted if Cutty himself realized that there was + a true magnetic pole in this cubbyhole of a room. + </p> + <p> + Kitty, however, had vivid recollections. Actually the first strange man + she had ever met. But not having been visible on her horizon, except in + flashes, she knew of the man only what she had read and what Burlingame + had casually offered during discussions. + </p> + <p> + “Well, anyhow,” said Burlingame, complacently, “the war is over.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty smiled indulgently. “That's the trouble with us chaps who tramp + round the world for news. We can't bamboozle ourselves like you folks who + stay at home. The war was only the first phase. There's a mess over there; + wanting something and not knowing exactly what, those millions; milling + cattle, with neither shed nor pasture. The Lord only knows how long it + will take to clarify. Would you mind if I smoked?” + </p> + <p> + “Wow!” cried Burlingame. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” answered Kitty. “I don't see how any pipe could be worse + than Mr. Burlingame's.” + </p> + <p> + “I apologize,” said the dramatic editor, humbly. + </p> + <p> + “You needn't,” replied the girl. She turned to the war correspondent. “Any + new drums?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember that day. You were scared half to death at my walls.” + </p> + <p> + “Small wonder! I was only twelve; and I dreamed of cannibals for weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “Drums! I wonder if any living man has heard a greater variety than I? + What a lot of them! I have heard them calling a jehad in the Sudan. + Tumpi-tum-tump! tumpitum-tump! Makes a white man's hair stand up when he + hears it in the night. I don't know what it is, but the sound drives the + Oriental mad. And that reminds me—I've had them in mind all day—the + drums of jeopardy!” + </p> + <p> + “What an odd phrase! And what are the drums of jeopardy?” asked Kitty, + leaning on her arms. Odd, but suddenly she felt a longing to go somewhere, + thousands and thousands of miles away. She had never been west of Chicago + or east of Boston. Until this moment she had never felt the call of the + blood—her father's. Cocoanut palms and birds of paradise! And drums + in the night going tumpi-tum-tump! tumpi-tum-tump! + </p> + <p> + “I've always been mad over green things,” began Cutty. “A wheat field in + the spring, leafing maples. It's Nature's choice and mine. My passion is + emeralds; and I haven't any because those I want are beyond reach. They + are owned by the great houses of Europe and Asia, and lie in royal + caskets; or did. If I could go into a mine and find an emerald as big as + my fist I should be only partly happy if it chanced to be of fine colour. + In a little while I should lose interest in it. It wouldn't be alive, if + you can get what I mean. Just as a man would rather have a homely woman to + talk to than a beautiful window dummy to admire. A stone to interest me + must have a story—a story of murder and loot, of beautiful women, + palaces. + </p> + <p> + “Br-r-r!” cried Burlingame. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I've seen emeralds I would steal with half a chance. I couldn't help + it. Fact,” declared Cutty, earnestly. “Think of the loot in the Romanoff + palaces! What's become of all those magnificent stones? In a little while + they'll be turning up in Amsterdam to be cut—some of them. Or maybe + Mister Bolsheviki's inamorata will be stringing them round her neck. + Loot.” + </p> + <p> + “But the drums of jeopardy!” said Kitty. + </p> + <p> + “Emeralds, green as an English lawn in May after a shower, Kitty. By the + way, do you mind if I call you Kitty? I used to.” + </p> + <p> + “And I've always thought of you as Cutty. Fifty-fifty.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a bargain. Well, the drums to my thinking are the finest two + examples of the green beryl in the world. Polished, of course, as emeralds + always should be. I should say that they were about the size of those + peppermint chocolate drops there.” + </p> + <p> + “Have one?” said Kitty. + </p> + <p> + “No. Spoil the taste of the pipe.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to spoil that taste once in a while,” was Burlingame's + observation. “But go on.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose originally there was a single stone, later cut into halves, + because they are perfect matches. The drums proper are exquisitely carved + ivory statuettes, of Hindu or Mohammedan drummers, squatting, the golden + base of the drums between the knees, and the drumheads the emeralds. Lord, + how they got to me! I wanted to run off with them. The history of murder + and loot they could tell! Some Delhi mogul owned them first. Then Nadir + Shah carried them off to Persia, along with the famous peacock throne. I + saw them in a palace on the Caspian in 1912. Russia was very strong in + Persia at one time. Perhaps they were gifts; perhaps they were stolen—these + emeralds. Anyhow, I'd never heard of them until that year. And I travelled + all the way up from Constantinople to get a glimpse of them if it were + possible. I had to do some mighty fine wire-pulling. For one of those + stones I would give half of all I own. To see them in the possession of + another man would be a supreme test to my honesty.” + </p> + <p> + “You old pirate!” said Burlingame. + </p> + <p> + “But why the word jeopardy?” persisted Kitty, who was intrigued by the + phrase. + </p> + <p> + “Probably some Hindu trick. It is a language of flowery metaphors. It + means, I suppose, that when you touch the drums they bite. In journeying + from one spot to another they always leave misfortune behind, as I + understand it. Just coincidence; but you couldn't drive that into an + Oriental skull. This is what makes the study of precious stones so + interesting. There is always some enchantment, some evil spell. To handle + the drums is to invite a minor accident. Call it twaddle; probably is; and + yet I have reason to believe that there's something to the superstition.” + </p> + <p> + Burlingame sniffed. + </p> + <p> + “I can prove it,” Cutty declared. “I held those drums in my hands one day. + I carried them to a window the better to observe them. On my return to the + hotel I was knocked down by a horse and laid up in bed for a week. That + same night someone tried to kill the man who showed me the emeralds. + Coincidence? Perhaps. But these days I'm shying at thirteen, the wrong + side of the street, ladders, and religious curses.” + </p> + <p> + “An old hard-boiled egg like you?” Burlingame threw up his hands in mock + despair. + </p> + <p> + “I laugh, too; but I duck, nevertheless. The chap who showed me the stones + was what you'd call the honorary custodian; a privileged character because + of his genius. Before approaching him I sent him a copy of my monograph on + green stones. I found that he was quite as crazy over green as I. That + brought us together; and while I drew him out I kept wondering where I had + seen him before. Both his name and his face were vaguely familiar. It + seems a superstition had come along with the stones, from India to Persia, + from there to Russia. A maid fortunate enough to see the drums would marry + and be happy. The old fellow confessed that occasionally he secretly + admitted a peasant maid to gaze upon the stones. But he never let the male + inmates of the palace find this out. He knew them a little too intimately. + A bad lot.” + </p> + <p> + “And this palace?” asked Kitty. + </p> + <p> + “Not one stone on another. The proletariat rose up and destroyed it. To + mobs anything beautiful is offensive. Palaces looted, banks, museums, + houses. The ignorant toying with hand grenades, thinking them sceptres. + All the scum in the world boiling to the top. After the Red Day comes the + Red Night.” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever will become of them—the little kings and princes and + dukes?” After all, thought Kitty, they were human beings; they would not + suffer any the less because they had been born to the purple. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe they'll go to work,” said Cutty, dryly. “Sooner or later, all + parasites will have to work if they want bread. And yet I've met some men + among them, big in the heart and the mind, who would have made bully + farmers and professors. The beautiful thing about the Anglo-Saxon + education is that the whole structure is based upon fair play. In eastern + and southeastern Europe few of them can play solitaire without cheating. + But I would give a good deal to know what has happened to those emeralds—the + drums of jeopardy. They'll probably be broken up and sold in carat + weights. The whole family was wiped out in a night.... I say, will you + take lunch with me to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Gladly.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. I'll drop in here at half after twelve. Here's my telephone + number, should anything alter your plans. If I'm going to be godfather I + might as well start right in.” + </p> + <p> + “The drums of jeopardy; what a haunting phrase!” + </p> + <p> + “Haunting stones, too, Kitty. For picking them up in my hands I went to + bed with a banged-up leg. I can't forget that. We Occidentals laugh at + Orientals and their superstitions. We don't believe in the curse. And yet, + by George, those emeralds were accursed!” + </p> + <p> + “Piffle!” snorted Burlingame. “Mush! It's greed, pure and simple, that + gives precious stones their sinister histories. You'd have been hit by + that horse if you had picked up nothing more valuable than a rhinestone + buckle. Take away the gold lure, and precious stones wouldn't sell at the + price of window glass.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so? How about me? It isn't because a stone is worth so much that + makes me want it. I want it for the sheer beauty; I want it for the + tremendous panorama the sight of it unfolds in my mind. I imagine what + happened from the hour the stone was mined to the hour it came into my + possession. To me—to all genuine collectors—the intrinsic + value is nil. Can't you see? It is for me what Balzac's La Peau de Chagrin + would be to you if you had fallen on it for the first time—money, + love, tragedy, death.” + </p> + <p> + An interruption came in the form of one of the office boys. The chief was + on the wire and wanted Cutty at once. + </p> + <p> + “At half after twelve, Kitty. And by the way,” added Cutty as he rose, + “they say about the drums that a beautiful woman is immune to their + danger.” + </p> + <p> + “There's your chance, Kitty,” said Burlingame. + </p> + <p> + “Am I beautiful?” asked Kitty, demurely. + </p> + <p> + “Lord love the minx!” shouted Cutty. “A corner in Mouquin's.” + </p> + <p> + “Rain or shine.” After Cutty had departed Kitty said: “He's the most + fascinating man I know. What fun it would be to jog round the world with a + man like that, who knew everybody and everything. As a little girl I was + violently in love with him; but don't you ever dare give me away.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll probably have nightmare to-night. And honestly you ought not to + live in that den alone. But Cutty has seen things,” Burlingame admitted; + “things no white man ought to see. He's been shot up, mauled by animals, + marooned, torpedoed at sea, made prisoner by old Fuzzy-Wuzzy. An ordinary + man would have died of fatigue. Cutty is as tough and strong as a gorilla + and as active as a cat. But this jewel superstition is all rot. Odd, + though; he'll travel halfway round the world to see a ruby or an emerald. + He says no true collector cares a cent for a diamond. Says they are + vulgar.” + </p> + <p> + “Except on the third finger of a lady's left hand; and then they are just + perfectly splendid!” + </p> + <p> + “Oho! Well, when you get yours I hope it's as big as the Koh-i-noor.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you! You might just as well wish a brick on me!” + </p> + <p> + Kitty left the office at a quarter of six. The phrase kept running through + her head—the drums of jeopardy. A little shiver ran up her spine. + Money, love, tragedy, death! This terrible and wonderful old world, of + which she had seen little else than city streets, suddenly exhibited wide + vistas. She knew now why she had begun to save—travel. Just as soon + as she had a thousand she would go somewhere. A great longing to hear + native drums in the night. + </p> + <p> + Even as the wish entered her mind a new sound entered her ears. The Subway + car wheels began to beat—tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! Fudge! She + opened her evening paper and scanned the fashions, the dramatic news, and + the comics. Being a woman she read the world news last. On the front page + she saw a queer story, dated at Albany: Mysterious guests at a hotel; how + they had fought and fled in the early morning. There had been left behind + a case with foreign orders incrusted with several thousand dollars' worth + of gems. Bolsheviki, said the police; just as they said auto bandits a few + years ago when confronted with something they could not understand. The + orders had been turned over to the Federal authorities from whom it was + learned that they were all royal and demi-royal. Neither of the two guests + had returned up to noon, and one had fled, leaving even his hat and coat. + But there was nothing to indicate his identity. + </p> + <p> + “Loot!” murmured Kitty. “All the scum in the world rising to the top”—quoting + Cutty. “Poor things!” as she thought of the gentle ladies who had died + horribly in bedrooms and cellars. + </p> + <p> + Kitty was beginning to cast about for more congenial quarters. There were + too many foreigners in the apartments, and none of them especially good + housekeepers. Always, nowadays, somebody had a washing out on the line, + the odour of garlic was continuously in the air, and there were noisy + children under foot in the halls. The families she and her mother had + known were all gone; and Kitty was perhaps the oldest inhabitant in the + block. + </p> + <p> + The living-room windows faced Eightieth Street; bedrooms, dining room, and + kitchen looked out upon the court. From the latter windows one could step + out upon the fire-escape platform, which ran round the three sides of the + court. + </p> + <p> + Among the present tenants she knew but one, an old man by the name of + Gregory, who lived opposite. The acquaintance had never ripened into + friendship; but sometimes Kitty would borrow an egg and he would borrow + some sugar. In the summertime, when the windows were open at night, she + had frequently heard the music of a violin swimming across the court. + Polish, Russian, and Hungarian music, always speaking with a tragic note; + nothing she had ever heard in concerts. Once, however, she had heard him + begin something from Thais, and stop in the middle of it; and that + convinced her that he was a master. She was fond of good music. One day + she asked Gregory why he did not teach music instead of valeting at a + hotel. His answer had been illuminative. It was only his body that pressed + clothes; but it would have torn his soul to listen daily to the agonized + bow of the novice. Kitty was lonely through pride as much as anything. As + for friends, she had a regiment of them. But she rarely accepted their + hospitality, realizing that she could not return it. No young men called + because she never invited them. All this, however, was going to change + when she moved. + </p> + <p> + As she turned on the hail light she saw an envelope on the floor. + Evidently it had been shoved under the door. It was unstamped. She opened + it, and stepped out of the humdrum into the whirligig. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DEAR MISS CONOVER: + If anything should happen to me all the things in my apartment + I give to you without reservation. + STEPHEN GREGORY. +</pre> + <p> + She read the letter a dozen times to make sure that it meant exactly what + it said. He might be ill. After she had cooked her supper she would run + round and inquire. The poor lonely old man! + </p> + <p> + She went into the kitchen and took inventory. There was nothing but bacon + and eggs and coffee. She had forgotten to order that morning. She lit the + gas range and began to prepare the meal. As she broke an egg against the + rim of the pan the nearby Elevated train rushed by, drumming + tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! She laughed, but it wasn't honest laughter. + She laughed because she was conscious that she was afraid of something. + Impulse drove her to the window. Contact with men—her unusual + experiences as a reporter—had developed her natural fearlessness to + a point where it was aggressive. As she pressed the tip of her nose + against the pane, however, she found herself gazing squarely into a pair + of exceedingly brilliant dark eyes; and all the blood in her body seemed + to rush violently into her throat. + </p> + <p> + Tableau! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + Kitty gasped, but she did not cry out. The five days' growth of blondish + stubble, the discoloured eye—for all the orb itself was brilliant—and + the hawky nose combined to send through her the first great thrill of + danger she had ever known. + </p> + <p> + Slowly she backed away from the window. The man outside immediately + extended his hands with a gesture that a child would have understood. + Supplication. Kitty paused, naturally. But did the man mean it? Might it + not be some trick to lure her into opening the window? And what was he + doing outside there anyhow? Her mind, freed from the initial hypnosis of + the encounter, began to work quickly. If she ran from the kitchen to call + for help he might be gone when she returned, only to come back when she + was again alone. + </p> + <p> + Once more the man executed that gesture, his palms upward. It was Latin; + she was aware of that, for she was always encountering it in the halls. + Another gesture. She understood this also. The tips of the fingers bunched + and dabbed at the lips. She had seen Italian children make the gesture and + cry: “Ho fame!” Hungry. But she could not let him into the kitchen. Still, + if he were honestly hungry—She had it! + </p> + <p> + In the kitchen-table drawer was an imitation revolver—press the + trigger, and a fluted fan was revealed—a dance favour she had + received during the winter. + </p> + <p> + She plucked it out of the drawer and walked bravely to the window, which + she threw up. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want? What are you doing out there on the fire escape?” she + instantly demanded to know. + </p> + <p> + “My word, I am hungry! I was looking out of the window across the way and + saw you preparing your dinner. A bit of bread and a glass of milk. Would + you mind, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you come to the door then? What window?” Kitty was resolute; + once she embarked upon an enterprise. + </p> + <p> + “That one.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is Mr. Gregory?” Kitty recalled that odd letter. + </p> + <p> + “Gregory? I should very much like to know. I have come many miles to see + him. He sent me a duplicate key. There was not even a crust in the + cupboard.” + </p> + <p> + Gregory away? That letter! Something had happened to that poor, kindly old + man. “Why did you not seek some restaurant? Or have you no money?” + </p> + <p> + “I have plenty. I was afraid that I might not be able conveniently to + return. I am a stranger. My actions might be viewed with suspicion.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! Describe Mr. Gregory.” + </p> + <p> + Not of the clinging kind, evidently, he thought. A raving beauty—Diana + domesticated! + </p> + <p> + “It is four years since I saw him. He was then gray, dapper, and erect. A + mole on his chin, which he rubs when he talks. He is a valet in one of the + fashionable hotels. He is—or was—the only true friend I have + in New York.” + </p> + <p> + “Was? What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid something has happened to him. I found his bedroom things + tossed about.” + </p> + <p> + “What could possibly happen to a harmless old man like Mr. Gregory?” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, but your egg is burning!” + </p> + <p> + Kitty wheeled and lifted off the pan, choking in the smother of smoke. She + came right-about face swiftly enough. The man had not moved; and that + decided her. + </p> + <p> + “Come in. I will give you something to eat. Sit in that chair by the + window, and be careful not to stir from it. I'm a good shot,” lied Kitty, + truculently. “Frankly, I do not like the looks of this.” + </p> + <p> + “I do look like a burglar, what?” He sat down in the chair meekly. Food + and a human being to talk to! A lovely, self-reliant American girl, able + to take care of herself. Magnificent eyes—slate blue, with thick, + velvety black lashes. Irish. + </p> + <p> + In a moment Kitty had three eggs and half a dozen strips of bacon frying + in a fresh pan. She kept one eye upon the pan and the other upon the + intruder, risking strabismus. At length she transferred the contents of + the pan to a plate, backed to the ice chest, and reached for a bottle of + milk. She placed the food at the far end of the table and retreated a few + steps, her arms crossed in such a way as to keep the revolver in view. + </p> + <p> + “Please do not be afraid of me. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think I am?” + </p> + <p> + “Any woman would be.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty saw that he was actually hungry, and her suspicions began to ebb. He + hadn't lied about that. And he ate like a gentleman. Young, not more than + thirty; possibly less. But that dreadful stubble and that black eye! The + clothes would have passed muster on any fashionable golf links. A + fugitive? From what? + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he said, setting down the empty milk bottle. + </p> + <p> + “Your accent is English.” + </p> + <p> + “Which is to say?” + </p> + <p> + “That your gestures are Italian.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother was Italian. But what makes you believe I am not English?” + </p> + <p> + “An Englishman—or an American, for that matter—with money in + his pocket would have gone into the street in search of a restaurant.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right. The fundamentals of the blood will always crop out. You + can educate the brain but not the blood. I am not an Englishman; I merely + received my education at Oxford.” + </p> + <p> + “A fugitive, however, of any blood might have come to my window.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I am a fugitive, pursued by the god of Irony. And Irony is never + particular; the chase is the thing. What matters it whether the quarry be + wolf or sheep?” + </p> + <p> + Kitty was impressed by the bitterness of the tone. “What is your name?” + </p> + <p> + “John Hawksley.” + </p> + <p> + “But that is English!” + </p> + <p> + “I should not care to call myself Two-Hawks, literally. It would be + embarrassing. So I call myself Hawksley.” + </p> + <p> + A pause. Kitty wondered what new impetus she might give to the + conversation, which was interesting her despite her distrust. + </p> + <p> + “How did you come by that black eye?” she asked with embarrassing + directness. + </p> + <p> + Hawksley smiled, revealing beautifully white teeth. “I say, it is a bit + off, isn't it! I received it”—a twinkle coming into his eyes—“in + a situation that had moribund perspectives.” + </p> + <p> + “Moribund perspectives,” repeated Kitty, casting the phrase about in her + mind in search of an equivalent less academic. + </p> + <p> + “I am young and healthy, and I wanted to live,” he said, gravely. “I am + curious to know what is going to happen to-morrow and other to-morrows.” + </p> + <p> + Somewhere near by a door was slammed violently. Kitty, every muscle in her + body tense, jumped convulsively, with the result that her finger pressed + automatically the trigger of her pistol. The fan popped out gayly. + </p> + <p> + Hawksley stared at the fan, quite as astonished as Kitty. Then he broke + into low, rollicking laughter, which Kitty, because her basic corpuscle + was Irish, perforce had to join. For all her laughter she retreated, + furious and alarmed. + </p> + <p> + “Fancy! I say, now, you're jolly plucky to face a scoundrel like me with + that.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't just know what to make of you,” said Kitty, irresolutely, + flinging the fan into a corner. + </p> + <p> + “You have revivified a celestial spark—my faith in human beings. I + beg of you not to be afraid of me. I am quite harmless. I am very grateful + for the meal. Yours is the one act of kindness I have known in weeks. I + will return to Gregor's apartment at once. But before I go please accept + this. I rather suspect, you know, that you live alone, and that fan is + amusing and not particularly suitable.” He rose and unsmilingly laid upon + the table one of those heavy blue-black bull-dogs of war, a regulation + revolver. Kitty understood what this courteous act signified; he was + disarming himself to reassure her. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down,” she ordered. Either he was harmless or he wasn't. If he wasn't + she was utterly at his mercy. She might be able to lift that + terrible-looking engine of murder, battle, and sudden death with the aid + of both hands, but to aim and fire it—never in this world! “As I + came in to-night I found a note in the hall from Mr. Gregory. I will fetch + it. But you call him Gregor?” + </p> + <p> + “His name is Stefani Gregor; and years and years ago he dandled me on his + knees. I promise not to move until you return.” + </p> + <p> + Subdued by she knew not what, no longer afraid, Kitty moved out of the + kitchen. She had offered Gregory's letter as an excuse to reach the + telephone. Once there, however, she did not take the receiver off the + hook. Instead she whistled down the tube for the janitor. + </p> + <p> + “This is Miss Conover. Come up to my apartment in ten minutes.... No; it's + not the water pipes.... In ten minutes.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing very serious could happen inside of ten minutes; and the janitor + was reliable and not the sort one reads about in the comic weeklies. Her + confidence reenforced by the knowledge that a friend was near, she took + the letter into the kitchen. Apparently her unwelcome guest had not + stirred. The revolver was where he had laid it. + </p> + <p> + “Read this,” she said. + </p> + <p> + The visitor glanced through it. “It is Gregor's hand. Poor old chap! I + shall never forgive my self.” + </p> + <p> + “For what?” + </p> + <p> + “For dragging him into this. They must have intercepted one of my + telegrams.” He stared dejectedly at the strip of oilcloth in front of the + range. “You are an American?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “God has been exceedingly kind to your country. I doubt if you will ever + know how kind. I'll take myself off. No sense in compromising you.” He + laid a folded handkerchief inside his cap which he put on. “Know anything + about this?”—indicating the revolver. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing whatever.” + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to show you. It is loaded; there are five bullets in the clip. + See this little latch? So, it is harmless. So, and you kill with it.” + </p> + <p> + “It is horrible!” cried Kitty. “Take it with you please. I could not keep + my eyes open to shoot it.” + </p> + <p> + “These are troublous times. All women should know something about small + arms. Again I thank you. For your own sake I trust that we may never meet + again. Good-bye.” He stepped out of the window and vanished. + </p> + <p> + Kitty, at a mental impasse, could only stare into the night beyond the + window. This mesmeric state endured for a minute; then a gentle and + continuous sound dissipated the spell. It was raining. Obliquely she saw + the burnt egg in the pan. The thing had happened; she had not been + dreaming. + </p> + <p> + Her brain awoke. Thought crowded thought; before one matured another + displaced it; and all as futile as the sparks from the anvil. An avalanche + of conjecture; and out of it all eventually emerged one concrete fact. The + man Was honest. His hunger had been honest; his laughter. Who was he, what + was he? For all his speech, not English; for all his gestures, not + Italian. Moribund perspectives. Somewhere that day he had fought for his + life. John Two-Hawks. + </p> + <p> + And there was the mysterious evanishment of old Gregory, whose name was + Stefani Gregor. In a humdrum, prosaic old apartment like this! + </p> + <p> + Kitty had ideas about adventure—an inheritance, though she was not + aware of that. There had to be certain ingredients, principally mystery. + Anything sordid must not be permitted to edge in. She had often gone forth + upon semi-perilous enterprises as a reporter, entered sinister houses + where crimes had been committed, but always calculating how much copy at + eight dollars a column could be squeezed out of the affair. But this + promised to be something like those tales which were always clear and + wonderful in her head but more or less opaque when she attempted to + transfer them to paper. A secret society? Vengeance? An echo of the war? + </p> + <p> + “Johnny Two-Hawks,” she murmured aloud. “And he hopes we'll never meet + again!” + </p> + <p> + There was a mirror over the sink, and she threw a glance into it. Very + well; if he thought like that about it. + </p> + <p> + Here the doorbell tinkled. That would be the faithful janitor. She ran to + the door. + </p> + <p> + “Whadjuh wanta see me about, Miz Conover?” + </p> + <p> + “What has happened to old Mr. Gregory?” + </p> + <p> + “Him? Why, some amb'lance fellers carted him off this afternoon. Didn't + know nawthin' was the matter with 'im until I runs into them in the hall.” + </p> + <p> + “He'd been hurt?” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't say, miz. He was on a stretcher when I seen 'im. Under a sheet.” + </p> + <p> + “But he might have been dead!” + </p> + <p> + “Nope. I ast 'em, an' they said a shock of some sort.” + </p> + <p> + “What hospital?” + </p> + <p> + “Gee, I forgot t'ast that!” + </p> + <p> + “I'll find out. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + But Kitty did not find out. She called up all the known private and public + hospitals, but no Gregor or Gregory had been received that afternoon, nor + anybody answering his description. The fog had swallowed up Stefani + Gregor. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + The reportorial instinct in Kitty Conover, combined with her natural + feminine curiosity, impelled her to seek to the bottom of affair. Her + newspaper was as far from her as the poles; simply a paramount desire to + translate the incomprehensible into sequence and consequence. Harmless old + Gregor's disappearance and the advent of John Two-Hawks—the + absurdity of that name!—with his impeccable English accent, his + Latin gestures, and his black eye, convinced her that it was political; an + electrical cross current out of that broken world over there. Moribund + perspectives. What did that signify save that Johnny Two-Hawks had fought + somewhere that day for his life? Had Gregor been spirited away so as to + leave Two-Hawks without support, to confuse and discourage him and break + down his powers of resistance? Or had there been something of great value + in the Gregor apartment, and Johnny Two-Hawks had come too late to save + his friend? + </p> + <p> + A word slipped into her mind like a whiff of miasma off an evil swamp. As + she recognized the word she felt the same horror and repugnance one senses + upon being unexpectedly confronted by a cobra. Internationalism. The scum + of the world boiling to the top. A half-blind viper striking venomously at + everything—even itself! A destroyer who tore down but who knew not + how or what to build. Kitty knew that lower New York was seething with + this species of terrorism—thousands of noisome European rats trying + to burrow into the granary of democracy. But she had no particular fear of + the result. The reacting chemicals of American humour and common sense + would neutralize that virus. Supposing a ripple from this indecent eddy + had touched her feet? The torch of liberty in the hands of Anarch! + </p> + <p> + Johnny Two-Hawks. Somehow—even if she never saw him again—she + knew she would always remember him by that name. Phases of the encounter + began to return. Fine hands; perhaps he painted or played. The oblong head + of well-balanced mentality. A pleasant voice. Breeding. To be sure, he had + laughed at that fan popping out. Anybody would have laughed. Never had she + felt so idiotic. He had gravely expressed the hope that they might never + meet again because his life was in danger. What danger? Conceivably the + enmity of a society—internationalism. The word having found lodgment + in her thoughts took root. Internationalism—Utopia while you wait! + Anarchism and Bolshevism offering nostrums for humanity's ills! And there + were sane men who defended the cult on the basis that the intention was + honest. Who can say that the rattlesnake does not consider his intentions + honourable? + </p> + <p> + The attribute lacking in the ape to make him human is continuity of + thought and action in all things save one. He often starts out well but he + never arrives. His interest is never sustained. He drops one thing and + turns to another. The exception is his enmity, savage and cunning, + relentless and enduring. + </p> + <p> + Kitty was awake to one fact. She could not venture to dig into this affair + alone. On the other hand, she did not want one of the men from the city + room—a reporter who would see nothing but news. If Gregor was only a + prisoner publicity might be the cause of his death; and publicity would + certainly react hardily against Johnny Two-Hawks. To whom might she turn? + </p> + <p> + Cutty!—with his great physical strength, his shrewd and alert + mentality, and his wide knowledge of peoples and tongues. There was the + man for her—Kitty Conover's godfather. She dumped the contents of + her handbag upon the stand in the hallway in her impatience to find + Cutty's card with his telephone number. It was not in the directory. She + might catch him before he went out for the evening. + </p> + <p> + A Japanese voice answered her call. + </p> + <p> + “'Souse, but he iss out.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “No tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “How long has he been gone?” + </p> + <p> + “'Scuse!” + </p> + <p> + Kitty heard the click of the receiver as it went down upon the hook. But + she wasn't the daughter of Conover for nothing. She called up the + University Club. No. The Harvard Club. No. The Players, the Lambs; and in + the latter club she found him. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it?” Cutty spoke impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Kitty Conover.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! What's the matter? Can't you have lunch with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Something very strange is happening in this old apartment house, Cutty. + I'm afraid it is a matter of life and death. Otherwise I shouldn't have + bothered you. Can you come up right away?” + </p> + <p> + “As soon as a taxi can take me!” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty then went through the apartment and turned out all the lights. Next + she drew up a chair to the kitchen window and sat down to watch. All was + dark across the way. But there was nothing singular in this fact. Johnny + Two-Hawks would have sense enough to realize that it would be safer to + move about in the dark. It was even probable that he was lying down. + </p> + <p> + Tumpitum-tump! Tumpitum-tump! went the racing Elevated; and Kitty's heart + raced along with it. Queer how the echo of Cutty's description of the + drums calling a jehad—a holy war—should adapt itself to that + Elevated. Drums! Perhaps the echo clung because she had been interested + beyond measure in his tale of those two emeralds, the drums of jeopardy. + Mobs sacking palaces and museums and banks and homes; all the scum of the + world boiling to the top; the Red Night that wasn't over. + </p> + <p> + She uttered a shaky little laugh. She would tell Cutty. The real drums of + jeopardy weren't emeralds but the roll of warning that prescience taps + upon the spine, the occult sense of impending danger. That was why the + Elevated went tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! She would tell Cutty. The + drums of fear. + </p> + <p> + He over there and she here, in darkness; both of them waiting for + something to happen; and the invisible drumsticks beating the tattoo of + fear. If he were in her thoughts might not she be a little in his? She + stood up. She would do it. Convention in a moment like this was nonsense. + Hadn't he kept his side of the line scrupulously? + </p> + <p> + Nonchalance. It occurred to her for the first time that there must be good + material in a man who could come through in a contest with death, + nonchalant. She would fetch him and have him here to meet Cutty, this + rather forlorn Johnny Two-Hawks, with his unshaven face, his black eye, + and his nonchalance. She would fetch him at once. It would save a good + deal of time. + </p> + <p> + There were but ten apartments in the building, two on a floor. The living + room formed an L. Kitty's buttressed Gregor's. The elevator shaft was + inside, facing the court; and the stair head was on the Gregor side of the + elevator. The two entrances faced each other across the landing. + </p> + <p> + As Kitty opened her door to step outside she was nonplussed to see two men + issue cautiously from the Gregor door. The moment they espied her, + however, there was a mad rush for the stair head. She could hear the thud + of their feet all the way down to the ground floor; and every footfall + seemed to touch her heart. One of them carried a bundle. + </p> + <p> + She breathed quickly, and she knew that she was afraid. Neither man was + Johnny Two-Hawks. Something dreadful had happened; she was sure of it. + Reenforcing her sinking courage with nerve energy she ran across to the + Gregor door and knocked. No answer. She knocked again; then she tried the + door. Locked. The flutter in her breast died away; she became quite calm. + She was going to enter this apartment by the way of the fire escape. The + window he had come out of was still up. She had made note of this from the + kitchen. In returning he had stepped on to the springe of a snare. + </p> + <p> + She hurried back to her kitchen for the automatic. She hadn't the least + idea how to manipulate it; but she was no longer afraid of it. Bravely she + stepped out on to the fire escape. To reach her objective she had to walk + under the ladder. Danger often puts odd irrelevancies into the human + brain. As she moved forward she wondered if there was anything in the + superstition regarding ladders. + </p> + <p> + When she reached the window she leaned against the brick wall and + listened. Silence; an ominous silence. The window was open, the curtain + up. Within, what? For as long as five minutes she waited, then she climbed + in. + </p> + <p> + Now as this bedroom was a counterpart of her own she knew where the light + button would be. She might stumble over a chair or two, but in the end she + would find the light. The fingers of one hand spread out before her and + the other clutching the impossible automatic, she succeeded in navigating + the uncharted reefs of an unfamiliar room. She blinked for a moment after + throwing on the light, and stood with her back to the wall, the automatic + wabbling at nothing in particular. The room was empty so far as she could + see. There was evidence of a physical encounter, but she could not tell + whether it was due to the former or to the latter invasion. + </p> + <p> + Where was he? From where she stood she could not see the floor on the far + side of the bed. Timidly she walked past the foot of the bed—and the + transient paralysis of horror laid hold of her. She became bereft of the + power to grasp and hold, and the automatic slipped from her fingers and + thudded on the carpet. + </p> + <p> + On the floor lay poor Johnny Two-Hawks, crumpled grotesquely, a streak of + blood zigzagging across his forehead; to all appearances, dead! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + Twice before in her life Kitty had looked upon death by violence; and it + required only this present picture to convince her that she would never be + able to gaze upon it callously, without pity and terror. Newspaper life—at + least the reportorial side of it—has an odd effect upon men and + women; it sharpens their tragical instincts and perceptions and dulls + eternally the edge of tenderness and sentimentality. It was natural for + Kitty to possess the keenest perceptions of tragedy; but she had been + taken out of the reportorial field in time to preserve all her tenderness + and romanticism. Otherwise she would have seen in that crumpled object + with the sinister daub of blood on the forehead merely a story, and would + have approached it from that angle. But was he dead? She literally forced + her steps toward the body and stared. She dropped to her knees because + they were threatening to buckle in one of those flashes of physical + incoordination to which the strongest will must bow occasionally. She was + no longer afraid of the tragedy, but she feared the great surging pity + that was striving to express itself in sobs; and she knew that if she + surrendered she would forthwith become hysterical for the rest of the + evening and incompetent to carry out the plan in her head. + </p> + <p> + A strong, healthy young man done to death in this fashion only a few + minutes after he had left her kitchen! Somehow she could not look upon him + as a stranger. She had given him food; she had talked to him; she had even + laughed with him. He was not like those dead she had seen in her + reportorial days. Her orbit and Johnny Two-Hawks' had indeterminately + touched; she had known old Gregory, or Gregor, who had been this + unfortunate young man's friend. And he had hoped they might never meet + again! + </p> + <p> + The murderous scoundrels had been watching. They must have entered the + apartment shortly after he had entered hers. Conceivably they would have + Gregor's key. And they had watched and waited, striking him down it may + have been at the very moment he had crossed the sill of the window. + </p> + <p> + Her hand shook so idiotically that it was impossible for a time to tell if + the man's heart was beating. All at once a wave of hot fury rushed over + her—fury at the cowardliness of the assault—and the vertigo + passed. She laid her palm firmly over Johnny Two-Hawks' heart. Alive! He + was alive! She straightened his body and put a pillow under his head. Then + she sought water and towels. + </p> + <p> + There was no cut on his forehead, only blood; but the top of his head had + been cruelly beaten. He was alive, but without immediate aid he might die. + The poor young man! + </p> + <p> + There were two physicians in the block; one or the other would be in. She + ran to the door, to find it locked. She had forgotten. Next she found the + telephone wire cut and the speaking tube battered and inutile. She would + have to return to her own apartment to summon help. She dared not leave + the light on. The scoundrels might possibly return, and the light would + warn them that their victim had been discovered; and naturally they would + wish to ascertain whether or not they had succeeded in their murderous + assault. + </p> + <p> + As she was passing the first-landing windows she saw Cutty emerging from + the elevator. She flew across the fire-escape platform with the resilient + step of one crossing thin ice. + </p> + <p> + Probably the most astonished man in New York was the war correspondent + when the door opened and a pair of arms were flung about him, and a voice + smothered in the lapel of his coat cried: “Oh, Cutty, I never was so glad + to see any one!” + </p> + <p> + “What in the name of—” + </p> + <p> + “Come! We'll handle this ourselves. Hurry!” She dragged him along by the + sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “It is life and death! No talk now!” + </p> + <p> + Cutty, immaculate in his evening clothes, very much perturbed, went along + after her. As she passed through the kitchen window and beckoned him to + follow he demurred. + </p> + <p> + “Kitty, what the deuce is going on here?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll answer your questions when we get him into my apartment. They tried + to murder him; left him there to die!” + </p> + <p> + Cutty possessed a great art, an art highly developed only in explorers and + newspaper reporters of the first order—adaptability; of being able + to cast aside instantly the conventions of civilization and let down the + bars to the primordial, the instinctive, and the natural. Thus the Cutty + who stepped out beside Kitty into the drizzle was not the Cutty she had + admitted into the apartment. She did not recognize this remarkable + transition until later; and then she discovered that Cutty, the suave and + lackadaisical in idleness, was a tremendous animal hibernating behind a + crackle shell. + </p> + <p> + Ordinarily Cutty would have declined to come through this shell, thin as + it was; he liked these catnaps between great activities. But this lovely + creature was Conover's daughter, and she would have the seventh + sense-divination of the born reporter. Something big was in the air. + </p> + <p> + “Go on!” he said, briskly. “I'm at your heels. And stoop as you pass those + hall windows. No use throwing a silhouette for somebody in those rear + houses to see.... Old Tommy Conover's daughter, sure pop!... There you go, + under the ladder! You've dished the whole affair, whatever it is.... No, + no! Just spoofing, Kitty. A long face is no good anywhere, even at a + funeral.... This window? All right. Know where the lights are? Very good.” + </p> + <p> + When Cutty saw the man on the floor he knelt quickly. “Nasty bang on the + head, but he's alive. What's this? His cap. Poughkeepsie. By George, + padded with his handkerchief! Must have known something was going to fall + on him. Now, what's it all about?” + </p> + <p> + “When we get him to my apartment.” + </p> + <p> + “Yours? Good Lord, what's the matter with this?” + </p> + <p> + “They tried to kill him here. They might return to see if they had + succeeded. They mustn't find where he has gone. I'm strong. I can take + hold of his knees.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut! Neither of us could walk backward over that fire escape. He looks + husky, but I'll try it. Now obey me without question or comment. You'll + have to help me get him outside the window and in through yours. Between + the two windows I can handle him alone. I only hope we shan't be noticed, + for that might prove awkward. Now take hold. That's it. When I'm through + the window just push his legs outside.” Panting, Kitty obeyed. “All + right,” said Cutty. “I like your pluck. You run along ahead and be ready + to help me in with him. A healthy beggar! Here goes.” + </p> + <p> + With a heave and a hunch and another heave Cutty stood up, the limp body + disposed scientifically across his shoulders. Kitty was quite impressed by + this exhibition of strength in a man whom she considered as elderly—old. + There was an underthought that such feats of bodily prowess were reserved + for young men. With the naive conceit of twenty-four she ignored the + actual mathematics of fifty years of clean living and thinking, missed the + physiological fact that often men at fifty are stronger and tougher than + men in the twenties. They never waste energy; their precision of movement + and deliberation of thought conserve the residue against the supreme + moment. + </p> + <p> + As a parenthesis: To a young woman what is a hero? Generally something + conjured out of a book she has read; the unknown, handsome young man + across the street; the leading actor in a society drama; the idol of the + movie. A hero must of necessity be handsome; that is the first essential. + If he happens to be brave and debonair, rich and aristocratic, so much the + better. Somehow, to be brave and to be heroic are not actually accepted + synonyms in certain youthful feminine minds. For instance, every maid will + agree that her father is brave; but tell her he is a hero because he pays + his bills regularly and she will accept the statement with a smile of + tolerant indulgence. + </p> + <p> + Thus Kitty viewed Cutty's activities with a thrill of amazed wonder. Had + the young man hoisted Cutty to his shoulders her feeling would have been + one of exultant admiration. Let age crown its garnered wisdom; youth has + no objections to that; but feats of physical strength—that is + poaching upon youth's preserves. Kitty was not conscious of the + instinctive resentment. At that moment Cutty was to her the most + extraordinary old man in the world. + </p> + <p> + “Forward!” he whispered. “I want to know why I am doing this movie stunt.” + The journey began with Kitty in the lead. She prayed that no one would see + them as they passed the two landing windows. Below and above were vivid + squares of golden light. She regretted the drizzle; no clothes-laden lines + intervened to obscure their progress. Someone in the rear of the houses in + Seventy-ninth Street might observe the silhouettes. The whole affair must + be carried off secretly or their efforts would come to nothing. + </p> + <p> + Once inside the kitchen Cutty shifted his burden into his arms, the way + one carries a child, and followed Kitty into the unused bedroom. He did + not wait for the story, but asked for the telephone. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to call for a surgeon at the Lambs. He's just back from France + and knows a lot about broken heads. And we can trust him absolutely. I + told him to wait there until I called.” + </p> + <p> + “Cutty, you're a dear. I don't wonder father loved you.” + </p> + <p> + Presently he turned away from the telephone. “He'll be here in a jiffy. + Now, then, what the deuce is all this about?” + </p> + <p> + Briefly Kitty narrated the episodes. + </p> + <p> + “Samaritan stuff. I see. Any absorbent cotton? I can wash the wound after + a fashion. Warm water and Castile soap. We can have him in shape for + Harrison.” + </p> + <p> + Alone, Cutty took note of several apparent facts. The victim's flannel + shirt was torn at the collar and there were marks of finger nails on the + throat and chest. Upon close inspection he observed a thin red line round + the neck—the mark of a thong. Had they tried to strangle him or had + he carried something of value? Silk underwear and a clean body; well born; + foreign. After a conscientious hesitance Cutty went through the pockets. + All he found were some crumbs of tobacco and a soggy match box. They had + cleaned him out evidently. There were no tailors' labels in any of the + pockets; but there were signs that these had once existed. The man on the + bed had probably ripped them out himself; did not care to be identified. + </p> + <p> + A criminal in flight? Cutty studied the face on the pillow. Shorn of that + beard it would be handsome; not the type criminal, certainly. A bit of + natural cynicism edged into his thoughts: Kitty had seen through the + beard, otherwise she would have turned the affair over to the police. Not + at all like her mother, yet equally her mother's match in beauty and + intelligence. Conover's girl, whose eyes had nearly popped out of her head + at the first sight of those drum-lined walls of his. + </p> + <p> + Two-Hawks. What was it that was trying to stir in his recollection? + Two-Hawks. He was sure he had heard that name before. Hawksley meant + nothing at all; but Two-Hawks possessed a strange attraction. He stared + off into space. He might have heard the name in a tongue other than + English. + </p> + <p> + A sound. It came from the lips of the young man. Cutty frowned. The poor + chap wasn't breathing in a promising way; he groaned after each + inhalation. And what had become of the old fellow Kitty called Gregory? A + queer business. + </p> + <p> + Kitty came in with a basin and a roll of absorbent cotton. + </p> + <p> + “He is groaning!” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty rocky condition, I should say. That handkerchief in his cap + doubtless saved him. Now, little lady, I frankly don't like the idea of + his being here. Suppose he dies? In that event there'll be the very devil + to pay. You're all alone here, without even a maid.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I all alone?”—softly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, no; come to think of it, I'm no longer your godfather in theory. + Give me the cotton and hold the basin.” + </p> + <p> + He was very tender. The wound bled a little; but it was not the kind that + bled profusely. It was less a cut than a smashing bruise. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's all I can do. Who was this tenant Gregory?” + </p> + <p> + “A dear old man. A valet at a Broadway hotel. Oh, I forgot! Johnny + Two-Hawks called him Stefani Gregor.” + </p> + <p> + “Stefani Gregor?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. What is it? Why do you say it like that?” + </p> + <p> + “Say it like what?”—sparring for time. + </p> + <p> + “As if you had heard the name before?” + </p> + <p> + “Just as I thought!” cried Cutty, his nimble mind pouncing upon a happy + invention. “You're romantic, Kitty. You're imagining all sorts of nonsense + about this chap, and you must not let the situation intrigue you. If I + spoke the name oddly—this Stefani Gregor—it was because I + sensed in a moment that this was a bit of the overflow. Southeastern + Europe, where the good Samaritan gets kicked instead of thanked. Now, + here's a good idea. Of course we can't turn this poor chap loose upon the + public, now that we know his life is in danger. That's always the trouble + with this Samaritan business. When you commit a fine action you assume an + obligation. You hoist the Old Man of the Sea on your shoulders, as it + were. The chap cannot be allowed to remain here. So, if Harrison agrees, + we'll take him up to my diggings, where no Bolshevik will ever lay eyes + upon him.” + </p> + <p> + “Bolshevik?” + </p> + <p> + “For the sake of a handle. They might be Chinamen, for all I know. I can + take care of him until he is on his feet. And you will be saved all this + annoyance. + </p> + <p> + “But I don't believe it's going to be an annoyance. I'm terribly + interested, and want to see it through.” + </p> + <p> + “If he can be moved, out he goes. No arguments. He can't stay in this + apartment. That's final.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly why not?” Kitty demanded, rebelliously. + </p> + <p> + “Because I say so, Kitty.” + </p> + <p> + “Is Stefani Gregor an undesirable?” + </p> + <p> + “You knew him. What do you say?” countered her godfather, evading the + trap. The innocent child! He smiled inwardly. + </p> + <p> + Kitty was keen. She sensed an undercurrent, and her first attempt to touch + it had failed. The mere name of Stefani Gregor had not roused Cutty's + astonishment. She was quite positive that the name was not wholly + unfamiliar to her father's friend. + </p> + <p> + Still, something warned her not to press in this direction. He would be on + the alert. She must wait until he had forgotten the incident. So she drew + up a chair beside the bed and sat down. + </p> + <p> + Cutty leaned against the footrail, his expression neutral. He sighed + inaudibly. His delightful catnap was over. Stefani Gregor, Kitty's + neighbour, a valet in a fashionable hotel! Stefani Gregor, who, upon a + certain day, had placed the drums of jeopardy in the palms of a war + correspondent known to his familiars as Cutty. And who was this young man + on the bed? + </p> + <p> + “There goes the bell!” cried Kitty, jumping up. + </p> + <p> + “Wait!” + </p> + <p> + The ring was repeated vigorously and impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Kitty, I don't quite like the sound of that bell. Harrison would have no + occasion to be impatient. Somebody in a hurry. Now, attend to me. I'm + going to steal out to the kitchen. Don't be afraid. Call if I'm needed. + Open the door just a crack, with your foot against it. If it's Harrison + he'll be in uniform. Call out his name. Slam the door if it is someone you + don't know.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty opened the door as instructed, but she swung it wide because one of + the men outside was a policeman. The man behind him was a thickset, squat + individual, with puffed, discoloured eyes and a nose that reminded Kitty + of an alligator pear. + </p> + <p> + “What's going on here?” the policeman demanded to know. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + A phrase, apparently quite irrelevant to the situation, shot into Kitty's + head. Moribund perspectives. Instantly she knew, with that foretasting + mind of hers, that the man peering over the policeman's shoulder and + Johnny Two-Hawks had met somewhere that day. She was now able to compare + the results, and she placed the victory on Two-Hawks' brow. Yonder + individual somehow justified the instinct that had prompted her to play + the good Samaritan. Whence had this gorilla come? He was not one of the + men who had issued in such dramatic haste from the Gregor apartment. + </p> + <p> + “This man here saw you and another carrying someone across the fire + escape. What's the rumpus?” The policeman was not exactly belligerent, but + he was dutifully determined. And though he was ready to grant that this + girl with the Irish eyes was beautiful, a man never could tell. + </p> + <p> + “There's been a tragedy of some kind,” began Kitty. “This man certainly + did see us carrying a man across the fire escape. He had been set upon and + robbed in the apartment across the way.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you call in the police?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he might have died before you got here.” + </p> + <p> + “Where's the man who helped you?” + </p> + <p> + “Gone. He was an outsider. He was afraid of getting mixed up in a police + affair and ran away.” Behind the kitchen door Cutty smiled. She would do, + this girl. + </p> + <p> + “Sounds all right,” said the policeman. “I'll take a look at the man.” + </p> + <p> + “This way, if you please,” said Kitty, readily. “You come, too, sir,” she + added as the squat man hesitated. Kitty wanted to watch his expression + when he saw Johnny Two-Hawks. + </p> + <p> + Seed on rocky soil; nothing came of the little artifice. No Buddha's + graven face was less indicative than the squat man's. Perhaps his face was + too sore to permit mobility of expression. The drollery of this thought + caused a quirk in one corner of Kitty's mouth. The squat man stopped at + the foot of the bed with the air of a mere passer-by and seemed more + interested in the investigations of the policeman than in the man on the + bed. But Kitty knew. + </p> + <p> + “A fine bang on the coco,” was the policeman's observation. “Take anything + out of his pockets?” + </p> + <p> + “They were quite empty. I've sent for a military surgeon. He may arrive at + any moment.” + </p> + <p> + “This fellow live across the way?” + </p> + <p> + “That's the odd part of it. No, he doesn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what was he doing there?” + </p> + <p> + “Probably awaiting the return of the real tenant who hasn't returned up to + this hour”—with an oblique glance at the squat man. + </p> + <p> + “Kind o' queer. Say, you stay here and watch the lady while I scout + round.” + </p> + <p> + The squat man nodded and leaned over the foot of the bed. The policeman + stalked out. + </p> + <p> + “I was in the kitchen,” said Kitty, confidingly. “I saw shadows on the + window curtain. It did not look right. So I started to inquire and almost + bumped into two men leaving the apartment. They took to their heels when + they saw me.” + </p> + <p> + Again the squat man nodded. He appeared to be a good listener. + </p> + <p> + “Where were you when we crossed the fire escape?” + </p> + <p> + “In the yard on the other side of the fence.” There was reluctance in the + guttural voice. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I see. You live there.” + </p> + <p> + As this was a supposition and not a direct query, the squat man wagged his + head affirmatively. + </p> + <p> + Kitty, her ears strained for disquieting sounds in the kitchen, laid her + palm on the patient's cheek. It was very hot. She dipped a bit of cotton + into the water, which had grown cold, and dampened the wounded man's + cheeks and throat. Not that she expected to accomplish anything by this + act; it relieved the nerve tension. This man was no fool. If her surmises + were correct he was a strong man both in body and in mind. In a rage he + would be terrible. However, had Johnny Two-Hawks done it—beaten the + man and escaped? No doubt he had been watching all the time and had at + length stepped in to learn if his subordinates had followed his + instructions and to what extent they had succeeded. + </p> + <p> + “If he dies it will be murder.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a big city.” + </p> + <p> + “And so many terrible things happen like this every day. But sooner or + later those who commit them are found out. Nemesis always follows on the + heels of vengeance.” + </p> + <p> + For the first time there was a flash of interest in the battered eyes of + the intruder. Perhaps he saw that this was not only a pretty woman but a + keen one, and sensed the veiled threat. Moreover, he knew that she had + lied at one point. There had been no light in the room across the court. + </p> + <p> + But what in the world was happening out there in the kitchen? Kitty + wondered. So far, not a sound. Had Cutty really taken flight? And why + shouldn't he have faced it out at her side? Very odd on Cutty's part. + Shortly she heard the heavy shoes of the policeman returning. + </p> + <p> + “Guess it's all right, miss. I'll report the affair at the precinct and + have an ambulance sent over. You'll have to come along with me, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that legally necessary?” asked the squat man, rather perturbed. + </p> + <p> + “Sure. You saw the thing and I verified it,” declared the policeman. “It + won't take ten minutes. Your name and address, in case this man dies.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. Very well.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty wasn't sure, but the policeman seemed embarrassed about something. + The directness was gone from his eyes and his speech was no longer brisk. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Conover,” said Kitty. + </p> + <p> + “I got that coming in,” replied the policeman. “We'll be on our way.” + </p> + <p> + Not once again did the squat man glance at the man on the bed. He followed + the policeman into the hall, his air that of one who had accepted a + certain obligation to community welfare and cancelled it. + </p> + <p> + Kitty shut the door—and leaned against it weakly. Where had Cutty + gone? Even as she expressed the query she smelt burning tobacco. She ran + out into the kitchen, to behold Cutty seated in a chair calmly smoking his + infamous pipe! + </p> + <p> + “And I thought you were gone! What did you say to that policeman?” + </p> + <p> + “I hypnotized him, Kitty.” + </p> + <p> + “The newspaper?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Just looked into his eye and made a few passes with my hands.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, if you believe you ought not to tell me—” said Kitty, + which is the way all women start their wheedling. + </p> + <p> + Cutty looked into the bowl of his pipe. + </p> + <p> + “Kitty, when you throw a cobble into a pond, what happens? A splash. But + did you ever notice the way the ripples have of running on and on, until + they touch the farthest shore?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And this is a ripple from some big stone cast into the pond of + southeastern Europe. I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “That's just the difficulty. If you understood nothing it would be much + easier for me. But you know just enough to want to follow up on your own + hook. I know nothing definitely; I have only suspicions. I calmed that + policeman by showing him a blanket police power issued by the + commissioner. I want you to pack up and move out of this neighbourhood. + It's not congenial to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I can't afford to move until May.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll take care of that gladly, to get you out of this garlicky ruin.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Cutty; I'm going to stay here until the lease is up.” + </p> + <p> + “Gee-whiz! The Irish are all alike,” cried the war correspondent, + hopelessly. “Petticoat or pantaloon, always looking for trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Cutty; simply we don't run away from it. And there's just as much + Irish in you as there is in me.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure! And for thirty years I've gone hunting for trouble, and never + failed to find it. I don't like this affair, Kitty; and because I don't + I'm going to risk my Samson locks in your lily-white hands. I am going to + tell you two things: I am a secret foreign agent of the United States + Government. Now don't light up that way. Dark alleys and secret papers and + beautiful adventuresses and bang-bang have nothing at all to do with my + job. There isn't a grain of romance in it. Ostensibly I am a war + correspondent. I have handled all the big events in Serbia and Bulgaria + and Greece and southwestern Russia. Boiled down, I am a census taker of + undesirables. Socialist, anarchist and Bolshevik—I photograph them + in my mental 'fillums' and transmit to Washington. Thus, when Feodor + Slopeski lands at Ellis Island with the idea of blowing up New York, he is + returned with thanks. I didn't ask for the job; it was thrust upon me + because of my knowledge of the foreign tongues. I accepted it because I am + a loyal American citizen.” + </p> + <p> + “And you left me because you' didn't know who might be at the door!” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely. I am known in lower New York under another name. I'm a rabid + internationalist. Down with everything! I don't go out much these days; + keep under cover as much as I can. Once recognized, my value would be nil. + In a flannel shirt I'm a dangerous codger.” + </p> + <p> + “And Gregor and this poor young man are in some way mixed up with + internationalism!” + </p> + <p> + “Victims, probably.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the other thing you wish to tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “Because your eyes are slate blue like your mother's. I loved your mother, + Kitty,” said Cutty, blinking into his pipe. “And the singular fact is, + your father knew but your mother never did. I was never able to tell your + mother after your father died. Their bodies were separated, but not their + spirits.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty nodded. So that was it? Poor Cutty! + </p> + <p> + “I make this confession because I want you to understand my attitude + toward you. I am going to elect myself as your special guardian so long as + I'm in New York. From now on, when I ask you to do something, understand + that I believe it best for you. If my suspicions are correct we are not + dealing with fools but with madmen. The most dangerous human being, Kitty, + is an honest man with a half-baked or crooked idea; and that's what this + world pother, Bolshevism, is—honest men with crooked ideas, carrying + the torch of anarchism and believing it enlightenment. What makes them + tear down things? Every beautiful building is only a monument to their + former wretchedness; and so they annihilate. None of them actually knows + what he wants. A thousand will-o'-the-wisps in front of them, and all + alike. A thousand years to throw off the shackles, and they expect Utopia + in ten minutes! It makes you want to weep. Socialism—the brotherhood + of man—is a beautiful thing theoretically; but it is like some plays—they + read well but do not act. Lopping off heads, believing them to be ideas!” + </p> + <p> + “The poor things!” + </p> + <p> + “That's it. Though I betray them I pity them. Democracy; slowly and + surely. As prickly with faults as a cactus pear; but every year there are + less prickles. We don't stand still or retrogress; we keep going on and + up. Take this town. Think of It to-day and compare it with the town your + father knew. There's the bell. I imagine that will be Harrison. If we can + move this chap will you go to a hotel for the night?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to stay here, Cutty. That's final.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty sighed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + At the precinct station the squat man gave a name and an address to the + bored sergeant at the desk, passed out a cigar, lit one himself, expressed + some innocuous opinions upon one or two topics of the day, and walked + leisurely out of the precinct. He wanted to laugh. These pigheads had + never thought to question his presence in the backyard of the house in + Seventy-ninth Street. It was the way he had carried himself. Those years + in New York, prior to the war, had not been wasted. The brass-buttoned + fools! + </p> + <p> + Serenely unconscious that he was at liberty by explicit orders, because + the Department of Justice did not care to trap a werewolf before + ascertaining where the pack was and what the kill, he proceeded leisurely + to the corner, turned, and broke into a run, which carried him to a drug + store in Eightieth Street. Here he was joined by two men, apparently coal + heavers by the look of their hands and faces. + </p> + <p> + “They will take him to a hospital. Find where, then notify me. Remember, + this is your business, and woe to you if you fail. Where is it?” One of + the men extended an object wrapped in ordinary grocer's paper. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! That's good. I shall enjoy myself presently. Remember: telephone me + the moment you learn where they take him. He is still alive, bunglers! And + you came away empty-handed.” + </p> + <p> + “There was nothing on him. We searched.” + </p> + <p> + “He has hidden them in one of those rooms. I'll attend to that later. + Watch the hospital for an hour or so, then telephone for information + regarding his condition. Is that motor for me? Very good. Remember!” + </p> + <p> + Inside the taxicab the squat man patted the object on his knees, and + chuckled from time to time audibly. It would be worth all that journey, + all he had gone through since dawn that morning. Stefani Gregor! After + these seven long years—the man who had betrayed him! To reach into + his breast and squeeze his heart as one might squeeze a bit of cheese! + Many things to tell, many pictures to paint. He rode far downtown, wound + in and out of the warehouse district for a while, then dismissed the taxi + and proceeded on foot to his destination—a decayed brick mansion of + the 40's sandwiched in between two deserted warehouses. In the hall of the + first landing a man sat in a chair under the gas, reading a newspaper. At + the approach of the squat man he sprang to his feet, but a phrase + dissipated his apprehension and he nodded toward a door. + </p> + <p> + “Unlock it for me and see that I am not disturbed.” + </p> + <p> + Presently the squat man stood inside the room, which was dark. He struck a + match and peered about for the candle. The light discovered a room barren + of all furniture excepting the table upon which stood the candle, and a + single chair. In this chair was a man, bound. He was small and dapper, his + gray hair swept back a la Liszt. His chin was on his breast, his body + limp. Apparently the bonds alone held him in the chair. + </p> + <p> + The squat man laid his bundle on the table and approached the prisoner. + </p> + <p> + “Stefani Gregor, look up; it is I!” He drummed on his chest like a + challenging gorilla. “I, Boris Karlov!” + </p> + <p> + Slowly the eyelids of the prisoner went up, revealing mild blue eyes. But + almost instantly the mildness was replaced by an agate hardness, and the + body became upright. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is Boris, whom you betrayed. But I escaped by a hair, Stefani; + and we meet again.” + </p> + <p> + What good to tell this poor madman that Stefani Gregor had not betrayed + him, that he had only warned those marked for death? There was no longer + reason inside that skull. To die, probably in a few moments. So be it. Had + he not been ready for seven years? But that poor boy—to have come + all these thousands of miles, only to walk into a trap! Had he found that + note? Had they killed him? Doubtless they had or Boris Karlov would not be + in this room. + </p> + <p> + “We killed him to-night, Stefani, in your rooms. We threw out the food so + he would have to seek something to eat. The last of that breed, stem and + branch! We are no longer the mud; we ourselves are the heels. We are + conquering the world. Today Europe is ours; to-morrow, America!” + </p> + <p> + A wintry little smile stirred the lips of the man in the chair. America, + with its keen perceptions of the ridiculous, its withering humour! + </p> + <p> + “No more the dissolute opera dancers will dance to your fiddling, Stefani, + while we starve in the town. Fiddler, valet, tutor, the rivers and seas of + Russia are red. We roll east and west, and our emblem is red. Stem and + branch! We ground our heels in their faces as for centuries they ground + theirs in ours. He escaped us there—but I was Nemesis. He died + to-night.” + </p> + <p> + The body in the chair relaxed a little. “He was clean and honest, Boris. I + made him so. He would have done fine things if you had let him live.” + </p> + <p> + “That breed?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you yourself loved him when he was a boy!” + </p> + <p> + “Stem and branch! I loved my little sister Anna, too. But what did they do + to her behind those marble walls? Did you fiddle for her? What was she + when they let her go? My pretty little Anna! The fires of hell for those + damned green stones of yours, Stefani! She heard of them and wanted to see + them, and you promised.” + </p> + <p> + “I? I never promised Anna! ... So that was it? Boris, I only saw her + there. I never knew what brought her. But the boy was in England then.” + </p> + <p> + “The breed, the breed!” roared the squat man. “Ha, but you should have + seen! Those gay officers and their damned master—we left them with + their faces in the mud, Stefani; in the mud! And the women begged. Fine + music! Those proud hearts, begging Boris Karlov for their lives—their + faces in the mud! You, born of us in those Astrakhan Hills, you denied us + because you liked your fiddle and a full belly, and to play keeper of + those emeralds. The winding paths of torture and misery and death by which + they came into the possession of that house! And always the proletariat + has had to pay in blood and daughters. You, of the people, to betray us!” + </p> + <p> + “I did not betray you. I only tried to save those who had been kind to + me.” + </p> + <p> + A cunning light shot into Karlov's eyes. “The emeralds!” He struck his + pocket. “Here, Stefani; and they shall be broken up to buy bread for our + people.” + </p> + <p> + “That poor boy! So he brought them! What are you going to do with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Watch you grow thin, Stefani. You want death; you shall want food + instead. Oh, a little; enough to keep you alive. You must learn what it is + to be hungry.” + </p> + <p> + The squat man picked up the bundle from the table and tore off the + wrapping paper. A violin the colour of old Burgundy lay revealed. + </p> + <p> + “Boris!” The man in the chair writhed. + </p> + <p> + “Have I waked you, Stefani?”—tenderly. “The Stradivarius—the + very grand duke of fiddles! And he and his damned officers, how they used + to call out—'Get Stefani to fiddle for us!' And you fiddled, dragged + your genius though the mud to keep your belly warm!” + </p> + <p> + “To save a soul, Boris—the boy's. When I fiddled his uncle forgot to + drag him into an orgy. Ah, yes; I fiddled, fiddled because I had promised + his mother!” + </p> + <p> + “The Italian singer! She was lucky to die when she did. She did not see + the torch, the bayonet, and the mud. But the boy did—with his + English accent! How he escaped I don't know; but he died to-night, and the + emeralds are in my pocket. See!” Karlov held the instrument close to the + other's face. “Look at it well, this grand duke of fiddles. Look, fiddler, + look!” + </p> + <p> + The huge hands pressed suddenly. There was brittle crackling, and a rare + violin became kindling. A sob broke from the prisoner's lips. What to + Karlov was a fiddle to him was a soul. He saw the madman fling the + wreckage to the floor and grind his heels into the fragments. Gregor shut + his eyes, but he could not shut his ears; and he sensed in that cold, + demoniacal fury of the crunching heel the rising of maddened peoples. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + Meanwhile, Captain Harrison of the Medical Corps entered the Conover + apartment briskly. + </p> + <p> + “You old vagabond, what have you been up to? I beg pardon!”—as he + saw Kitty emerge from behind Cutty's bulk. + </p> + <p> + “This is Miss Conover, Harrison.” + </p> + <p> + “Very pleased, I'm sure. Luckily my case was in the coat room at the club. + I took the liberty of telephoning for Miss Frances, who returned on the + same ship with me. I concluded that your friend would need a nurse. Let me + have a look at him.” + </p> + <p> + Callously but lightly and skillfully the surgeon examined the battered + head. “Escaped concussion by a hair, you might say. Probably had his cap + on. That black eye, though, is an older affair. Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “I suspect he's some political refugee. We don't know a thing about him + otherwise. How soon can he be moved?” + </p> + <p> + “He ought to be moved at once and given the best of care.” + </p> + <p> + “I can give him that in my eagle's nest. Harrison, this chap's life is in + danger; and if we get him into my lofty diggings they won't be able to + trace him. Not far from here there's a private hospital I know. It goes + through from one street to the next. I know the doctor. We'll have the + ambulance carry the patient there, but at the rear I'll have one of the + office newspaper trucks. And after a little wait we'll shoot the stretcher + into the truck. The police will not bother us. I've seen to that. I rather + believe it falls in with some of my work. The main idea, of course, is to + rid Miss Conover of any trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Just as you say,” agreed the surgeon. “That's all I can do for the + present. I'll run down to the entrance and wait for The nurse.” + </p> + <p> + “Will he live?” asked Kitty. + </p> + <p> + “Of course he will. He is in good physical condition. Imagine he has + simply been knocked out. Serious only if unattended. Your finding him + probably saved him. Twelve hours will tell the story. May be on his feet + inside a week. Still, it would be advisable to keep him in bed as long as + possible. Fagged out, I should say, from that beard. I'll go down and wait + for Miss Frances.” + </p> + <p> + “And ring three times when you return,” advised Cutty. + </p> + <p> + “All right. Did they try to strangle him or did he have something round + his neck?” + </p> + <p> + “Hanged if I know.” + </p> + <p> + “All out of the room now. I want it dark. Just as soon as the nurse + arrives I'll return. Three rings.” Harrison left the apartment. + </p> + <p> + Cutty spent a few minutes at the telephone, then he joined Kitty in the + living room. + </p> + <p> + “Kitty, what was the stranger like?” + </p> + <p> + “Like a gorilla. He spoke English as if he had a cold.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty scowled into space. “Have a scar over an eyebrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious, I couldn't tell! Both his eyes were black and his nose + banged dreadfully. Johnny Two-Hawks probably did it.” + </p> + <p> + “Bully for Two-Hawks! Kitty, you're a marvel. Not a flivver from the + start. And those slate-blue eyes of yours don't miss many things.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” she interrupted, taking hold of his sleeve. “Hear it?” + </p> + <p> + “Only the Elevated.” + </p> + <p> + “Tumpitum-tump! Tumpitum-tump! Cutty, you hypnotized me this afternoon + with your horrid drums.” + </p> + <p> + “The emeralds?” He managed to repress the start. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what it is; drums, anyhow. Maybe it is the emeralds. + Something has been happening ever since you told me about them—the + misery and evil that follow their wake.” + </p> + <p> + “But the story goes that women are immune, Kitty.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! No woman is immune where a wonderful gem is concerned. And yet + I've common sense and humour.” + </p> + <p> + “And a lot more besides, Kitty. You're a raving, howling little beauty; + and how you've remained out of captivity this long is a puzzler to me. + Haven't you got a beau somewhere?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Cutty. Perhaps I'm one of those who are quite willing to wait + patiently. If the one I want doesn't come—why, I'll be a jolly, + philosophical old maid. No seconds or culls for me, as the magazine editor + says.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly what do you want?” Cutty was keenly curious, for some reason he + could not define. He did not care for diamonds as stones; but he admired + any personality that flashed differently from each new angle exposed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a man, among other things. I don't mean one of those godlike chromos + in the frontispiece of popular novels. He hasn't got to be handsome. But + he must be able to laugh when he's happy, when he's hurt. I must be his + business in life. He must know a lot about things I know. I want a comrade + who will come to me when he has a joke or an ache. A gay man and + whimsical. The law can make any man a husband, but only God can make a + good comrade.” + </p> + <p> + “Kitty,” said Cutty, his fine eyes sparkling, “I shan't have to watch over + you so much as I thought. On the other hand, you have described me to a + dot.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite possibly. Vanity has its uses. It keeps us in contact with bathtubs + and nice clothes. I imagine that you would make both husband and comrade; + or you would have, twenty years ago”—without intentional cruelty. + Wasn't Cutty fifty-two? + </p> + <p> + “Kitty, you've touched a vital point. It took those twenty years to make + me companionable. Experience is something we must buy; it isn't left in + somebody's will. Let us say that I possess all the necessary attributes + save one.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Youth, Kitty. And take the word of a senile old dotard, your young man, + when you find him, will lack many of the attributes you require. On the + other hand, there is always the possibility that these will develop as you + jog along. The terrible pity of youth is that it has the habit of + conferring these attributes rather than finding them. You put garlands on + the heads of snow images, and the first glare of sunshine—pouf!” + </p> + <p> + “Cutty, I'm beginning to like you immensely”—smiling. “Perhaps women + ought to have two husbands—one young and handsome and the other old + and wise like yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty wished he were alone in order to analyze the stab. Old! When he knew + that mentally and physically he could take and break a dozen Two-Hawks. + Old! He had never thought himself that. Fifty-two years; they had piled up + on him without his appreciation of the fullness of the score. And yet he + was more than a match for any ordinary man of thirty in sinew and brain; + and no man met the new morning with more zest than he himself met it. But + to Kitty he was old! Lavender and oak leaves were being draped on his door + knob. He laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you laugh?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, because—Hark!” + </p> + <p> + The two of them ran to the bedroom door. + </p> + <p> + “Olga! Olga!” And then a guttural level jumble of sounds. + </p> + <p> + Kitty's quick brain reached out for a similitude—water rushing over + ragged boulders. + </p> + <p> + “Olga!” she whispered. “He is a Russian!” + </p> + <p> + “There are Serbian Olgas and Bulgarian Olgas and Rumanian Olgas. Probably + his sweetheart.” + </p> + <p> + “The poor thing!” + </p> + <p> + “Sounds like Russian,” added Cutty, his conscience pricking him. But he + welcomed that “Olga.” It would naturally put a damper on Kitty's interest. + “There's Harrison with the nurse.” + </p> + <p> + Quarter of an hour later the patient was taken down to the ambulance and + conveyed to the private hospital. Cutty had no way of ascertaining whether + they were followed; but he hoped they would be. The knowledge that their + victim was in a near-by hospital would naturally serve to relax the enemy + vigilance temporarily; and this would permit safely and secretly the + second leg of the journey—that to his own apartment. + </p> + <p> + He decided to let an hour go past; then Two-Hawks was taken through the + building to the rear and transferred to the truck. Cutty sat with the + driver while Captain Harrison and the nurse rode inside with the patient. + </p> + <p> + On the way Cutty was rather disturbed by the deep impression Kitty Conover + had made upon his heart and mind. That afternoon he had looked upon her + with fatherly condescension, as the pretty daughter of the two he had + loved most. From the altitude of his fifty-two he had gazed down upon her + twenty-four, weighing her as like all young women of twenty-four—pleasure-loving + and beau-hunting and fashion-scorched; and in a flash she had revealed the + formed mind of a woman of thirty. Altitude. He had forgotten that relative + to altitudes there are always two angles of vision—that from the + summit and that from the green valley below. Kitty saw him beyond the tree + line, but just this side of the snows—and matched his condescension + with pity! He chuckled. Doddering old ass, what did it matter how she + looked at him? + </p> + <p> + Beautiful and young and full of common sense, yet dangerously romantical. + To wait for the man she wanted, what did that signify but romance? And + there was her Irish blood to consider. The association of pretty nurse and + interesting patient always afforded excellent background for sentimental + nonsense, the obligations of the one and the gratitude of the other. Well, + he had nipped that in the bud. + </p> + <p> + And why hadn't he taken this Two-Hawks person—how easy it was to + fall into Kitty's way of naming the chap!—why hadn't he taken him + directly to the Roosevelt? Why all this pother and secrecy over a total + stranger? Stefani Gregor, who lived opposite Kitty and who hadn't + prospered particularly since the day he had exhibited the drums of + jeopardy—he was the reason. These were volcanic days, and a friend + of Stefani Gregor—who played the violin like Paganini—might + well be worth the trouble of a little courtesy. Then, too, there was that + mark of the thong—a charm, a military identification disk or + something of value. Whatever it was, the rogues had got it. Murder and + loot. And as soon as he returned to consciousness the young fellow would + be making inquiries. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps Kitty's point of view regarding a certain duffer aged fifty-two + was nearer the truth than the duffer himself realized. Second childhood! + As if the drums of jeopardy would ever again see light, after that tempest + of fire and death—that mud volcano! + </p> + <p> + One thing was certain—there would be no more cat-napping. The game + was on again. He was assured of that side of it. + </p> + <p> + Green stones, the sunlight breaking against the flaws in a shower of + golden sparks; green as the pulp of a Champagne grape; the drums of + jeopardy! Murder and loot; he could understand. + </p> + <p> + Immediately after the patient was put to bed Cutty changed. A nondescript + suit of the day-labourer type and a few deft touches of coal dust + completed his make-up. + </p> + <p> + “I shan't be back until morning,” he announced. “Work to do. Kuroki will + be at your service through the night, Miss Frances. Strike that Burmese + gong once, at any hour. Come along, Harrison.” + </p> + <p> + “Want any company?” asked Harrison, with a belligerent twist to his + moustache. + </p> + <p> + Cutty laughed. “No. You run along to your lambs. I'm running with the + wolves to-night, old scout, and you might get that spick-and-span uniform + considerably mussed up. Besides, it's raining.” + </p> + <p> + “But what's to become of Miss Conover? She ought not to remain alone in + that apartment.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well! I thought of that, too. But she can take care of herself.” + </p> + <p> + “Those ruffians may call up the hospital and learn that we tricked them. + </p> + <p> + “And then?” + </p> + <p> + “Try to force the truth from Miss Conover.” + </p> + <p> + “That's precisely the wherefore of this coal dust. On your way!” + </p> + <p> + Eleven o'clock. Kitty was in the kitchen, without light, her chair by the + window, which she had thrown up. She had gone to bed, but sleep was + impossible. So she decided to watch the Gregor windows. Sometimes the mind + is like a movie camera set for a double exposure. The whole scene is + visible, but the camera sees only half of it. Thus, while she saw the + windows across the court there entered the other side of her mind a + picture of the immaculate Cutty crossing the platform with Johnny + Two-Hawks thrown over his shoulder. The mental picture obscured the + actual. + </p> + <p> + She had called him old. Well, he was old. And no doubt he looked upon her + as a child, wanting her to spend the night at a hotel! The affair was + over. No one would bother Kitty Conover. Why should they? But it took + strength to shoulder a man like that. What fun he and her father must have + had together! And Cutty had loved her mother! That made Kitty exquisitely + tender for a moment. All alone, at the age when new friendships were + impossible. A lovable man like that going down through life alone! + </p> + <p> + Census taker of alien undesirables; a queer occupation for a man so famous + as Cutty. Patriotism—to plunge into that seething revolutionary scum + to sort the dangerous madmen from the harmless mad-men. Courage and + strength and mental resource; yes, Cutty possessed these; and he would be + the kind to laugh at a joke or a hurt. + </p> + <p> + One thing, however, was indelibly printed on her mind. Stefani Gregor—either + Cutty had met and known the man or he had heard of him. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she became conscious that she was blinking as one blinks from + mirror-reflected sunlight. She cast about for the source of this + phenomenon. Obliquely from between the interstices of the fire-escape + platform came a point of moving white light. She craned her neck. A + battery lamp! The round spot of light worked along the cement floor, + vanished occasionally, reappeared, and then vanished altogether. Somebody + was down there hunting for something. What? + </p> + <p> + Kitty remained with her head out of the window for some time, unmindful of + the spatter of rain. But nothing happened. The man was gone. Of course the + incident might not have the slightest bearing upon the previous adventures + of this amazing night; still, it was suggestive. The young man had worn + something round his neck. But if his enemies had it why should this man + comb the court, unless he was a tenant and had knocked something off a + window ledge? + </p> + <p> + She began to appreciate that she was very tired, and decided to go back to + bed. This time she fell asleep. Her disordered thoughts rearranged + themselves in a dazzling dream. She found herself wandering through a + glorious translucent green cavern—a huge emerald. And in the + distance she heard that unmistakable tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! It drew + her irresistibly. She fought and struggled against the fascinating sound, + but it continued to draw her on. Suddenly from round a corner came the + squat man, his hair a la Fuzzy-Wuzzy. He caught her savagely by the + shoulder and dragged her toward a fire of blazing diamonds. On the other + side of that fire was a blonde young woman with a tiara of rubies on her + head. “Save me! I am Olga, Olga!” Kitty struggled fiercely and awoke. + </p> + <p> + The light was on. At the side of her bed were two men. One of them was + holding her bare shoulder and digging his fingers into it cruelly. They + looked like coal heavers. + </p> + <p> + “We do not wish to harm you, and won't if you're sensible. Where did they + take the man you brought?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + Kitty did not wrench herself loose at once. She wasn't quite sure that + this was not a continuance of her nightmare. She knew that nightmares had + a way of breaking off in the middle of things, of never arriving anywhere. + The room looked natural enough and the pain in her shoulder seemed real + enough, but one never could tell. She decided to wait for the next + episode. + </p> + <p> + “Answer!” cried the spokesman of the two, twisting Kitty's shoulder. + “Where did they take him?” + </p> + <p> + Awake! Kitty wrenched her shoulder away and swept the bedclothes up to her + chin. She was thoroughly frightened, but her brain was clear. The spark of + self-preservation flew hither and about in search of expediencies, + temporizations. She must come through this somehow with the vantage on her + side. She could not possibly betray that poor young man, for that would + entail the betrayal of Cutty also. She saw but one avenue, the telephone; + and these two men were on the wrong side of the bed, between her and the + door. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” Her throat was so dry she wondered whether the words + were projected far enough for them to hear. + </p> + <p> + “We want the address of the wounded man you brought into this apartment.” + </p> + <p> + “They took him to a hospital.” + </p> + <p> + “He was taken away from there.” + </p> + <p> + “He was?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he was. You may not know where, but you will know the address of the + man who tricked us; and that will be sufficient.” + </p> + <p> + “The army surgeon? He was called in by chance. I don't know where he + lives.” + </p> + <p> + “The man in the dress suit.” + </p> + <p> + “He was with the surgeon.” + </p> + <p> + “He came first. Come; we have no time to waste. We don't want to hurt you, + and we hope you will not force us. + </p> + <p> + “Will you step out of the room while I dress?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Tell us where the man lives, and you can have the whole apartment to + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak English very well.” + </p> + <p> + “Enough! Do you want us to bundle you up in the bedclothes and carry you + off? It will not be a pleasant experience for a pretty young woman like + yourself. Something happened to the man you knew as Gregory. Will that + make you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “You know what abduction means?” + </p> + <p> + “Your police will not catch us.” + </p> + <p> + “But I might give you the wrong address.” + </p> + <p> + “Try it and see what happens. Young lady, this is a bad affair for a woman + to be mixed up in. Be sensible. We are in a hurry.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you seem to have acquired at least one American habit!” said a + gruff voice from the bedroom doorway. “Raise your hands quickly, and don't + turn,” went on the gruff voice. “If I shoot it will be to kill. It is a + rough game, as you say. That's it; and keep them up. Now, then, young + lady, slip on your kimono. Get up and search these men. I'm in a hurry, + too.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty obeyed, very lovely in her dishevelment. Repugnant as the task was + she disarmed the two men and flung their weapons on the bed. + </p> + <p> + “Now something to tie their hands; anything that will hold.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty could see the speaker now. Another coal heaver, but evidently on her + side. + </p> + <p> + “Tie their hands behind them... I warn you not to move, men. When I say + I'll shoot I mean it. Don't be afraid of hurting them, miss. Very good. + Now bandage their eyes. Handkerchiefs.” + </p> + <p> + But Kitty's handkerchiefs did not run to the dimensions' required; so she + ripped up a petticoat. Torn between her eagerness to complete a + disagreeable task and her offended modesty, Kitty went through the + performance with creditable alacrity. Then she jumped back into bed, + doubled her knees, and once more drew up the bedclothes to her chin, + content to be a spectator, her eyes as wide as ever they possibly could + be. + </p> + <p> + Some secret-service man Cutty had sent to protect her. Dear old Cutty! + Small wonder he had urged her to spend the night at a hotel. The + admiration of her childhood returned, but without the shackles of shyness. + She had always trusted him absolutely, and to this trust was now added + understanding. To have him pop into her life again in this fashion, all + the ordinary approaches to intimacy wiped out by these amazing episodes; + the years bridged in an hour! If only he were younger! + </p> + <p> + “Watch them, miss. Don't be afraid to shoot. I'll return in a moment”—still + gruffly. The secret-service man pushed his prisoners into chairs and left + the bedroom. + </p> + <p> + Kitty did not care how gruff the voice was; it was decidedly pleasant in + her ears. Gingerly she picked up one of the revolvers. Kitty Conover with + shooting irons in her hands, like a movie actress! She heard a whistle. + After this an interval of silence, save for the ticking of the alarm clock + on the stand. She eyed the blindfolded men speculatively, swung out of + bed, and put on her stockings and sandals; then she sat on the edge of the + bed and waited for the sequence. Kitty Conover was going to have some + queer recollections to tell her grandchildren, providing she had any. That + morning she had risen to face a humdrum normal day. And here she was, at + midnight, hobnobbing with quiescent murder and sudden death! To-morrow + Burlingame would ask her to hustle up the Sunday stuff, and she would + hustle. She wanted to laugh, but was a little afraid that this laughter + might degenerate into incipient hysteria. + </p> + <p> + There was still in her mind a vivid recollection of her dream—the + fire of diamonds and the blonde girl with the tiara of rubies. Olga, Olga! + Russian; the whole affair was Russian. She shivered. Always that land and + people had appeared to her in sinister aspect; no doubt an impression + acquired from reading melodramas written by Englishmen who, once upon a + time, had given Russia preeminence as a political menace. Russia, in all + things—music, art, literature—the tragic note. Stefani Gregor + and Johnny Two-Hawks had roused the enmity of some political society with + this result. Nihilist or Bolshevist or socialist, there was little choice; + and Cutty sensibly did not want her drawn into the whirlpool. + </p> + <p> + What a pleasant intimacy hers and Cutty's promised to be! And if he hadn't + casually dropped into the office that afternoon she would have surrendered + the affair to the police, and that would have been the end of it. Amazing + thought—you might jog along all your life at the side of a person + and never know him half so well as someone you met m a tense episode, like + that of the immaculate Cutty crossing the fire escape with Two-Hawks on + his shoulders! + </p> + <p> + She heard the friendly coal heaver going down the corridor to the door. + When he returned to the bedroom two men accompanied him. Not a word was + said. The two men marched off with the prisoners and left Kitty alone with + her saviour. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she said, simply. + </p> + <p> + “You poor little chicken, did you believe I had deserted you?” The voice + wasn't gruff now. + </p> + <p> + “Cutty?” Kitty ran to him, flinging her arms round his neck. “Oh, Cutty!” + </p> + <p> + Cutty's heart, which had bumped along an astonishing number of million + times in fifty-two years, registered a memorable bump against his ribs. + The touch of her soft arms and the faint, indescribable perfume which + emanates from a dainty woman's hair thrilled him beyond any thrill he had + ever known. For Kitty's mother had never put her arms round old Cutty's + neck. Of course he understood readily enough: Molly's girl, flesh of her + flesh. And she had rushed to him as she would have rushed to her father. + He patted her shoulder clumsily, still a little dazzled for all the + revelation in the analysis. The sweet intimacy of it! The door of Paradise + opened for a moment, and then shut in his face. + </p> + <p> + “I did not recognize you at all!” she cried, standing off. “I shouldn't + have known you on the street. And it is so simple. What a wonderful man + you are!” + </p> + <p> + “For an old codger?” Cutty's heart registered another sizable bump. + </p> + <p> + Kitty laughed. “Never call yourself old to me again. Are you always doing + these things?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I keep moving. I suspected something like this might happen. Those + two will go to the Tombs to await deportation if they are aliens. Perhaps + we can dig something out of them relative to this man Gregor. Anyhow, + we'll try.” + </p> + <p> + “Cutty, I saw a man in the court with a pocket lamp before I went to bed. + He was hunting for something.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't find anything but a lot of fresh food someone had thrown out.” + </p> + <p> + “It was you, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. There was a vague possibility that your protege might have thrown + out something valuable during the struggle.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Lord knows! A queer business, Kitty, you've lugged me into—my own! + And there is one thing I want you to remember particularly: Life means + nothing to the men opposed, neither chivalry nor ethics. Annihilation is + their business. They don't want civilization; they want chaos. They have + lost the sense of comparisons or they would not seek to thrust Bolshevism + down the throats of the rest of the world. They say democracy has failed, + and their substitute is murder and loot. Kitty, I want you to leave this + roost.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall stay until my lease expires.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? In the face of real danger?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I intend to, Cutty—unless you kidnap me.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any good reason?” + </p> + <p> + “You'll laugh; but something tells me to stay here.” + </p> + <p> + But Cutty did not laugh. “Very well. Tomorrow an assistant janitor will be + installed. His name is Antonio Bernini. Every night he will whistle up the + tube. Whistle back. If you are going out for the evening notify him where + you intend to go and when you expect to be back. A wire from your bed to + his cot will be installed. In danger, press the button. That's the best I + can do for you, since you decide to stick. I don't believe anything more + will happen to-night, but from now on you will be watched. Never come + directly to my apartment. Break your journey two or three times with + taxis. Always use Elevator Four. The boy is mine; belongs to the service. + So our Bolshevik friends won't gather anything about you from him.” + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact, Cutty had now come to the conviction that it would be + well to let Kitty remain here as a lure. He had urged her to leave, and + she had refused, so his conscience was tolerably clear. Besides, she would + henceforth be guarded with a ceaseless efficiency second only to that + which encompasses a President of the United States. Always some man of the + service would be watching those who watched her. This was going to develop + into a game of small nets, one or two victims at a time. Because these + enemies of civilization lacked coherence in action there would be slim + chance of rounding them up in bulk. But from now on men would vanish—one + here, a pair there, perhaps on occasion four or five. And those who had + known them would know them no more. The policy would be that employed by + the British in the submarine campaign—mysterious silence after the + evanishment. + </p> + <p> + “It's all so exciting!” said Kitty. “But that poor old man Gregor! He had + a wonderful violin, Cutty; and sometimes I used to hear him play folklore + music—sad, haunting melodies.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll know in a little while what's become of him. I doubt there is a + foreign organization in the city that hasn't one or more of our men on the + inside. A word will be dropped somewhere. I'm rarely active on this side + of the Atlantic; and what I'm doing now is practically due to interest. + But every active operative in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and Chicago + is on the lookout for a man who, if left free, will stir up a lot of + trouble. He has leadership, this Boris Karlov, a former intimate here of + Trotzky's. We have reason to believe that he slipped through the net in + San Francisco. Probably under a cleverly forged passport. Now please + describe the man who came in with the policeman. I haven't had time to + make inquiries at the precinct, where they will have a minute description + of him.” + </p> + <p> + “He made me think of a gorilla, just as I told you. His face was pretty + well banged up. Naturally I did not notice any scar. A dreadfully black + beard, shaven.” + </p> + <p> + “Squat, powerful, like a gorilla. Lord, I wish I'd had a glimpse of him! + He's one of the few topnotchers I haven't met. He's the spark, the hand on + the plunger. The powder is all ready in this land of ours; our job is to + keep off the sparks until we can spread the stuff so it will only go puff + instead of bang. This man Karlov is bad medicine for democracy. Poor + devil!” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you say that?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I'm honestly sorry for them. This fellow Karlov has suffered. He + is now a species of madman nothing will cure. He and his kind have gained + their ends in Russia, but the impetus to kill and burn and loot is still + unchecked. Sorry, yes; but we can't have them here. They remind me of + nothing so much as those blind deep-sea monsters in one of Kipling's + tales, thrown up into air and sunlight by a submarine volcano, slashing + and bellowing. But we can't have them here any longer. Keep those + revolvers under your pillow. All you have to do is to point. Nobody will + know that you can't shoot. And always remember, we're watching over you. + Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Mouquin's for lunch?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll be hanged! But it can't be, Kitty. You and I must not be seen + in public. If that was Karlov you will be marked, and so will any one who + travels with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious!” + </p> + <p> + “Fact. But come up to the roost—changing taxis—to-morrow at + five and have tea.” + </p> + <p> + Down in the street Cutty bore into the slanting rain, no longer a drizzle. + With his hands jammed in his side pockets and his gaze on the sparkling + pavement he continued downtown, in a dangerously ruminative frame of mind, + dangerous because had he been followed he would not have known it. + </p> + <p> + Molly Conover's girl! That afternoon it had been Tommy Conover's girl; now + she was Molly's. It occurred to him for the first time that he was one of + those unfortunate individuals who are always able to open the door to + Paradise for others and are themselves forced to remain outside. Hadn't he + introduced Conover to Molly, and hadn't they fallen in love on the spot? + Too old to be a hero and not old enough to die. He grinned. Some day he + would use that line. + </p> + <p> + Of course it wasn't Kitty who set this peculiar cogitation in motion. It + wasn't her arms and the perfume of her hair. The actual thrill had come + from a recrudescence of a vanished passion; anyhow, a passion that had + been held suspended all these years. Still, it offered a disquieting + prospect. He was sensible enough to realize that he would be in for some + confusion in trying to disassociate the phantom from the quick. + </p> + <p> + Most pretty young women were flitter-flutters, unstable, shallow, + immature. But this little lady had depth, the sense of the living drama; + and, Lord, she was such a beauty! Wanted a man who would laugh when he was + happy and when he was hurt. A bull's-eye—bang, like that! For the + only breed worth its salt was the kind that laughed when happy and when + hurt. + </p> + <p> + The average young woman, rushing into his arms the way she had, would not + have stirred him in the least. And immediately upon the heels of this + thought came a taste of the confusion he saw in store for himself. Was it + the phantom or Kitty? He jumped to another angle to escape the impasse. + Kitty's coming to him in that fashion raised an unpalatable suggestion. He + evidently looked fatherly, no matter how he felt. Hang these fifty-two + years, to come crowding his doorstep all at once! + </p> + <p> + He raised his head and laughed. He suddenly remembered now. At nine that + night he had been scheduled to deliver a lecture on the Italo-Jugoslav + muddle before a distinguished audience in the ballroom of a famous hotel! + He would have some fancy apologizing to do in the morning. + </p> + <p> + He stepped into a doorway, then peered out cautiously. There was not a + single pedestrian in sight. No need of hiking any further in this rain; so + he hunted for a taxi. To-morrow he would set the wires humming relative to + old Stefani Gregor. Boris Karlov, if indeed it were he, would lead the + way. Hadn't Stefani and Boris been boyhood friends, and hadn't Stefani + betrayed the latter in some political affair? He wasn't sure; but a glance + among his 1912 notes would clear up the fog. + </p> + <p> + But that young chap! Who was he? Cutty set his process of logical + deduction moving. Karlov—always supposing that gorilla was Karlov—had + come in from the west. So had the young man. Gregor's inclinations had + been toward the aristocracy; at least, that had been the impression. A + Bolshevik would not seek haven with a man like Gregor, as this young man + had. But Two-Hawks bothered him; the name bothered him, because it had no + sense either in English or in Russian. And yet he was sure he had heard it + somewhere. Perhaps his notes would throw some light on that subject, too. + </p> + <p> + When he arrived home Miss Frances, the nurse, informed him that the + patient was babbling in an outlandish tongue. For a long time Cutty stood + by the bedside, translating. + </p> + <p> + “Olga!... Olga!... And she gave me food, Stefani, this charming American + girl. Never must we forget that. I was hungry, and she gave me food.... + But I paid for it. You, gone, there was no one else.... And she is + poor.... The torches!... I am burning, burning!... Olga!” + </p> + <p> + “What does he say?” asked the nurse. + </p> + <p> + “It is Russian. Is it a crisis?” he evaded. + </p> + <p> + “Not necessarily. Doctor Harrison said he would probably return to + consciousness sometime to-morrow. But he must have absolute quiet. No + visitors. A bad blow, but not of fatal consequence. I've seen hundreds of + cases much worse pull out in a fortnight. You'd better go to bed, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Cutty, gratefully. He was tired. The ball did not + rebound as it used to; the resilience was petering out. But look alive, + there! Big events were toward, and he must not stop to feel of his pulse. + </p> + <p> + Three o'clock in the morning. + </p> + <p> + The man in the Gregor bedroom sat down on the bed, the pocket lamp + dangling from his hairy fingers. Not a nook or cranny in the apartment had + he overlooked. In every cupboard, drawer; in the beds and under; the + trunks; behind the radiators and the pictures; the shelves and clothes in + the closets. What he sought he had not found. + </p> + <p> + His vengeance would not be complete without those green stones in his + hands. Anna would call from her grave. Pretty little Anna, who had trusted + Stefani Gregor, and gone to her doom. + </p> + <p> + All these thousands of miles, by hook and crook, by forged passports, by + sums of money, sleepless nights and hungry days—for this! The last + of that branch of the breed out of his reach, and the stones vanished! A + queer superstition had taken lodgment in his brain; he recognized it now + for the first time. The possession of those stones would be a sign from + God to go on. Green stones for bread! Green stones for bread! The drums of + jeopardy! In his hands they would be talismanic. + </p> + <p> + But wait! That pretty girl across the way. Supposing he had intrusted the + stones to her? Or hidden them there without her being aware of it? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + Kitty Conover ate in the kitchen. First off, this statement is likely to + create the false impression that there was an ordinary grain here, a wedge + of base hemlock in the citron. Not so. She ate in the kitchen because she + could not yet face that vacant chair in the dining room without choking + and losing her appetite. She could not look at the chair without + visualizing that glorious, whimsical, fascinating mother of hers, who + could turn grumpy janitors into comedians and send importunate bill + collectors away with nothing but spangles in their heads. + </p> + <p> + So long as she stayed out of the dining room she could accept her + loneliness with sound philosophy. She knew, as all sensible people know, + that there were ghosts, that memory had haunted galleries, and that empty + chairs were evocations. + </p> + <p> + Her days were so busily active, there were so many first nights and + concerts, that she did not mind such evenings as she had to spend alone in + the apartment. Persons were in and out of the office all through the day, + and many of them entertaining. For only real persons ever penetrated that + well-guarded cubby-hole off the noisy city room. Many of them were old + friends of her mother. Of course they were a little pompous, but this was + less innate than acquired; and she knew that below they were worth while. + She had come to the conclusion that successful actors and actresses were + the only people in America who spoke English fluently and correctly. + </p> + <p> + Yes, she ate in the kitchen; but she would have been a fit subject for the + fastidious Fragonard. Kitty was naturally an exquisite. Everything about + her was dainty, her body and her mind. The background of pans and dishes, + gas range and sink did not absorb Kitty; her presence here in the morning + lifted everything out of the rut of commonplace and created an atmosphere + that was ornamental. Pink peignoir and turquoise-blue boudoir cap, silk + petticoat and stockings and adorable little slippers. No harm to tell the + secret! Kitty was educating herself for a husband. She knew that if she + acquired the habit of daintiness at breakfast before marriage it would + become second nature after marriage. Moreover, she was determined that it + should be tremendous news that would cause a newspaper to intervene. She + had all the confidence in the world in her mirror. + </p> + <p> + She got her breakfast this morning, singing. She was happy. She had found + a door out of monotony; theatrical drama had given way to the living. She + had opened the book of adventure and she was going straight through to + finis. That there was an undertow of the sinister escaped her or she + ignored it. + </p> + <p> + In all high-strung Irish souls there is a bit of the old wife, the + foreteller; the gift of prescience; and Kitty possessed this in a mild + degree. Something held her here, when for a dozen reasons she should have + gone elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + She strained the coffee, humming a tune out of The Mikado, the revival of + which she had seen lately: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My object all sublime + I shall achieve in time + To make the punishment fit the crime. + The punishment fit the crime. + And make the prisoner pent + Unwillingly represent + A source of innocent merriment. + Of innocent merriment! +</pre> + <p> + And there you were! To make the punishment fit the crime. Wall in the + Bolsheviki, the I.W.W.'s, the Red Socialist, the anarchists—and let + them try it for ten years. Those left would be glad enough to embrace + democracy and sanity. The poor benighted things, to imagine that they were + going forward there in Russia! What kind of mentality was it that could + conceive a blessing to humanity in the abolition of baths and work? And + Cutty felt sorry for them. Well, as for that, so did Kitty Conover; and + she would continue feeling sorry for them so long as they remained + thousands of miles away. But next door! + </p> + <p> + “Grapefruit, eggs on toast, and coffee; mademoiselle is served!” she + cried, gayly, sitting down and attacking her breakfast with the zest of + healthy youth. + </p> + <p> + Often the eyes are like the lenses of a camera minus the sensitized plate; + they see objects without printing them. Thus a dozen times Kitty's glance + absently swept the range and the racks on each side of the stovepipe, one + rack burdened with an empty pancake jug and the other cluttered with + old-fashioned flatirons; but she saw nothing. + </p> + <p> + She was carefully reviewing the events of the night before. She could not + dismiss the impression that Cutty knew Stefani Gregor or had heard of him; + and in either case it signified that Gregor was something more than a + valet. And decidedly Two-Hawks was not of the Russian peasantry. + </p> + <p> + By the time she was ready to leave for the office the Irish blood in her + was seething and bubbling and dancing. She knew she would do crazy, + impulsive things all day. It was easy to analyze this exuberance. She had + reached out into the dark and touched danger, and found a new thrill in a + humdrum world. + </p> + <p> + The Great Dramatist had produced a tremendous drama and she had watched + curtain after curtain fall from the wrong side of the lights. Now she had + been given a speaking part; and she would be down stage for a moment or + two—dusting the furniture—while the stars were retouching + their make-up. It was not the thought of Cutty, of Gregor, of Johnny + Two-Hawks, of hidden treasure; simply she had arrived somewhere in the + great drama. + </p> + <p> + When she reached the office she had a hard time of it to settle down to + the day's work. + </p> + <p> + “Hustle up that Sunday stuff,” said Burlingame. Kitty laughed. Just as she + had pictured it. She hustled. + </p> + <p> + “I have it!” she cried, breaking a spell of silence. + </p> + <p> + “What—St. Vitus?” inquired Burlingame, patiently. + </p> + <p> + “No; the Morgue!” + </p> + <p> + “What the dickens—!” + </p> + <p> + But Kitty was no longer there to answer. + </p> + <p> + In all newspaper offices there is a department flippantly designated as + the Morgue. Obituaries on ice, as it were. A photograph or an item + concerning a great man, a celebrated, beauty or some notorious rogue; from + the king calibre down to Gyp-the-Blood brand, all indexed and laid away + against the instant need. So, running her finger tip down the K's, Kitty + found Karlov. The half tone which she eventually exhumed from the tin box + was an excellent likeness of the human gorilla who had entered her rooms + with the policeman. She would be able to carry this positive information + to Cutty that afternoon. + </p> + <p> + When she left the office at four she took the Subway to Forty-second + Street. She engaged a taxi from the Knickerbocker and discharged it at the + north entrance to the Waldorf, which she entered. She walked through to + the south entrance and got into another taxi. She left this at + Wanamaker's, ducking and dodging through the crowded aisles. She selected + this hour because, being a woman, she knew that the press of shoppers + would be the greatest during the day. Karlov's man and the secret-service + operative detailed by Cutty both made the same mistake—followed + Kitty into the dry-goods shop and lost her as completely as if she had + popped up in China. At quarter to five she stepped into Elevator Number + Four of the building which Cutty called his home, very well pleased with + herself. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + To understand Kitty at this moment one must be able to understand the + Irish; and nobody does or can or will. Consider her twenty-four years, her + corpuscular inheritance, the love of drama and the love of adventure. + Imagine possessing sound ideas of life and the ability to apply them, and + spiritually always galloping off on some broad highway—more often + than not furnished by some engaging scoundrel of a novelist—and you + will be able to construct a half tone of Kitty Conover. + </p> + <p> + That civilization might be actually on its deathbed, that positively half + of the world was starving and dying and going mad through the reaction of + the German blight touched her in a detached way. She felt sorry, + dreadfully sorry, for the poor things; but as she could not help them she + dismissed them from her thoughts every morning after she had read the + paper, the way most of us do here in these United States. You cannot + grapple with the misery of an unknown person several thousand miles away. + </p> + <p> + That which had taken place during the past twenty-four hours was to her a + lark, a blindman's buff for grown-ups. It was not in her to tremble, to + shudder, to hesitate, to weigh this and to balance that. Irish curiosity. + Perhaps in the original that immortal line read: “The Irish rush in where + angels fear to tread,” and some proofreader had a particular grudge + against the race. + </p> + <p> + When the elevator reached the seventeenth floor, the passengers surged + forth. All except Kitty, who tarried. + </p> + <p> + “We don't carry to the eighteenth, miss. + </p> + <p> + “I am Miss Conover,” she replied. “I dared not tell you until we were + alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I see.” The boy nodded, swept her with an appraising glance, and sent the + elevator up to the loft. + </p> + <p> + “You understand? If any one inquires about me, you don't remember.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, miss. The boss's orders.” + </p> + <p> + “And if any one does inquire you are to report at once.” + </p> + <p> + “That, too.” + </p> + <p> + The boy rolled back the door and Kitty stepped out upon a Laristan runner + of rose hues and cobalt blue. She wondered what it cost Cutty to keep up + an establishment like this. There were fourteen rooms, seven facing the + north and seven facing the west, with glorious vistas of steam-wreathed + roofs and brick Matterhorns and the dim horizon touching the sea. Fine + rugs and tapestries and furniture gathered from the four ends of the + world; but wholly livable and in no sense atmospheric of the museum. Cutty + had excellent taste. + </p> + <p> + She had visited the apartment but twice before, once in her childhood and + again when she was eighteen. Cutty had given a dinner in honour of her + mother's birthday. She smiled as she recalled the incident. Cutty had + placed a box of candles at the side of her mother's plate and told her to + stick as many into the cake as she thought best. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” said Cutty, emerging from one of the doors. “What the dickens + have you been up to? My man has just telephoned me that he lost track of + you in Wanamaker's.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty explained, delighted. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well! If you can lose a man such as I set to watch you, you'll have + no trouble shaking the others.” + </p> + <p> + “It was Karlov, Cutty.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you learn?” + </p> + <p> + “Searched the morgue and found a half tone of him. Positively Karlov. How + is the patient?” + </p> + <p> + “Harrison says he's pulling round amazingly. A tough skull. He'll be up + for his meals in no time.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you do it?” she asked with a gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Do what?” + </p> + <p> + “Manage a place like this? In a busy office district. It's the most + wonderful apartment in New York. Riverside has nothing like it. It must + cost like sixty.” + </p> + <p> + “The building is mine, Kitty. That makes it possible. An uncle who knew I + hated money and the responsibilities that go with it, died and left it to + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Cutty, you must be rich!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry. What can I do? I can't give it away.” + </p> + <p> + “But you don't have to work!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I do. I'm that kind. I'd die of a broken heart if I had to sit + still. It's the game.” + </p> + <p> + “Did mother know?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + With the toe of a snug little bronze boot Kitty drew an outline round a + pattern in the rug. + </p> + <p> + “Love is a funny thing,” was her comment. + </p> + <p> + “It sure is, old-timer. But what put the thought into your head?” + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking how very much mumsy must have been in love with father.” + </p> + <p> + “But she never knew that I loved her, Kitty.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that got to do with it? If she had wanted money you wouldn't have + had the least chance in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably not! But what would you have done in your mother's place?” + </p> + <p> + “Snapped you up like that!” Kitty flashed back. + </p> + <p> + “You cheerful little—little—” + </p> + <p> + “Liar. Say it!” Kitty laughed. “But am I a cheerful little liar? I don't + know. It would be an awful temptation. Somebody to wait on you; heaps of + flowers when you wanted them; beautiful gowns and thingummies and furs and + limousines. I've often wondered what I should do if I found myself with + love and youth on one side and money and attraction on the other. I've + always been in straitened circumstances. I never spent a dollar in all my + days when I didn't think I ought to have held back three or four cents of + it. You can't know, Cutty, what it is to be poor and want beautiful things + and good times. Of course. I couldn't marry just money. There would have + to be some kind of a man to go with it. Someone interesting enough to make + me forget sometimes that I'd thrown away a lover for a pocket-book.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you marry me, Kitty?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you serious?” + </p> + <p> + “Let's suppose I am.” + </p> + <p> + “No. I couldn't marry you, Cutty I should always be having my mother's + ghost as a rival.” + </p> + <p> + “But supposing I fell in love with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'd always be doubting your constancy. But what queer talk!”' + </p> + <p> + “Kitty, you're a joy! Lordy, my luck in dropping in to see you yesterday!” + </p> + <p> + “And a little whippersnapper like me calling a great man like you Cutty!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if it embarrasses you, you might switch to papa once in a while.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty's laughter rang down the corridor. “I'll remember that whenever I + want to make you mad. Who's here?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody but Harrison and the nurse. Both good citizens, and I've taken + them into my confidence to a certain extent. You can talk freely before + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I to see the patient?” + </p> + <p> + “Harrison says not. About Wednesday your Two-Hawks will be sitting up. + I've determined to keep the poor devil here until he can take care of + himself. But he is flat broke.” + </p> + <p> + “He said he had money.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Karlov's men stripped him clean.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any idea who he is?” + </p> + <p> + “To be honest, that's one of the reasons why I want to keep him here. He's + Russian, for all his Oxford English and his Italian gestures; and from his + babble I imagine he's been through seven kinds of hell. Torches and + hobnailed boots and the incessant call for a woman named Olga—a + young woman about eighteen.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you find that out?” + </p> + <p> + “From a photograph I found in the lining of his coat. A pretty blonde + girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!”—recollecting her dream. “Where was it printed?” + </p> + <p> + “Amateur photography. I'll pick it up on the way to the living room.” + </p> + <p> + It was nothing like the blonde girl of her dream. Still, the girl was + charming. Kitty turned over the photograph. There was writing on the back. + </p> + <p> + “Russian? What does it say?” + </p> + <p> + “'To Ivan from Olga with all her love.'” + </p> + <p> + Cutty was conscious of the presence of an indefensible malice in his + tones. Why the deuce should he be bitter—glad that the chap had left + behind a sweetheart? He knew exactly the basis of Kitty's interest, as + utterly detached as that of a reporter going to a fire. On the day the + patient could explain himself, Kitty's interest would automatically cease. + An old dog in the manger? Malice. + </p> + <p> + “Cutty, something dreadful has happened to this poor young woman. That's + what makes him cry out the name. Caught in that horror, and probably he + alone escaped. Is it heartless to be glad I'm an American? Do they let in + these Russians?” + </p> + <p> + “Not since the Trotzky regime. I imagine Two-Hawks slipped through on some + British passport. He'll probably tell us all about it when he comes round. + But how do you feel after last night's bout?” + </p> + <p> + “Alive! And I'm going on being alive, forever and ever! Oh, those awful + drums! They look like dead eyes in those dim corners. Tumpitum-tump! + Tumpitum-tump!” she cried, linking her arm in his. “What a gorgeous view! + Just what I'm going to do when my ship comes in—live in a loft. I + really believe I could write up here—I mean worth-while things I + could enjoy writing and sell.” + </p> + <p> + “It's yours if you want it when I leave.” + </p> + <p> + “And I'd have a fine time explaining to my friends! You old innocent! ... + Or are you so innocent?” + </p> + <p> + “We do live in a cramped world. But I meant it. Don't forget to whistle + down to Tony Bernini when you get back home to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “I promise. + </p> + <p> + “Why the gurgle?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I'm tremendously excited. All my life I've wanted to do + mysterious things. I've been with the audience all the while, and I want + to be with the actors.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll give some man a wild dance.” + </p> + <p> + “If I do I'll dance with him. Now lead me to the cookies.” + </p> + <p> + She was the life of the tea table. Her wit, her effervescence, her + whimsicalities amused even the prim Miss Frances. When she recounted the + exploit of the camouflaged fan, Cutty and Harrison laughed so loudly that + the nurse had to put her finger on her lips. They might wake the patient. + </p> + <p> + “I am really interested in him,” went on Kitty. “I won't deny it. I want + to see how it's going to turn out. He was very nice after I let him into + the kitchen. A perfectly English manner and voice, and Italian gestures + when off his guard. I feel so sorry for him. What strangers we races are + to each other! Until the war we hardly knew the Canadians. The British + didn't know us at all, and the French became acquainted with the British + for the first time in history. And the German thought he knew us all and + really knew nobody. All the Russians I ever saw were peasants of the + cattle type; so that the word Russian conjures up two pictures—the + grand duke at Monte Carlo and a race of men who wear long beards and never + bathe except when it rains. Think of it! For the first time since God set + mankind on earth peoples are becoming acquainted. I never saw a Russian of + this type before.”. + </p> + <p> + “A leaf in the whirlpool.—Anyhow, we'll keep him here until he's on + his feet. By the way, never answer any telephone call—I mean, go + anywhere on a call—unless you are sure of the speaker.” + </p> + <p> + “I begin to feel important.” + </p> + <p> + “You are important. You have suddenly become a connecting link between + this Karlov and the man we wish to protect. I'll confess I wanted you out + of that apartment at first; but when I saw that you were bent on + remaining, I decided to make use of you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going to give me a part in the play?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You are to go about your affairs as always, just as if nothing had + happened. Only when you wish to come here will you play any game like that + of to-day. Then it will be advisable. Switch your route each time. Your + real part is to be that of lure. Through you we shall gradually learn who + Karlov's associates are. If you don't care to play the role all you have + to do is to move.” + </p> + <p> + “The idea! I'm grateful for anything. You men will never understand. You + go forth into the world each day—politics, diplomacy, commerce, war—while + we women stay at home and knit or darn socks or take care of the baby or + make over our clothes and hats or do household work or play the piano or + read. Never any adventure. Never any games. Never any clubs. The leaving + your house to go to the office is an adventure. A train from here to + Philadelphia is an adventure. We women are always craving it. And about + all we can squeeze out of life is shopping and hiding the bills after + marriage, and going to the movies before marriage with young men our + fathers don't like. We can't even stroll the street and admire the + handsome gowns of our more fortunate sisters the way you men do. When you + see a pretty woman on the street do you ever stop to think that there are + ten at home eating their hearts out? Of course you don't. So I'm going + through with this, to satisfy suppressed instincts; and I shan't promise + to trot along as usual.” + </p> + <p> + “They may attempt to kidnap you, Kitty.” + </p> + <p> + “That doesn't frighten me.” + </p> + <p> + “So I observe. But if they ever should have the luck to kidnap you, tell + all you know at once. There's only one way up here—the elevator. I + can get out to the fire escape, but none can get in from that direction, + as the door is of steel.” + </p> + <p> + “And, of course, you'll take me into your confidence completely?” + </p> + <p> + “When the time comes. Half the fun in an adventure is the element of the + unexpected,” said Cutty. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you first meet Stefani Gregor?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Harrison laughed. He liked this girl. She was keen and could be + depended upon, as witness last night's work. Her real danger lay in being + conspicuously pretty, in looking upon this affair as merely a kind of + exciting game, when it was tragedy. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think I know Stefani Gregor?” asked Cutty, genuinely + curious. + </p> + <p> + “When I pronounced that name you whirled upon me as if I had struck you.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. When we learn who Two-Hawks is I'll tell you what I know about + Gregor. And in the meantime you will be ceaselessly under guard. You are + an asset, Kitty, to whichever side holds you. Captain Harrison is going to + stay for dinner. Won't you join us?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to a studio potluck with some girls. And it's time I was on the + way. I'll let your Tony Bernini know. Home probably at ten.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty went with her to the elevator and when he returned to the tea table + he sat down without speaking. + </p> + <p> + “Why not kidnap her yourself,” suggested Harrison, “if you don't want her + in this?” + </p> + <p> + “She would never forgive me.” + </p> + <p> + “If she found it out.” + </p> + <p> + “She's the kind who would. What do you think of her, Miss Frances?” + </p> + <p> + “I think she is wonderful. Frankly, I should tell her everything—if + there is anything more to be told.” + </p> + <p> + When dinner was over, the nurse gone back to the patient and Captain + Harrison to his club, Cutty lit his odoriferous pipe and patrolled the + windows of his study. Ever since Kitty's departure he had been mulling + over in his mind a plan regarding her future—to add a codicil to his + will, leaving her five thousand a year, so Molly's girl might always have + a dainty frame for her unusual beauty. The pity of it was that convention + denied him the pleasure of settling the income upon her at once, while she + was young. He might outlive her; you never could tell. Anyhow, he would + see to the codicil. An accident might step in. + </p> + <p> + He got out his chrysoprase. In one corner of the room there was a large + portfolio such as artists use for their proofs and sketches; and from this + he took a dozen twelve-by-fourteen-inch photographs of beautiful women, + most of them stage beauties of bygone years. The one on top happened to be + Patti. The adorable Patti!... Linda, Violetta, Lucia. Lord, what a + nightingale she had been! He laughed laid the photograph on the desk, and + dipped his hand into a canvas bag filled with polished green stones which + would have great commercial value if people knew more about them; for + nothing else in the world is quite so beautifully green. + </p> + <p> + He built tiaras above the lovely head and laid necklaces across the + marvellous throat. Suddenly a phenomenon took place. The roguish eyes of + the prima donna receded and vanished and slate-blue ones replaced them. + The odd part of it was, he could not dissipate the fancied eyes for the + replacement of the actual. Patti, with slate-blue eyes! He discarded the + photograph and selected another. He began the game anew and was just + beginning the attack on the problem uppermost in his mind when the + phenomenon occurred again. Kitty's eyes! What infernal nonsense! Kitty had + served merely to enliven his tender recollections of her mother. + Twenty-four and fifty-two. And yet, hadn't he just read that Maeterlinck, + fifty-six, had married Mademoiselle Dahon, many years younger? + </p> + <p> + In a kind of resentful fury he pushed back his chair and fell to pacing, + eddies and loops and spirals of smoke whirling and sweeping behind him. + The only light was centred upon the desk, so he might have been some god + pacing cloud-riven Olympus in the twilight. By and by he laughed; and the + atmosphere—mental—cleared. Maeterlinck, fifty-six, and Cutty, + fifty-two, were two different men. Cutty might mix his metaphors + occasionally, but he wasn't going to mix his ghosts. + </p> + <p> + He returned to his singular game. More tiaras and necklaces; and his brain + took firm hold of the theme which had in the beginning lured him to the + green stones. + </p> + <p> + Two-Hawks. That name bothered him. He knew he had heard it before, but + never in the Russian tongue. It might be that the chap had been spoofing + Kitty. Still, he had also called himself Hawksley. + </p> + <p> + The smoke thickened; there were frequent flares of matches. One by one + Cutty discarded the photographs, dropping them on the floor beside his + chair, his mind boring this way and that for a solution. He had now come + to the point where he ceased to see the photographs or the green stones. + The movements of his hands were almost automatic. And in this abstract + manner he came to the last photograph. He built a necklace and even + ventured an earring. + </p> + <p> + It was a glorious face—black eyes that followed you; full lipped; + every indication of fire and genius. It must be understood that he rarely + saw the photographs when he played this game. It wasn't an amusing + pastime, a mental relaxation. It was a unique game of solitaire, the + photographs and chrysoprase being substituted for cards; and in some + inexplicable manner it permitted him to concentrate upon whatever problem + filled his thoughts. It was purely accidental that he saw Patti to-night + or recalled her art. Coming upon the last photograph without having found + a solution of the riddle of Two-Hawks he relaxed the mental pressure; and + his sight reestablished its ability to focus. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” he ejaculated. + </p> + <p> + He seized the photograph excitedly, scattering the green stones. She! The + Calabrian, the enchanting colouratura who had vanished from the world at + the height of her fame, thirty-odd years gone! Two-Hawks! + </p> + <p> + Cutty saw himself at twenty, in the pit at La Scala, with music-mad Milan + all about him. Two-Hawks! He remembered now. The nickname the young bloods + had given her because she had been eternally guarded by her mother and + aunt, fierce-beaked Calabrians, who had determined that Rosa should never + throw herself away on some beggarly Adonis. + </p> + <p> + And this chap was her son! Yesterday, rich and powerful, with a name that + was open sesame wherever he went; to-day, hunted, penniless, and forlorn. + Cutty sank back in his chair, stunned by the revelation. In that room + yonder! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + For a long time Cutty sat perfectly motionless, his pipe at an upward + angle—a fine commentary on the strength of his jaws—and his + gaze boring into the shadows beyond his desk. What was uppermost in his + thoughts now was the fateful twist of events that had brought the young + man to the assured haven of this towering loft. + </p> + <p> + All based, singularly enough, upon his wanting to see Molly's girl for a + few moments; and thus he had established himself in Kitty's thoughts. + Instead of turning to the police she had turned to him. Old Cutty, + reaching round vaguely for something to stay the current—age; hoping + by seeing this living link 'twixt the present and the past to stay the + afterglow of youth. As if that could be done! He, who had never paid any + attention to gray hairs and wrinkles and time, all at once found himself + in a position similar to that of the man who supposes he has an + inexhaustible sum at the bank and has just been notified that he has + overdrawn. + </p> + <p> + Cutty knew that life wasn't really coordination and premeditation so much + as it was coincident. Trivials. Nothing was absolute and dependable but + death; between birth and death a series of accidents and incidents and + coincidents which men called life. + </p> + <p> + He tapped his pipe on the ash tray and stood up. He gathered the + chrysoprase and restored the stones to the canvas bag. Then he carefully + stacked the photographs and carried them to the portfolio. The green + stones he deposited in a safe, from which he took a considerable bundle of + small notebooks, returning to the desk with these. Denatured dynamite, + these notebooks, full of political secrets, solutions of mysteries that + baffle historians. A truly great journalist never writes history as a + historian; he is afraid to. Sometimes conjecture is safer than fact. And + these little notebooks were the repository of suppressed facts ranging + over twenty-odd years. Gerald Stanley Lee would have recognized them + instantly as coming under the head of what he calls Sh! + </p> + <p> + An hour later Cutty returned the notebooks to their abiding place, his + memory refreshed. The poor devil! A dissolute father and uncle, dissolute + forbears, corrupt blood weakened by intermarriage, what hope was there? + Only one—the rich, fiery blood of the Calabrian mother. + </p> + <p> + But why had the chap come to America? Why not England or the Riviera, + where rank, even if shorn of its prerogatives, is still treated + respectfully? But America! + </p> + <p> + Cutty's head went up. Perhaps that was it—to barter his phantom + greatness for money, to dazzle some rich fool of an American girl. In that + case Karlov would be welcome. But wait a moment. The chap had come in from + the west. In that event there should be an Odyssey of some kind tucked + away in the affair. + </p> + <p> + Cutty resumed his pacing. The moment his imagination caught the essentials + he visualized the Odyssey. Across mountains and deserts, rivers and seas, + he followed Two-Hawks in fancy, pursued by an implacable hatred, more or + less historical, of which the lad was less a cause than an abstract + object. And Karlov—Cutty understood Karlov now—always span + near, his hate reenergizing his faltering feet. + </p> + <p> + There was evidently some iron in this Two-Hawks' blood. Fear never would + have carried him thus far. Fear would have whispered, “Futility! + Futility!” And he would have bent his head to the stroke. So then there + was resource and there was courage. And he lay in yonder room, beaten and + penniless. The top piece in the grim irony—to have come all these + thousands of miles unscathed, to be dropped at the goal. But America? + Well, that would be solved later. + </p> + <p> + “By the Lord Harry!” Cutty stopped and struck his hands together. “The + drums!” + </p> + <p> + From the hour Kitty had pronounced the name Stefani Gregor an idea had + taken lodgment, an irrepressible idea, that somewhere in this drama would + be the drums of jeopardy. The mark of the thong! Never any doubt of it + now. Those magnificent emeralds were here in New York, The mob—the + Red Guard—hammering on the doors, what would have been Two-Hawks' + most natural first thought? To gather what treasures the hand could be + laid to and flee. Here in New York, and in Karlov's hands, ultimately to + be cut up for Bolshevik propaganda! The infernal pity of it! + </p> + <p> + The passion of the gem hunter blazed forth, dimming all other phases of + the drama. Here was a real game, a man's game; sport! Cutty rubbed his + hands together pleasurably. To recover those green flames before they + could be broken up; under the ancient ruling that “Findings is keepings.” + The stones, of course, meant nothing to Karlov beyond the monetary value; + and upon this fact Cutty began developing a plan. He stood ready to buy + those stones if he could draw them into the open. Lord, how he wanted + them! Murder and loot, always murder and loot! + </p> + <p> + The thought of those two incomparable emeralds being broken up distressed + him profoundly. He must act at once, before the desecration could be + consummated. Two-Hawks—Hawksley hereafter, for the sake of + convenience—had an equity in the gems; but what of that? In + smuggling them in—and how the deuce had he done it?—he had + thrown away his legal right to them. Cutty kneaded his conscience into a + satisfactory condition of quiescence and went on with his planning. If he + succeeded in recovering the stones and his conscience bit a little too + deeply for comfort—why, he could pay over to Hawksley twenty per + cent. of the price Karlov demanded. He could take it or leave it. In a + case like this—to a bachelor without dependents—money was no + object. All his life he had wanted a fine emerald to play with, and here + was an opportunity to acquire two! + </p> + <p> + If this plan failed to draw Karlov into the open, then every jeweller and + pawnbroker in town would be notified and warned. What with the + secret-service operatives and the agents of the Department of Justice on + the watch for Karlov—who would recognize his limitations of mobility—it + was reasonable to assume that the Bolshevik would be only too glad to + dicker secretly for the disposal of the stones. Now to work. Cutty looked + at his watch. + </p> + <p> + Nearly midnight. Rather late, but he knew all the tricks of this + particular kind of game. If the advertisement appeared isolated, all the + better. The real job would be to hide his identity. He saw a way round + this difficulty. He wrote out six advertisements, all worded the same. He + figured out the cost and was delighted to find that he carried the + necessary currency. Then he got into his engineer's—dungarees, + touched up his face and hands to the required griminess, and sallied + forth. + </p> + <p> + Luck attended him until he reached the last morning newspaper on the list. + Here he was obliged to proceed to the city room—risky business. A + queer advertisement coming into the city room late at night was always + pried into, as he knew from experience. Still, he felt that he ought not + to miss any chance to reach Karlov. + </p> + <p> + He explained his business to the sleepy gate boy, who carried the + advertisement and the cash to the night city editor's desk. Ordinarily the + night city editor would have returned the advertisement with the crisp + information that he had no authority to accept advertisements. But the + “drums of jeopardy” caught his attention; and he sent a keen glance across + the busy room to the rail where Cutty stood, perhaps conspicuously. + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” He called to one of the reporters. “This looks like a story. I'll + run it. Follow that guy in the overalls and see what's in it.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty appreciated the interlude for what it was worth. Someone was going + to follow him. When the gate boy returned to notify him that the + advertisement had been accepted, Cutty went down to the street. + </p> + <p> + “Hey, there; just a moment!” hailed the reporter. “I want a word with you + about that advertisement.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty came to a standstill. “I paid for it, didn't I?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure. But what's this about the drums of jeopardy?” + </p> + <p> + “Two great emeralds I'm hunting for,” explained Cutty, recalling the man + who stood on London Bridge and peddled sovereigns at two bits each, and no + buyer. + </p> + <p> + “Can it! Can it!” jeered the reporter. “Be a good sport and give us the + tip. Strike call among the city engineers?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm telling you.” + </p> + <p> + “Like Mike you are!” + </p> + <p> + “All right. It's the word to tie up the surface lines, like Newark, if you + want to know. Now, get t' hell out o' here before I hand you one on the + jaw!” + </p> + <p> + The reporter backed away. “Is that on the level?” + </p> + <p> + “Call up the barns and find out. They'll tell you what's on. And listen, + if you follow me, I'll break your head. On your way!” + </p> + <p> + The reporter dashed for the elevator—and back to the doorway in time + to see Cutty legging it for the Subway. As he was a reporter of the first + class he managed to catch the same express uptown. + </p> + <p> + On the way uptown Cutty considered that he had accomplished a shrewd bit + of work. Karlov or one of his agents would certainly see that + advertisement; and even if Karlov suspected a Federal trap he would find + some means of communicating with the issuer of the advertisement. + </p> + <p> + The thought of Kitty returned. What the dickens would she say—how + would she act—when she learned who this Hawksley was? He fervently + hoped that she had never read “Thaddeus of Warsaw.” There would be all the + difference in the world between an elegant refugee Pole and a derelict of + the Russian autocracy. Perhaps the best course to pursue would be to say + nothing at all to her about the amazing discovery. + </p> + <p> + Upon leaving Elevator Four Cutty said: “Bob, I've been followed by a sharp + reporter. Sheer him off with any tale you please, and go home. Goodnight.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll fix him, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty took a bath, put on his lounging robe, and tiptoed to the threshold + of the patient's room. The shaded light revealed the nurse asleep with a + book on her knees. The patient's eyes were closed and his breathing was + regular. He was coming along. Cutty decided to go to bed. + </p> + <p> + Meantime, when the elevator touched the ground floor, the operator + observed a prospective passenger. + </p> + <p> + “Last trip, sir. You'll have to take the stairs.” + </p> + <p> + “Where'll I find the engineer who went up with you just now?” + </p> + <p> + “The man I took up? Gone to bed, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “What floor?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing doing, bo. I'm wise. You're the fourth guy with a subpoena that's + been after him. Nix.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not a lawyer's clerk. I'm a reporter, and I want to ask him a few + questions.” + </p> + <p> + “Gee! Has that Jane of his been hauling in the newspapers? Good-night! + Toddle along, bo; there's nothing coming from me. Nix.” + </p> + <p> + “Would ten dollars make you talk?” asked the reporter, desperately. + </p> + <p> + “Ye-ah—about the Kaiser and his wood-sawing. By-by!” + </p> + <p> + The operator, secretly enjoying the reporter's discomfiture, shut off the + lights, slammed the elevator door to the latch, and walked to the + revolving doors, to the tune of Garry Owen. + </p> + <p> + The reporter did not follow him but sat down on the first step of the + marble stairs to think, for there was a lot to think about. He sensed + clearly enough that all this talk about street-railway strikes and + subpoenas was rot. The elevator man and the engineer were in cahoots. + There was a story here, but how to get to it was a puzzler. He had one + chance in a hundred of landing it—tip the mail clerk in the business + office to keep an eye open for the man who called for “Double C” mail. + </p> + <p> + Eventually, the man who did call for that mail presented a card to the + mail clerk. At the bottom of this card was the name of the chief of the + United States Secret Service. + </p> + <p> + “And say to the reporter who has probably asked to watch—hands off! + Understand? Absolutely—off!” + </p> + <p> + When the reporter was informed he blew a kiss into air and sought his city + editor for his regular assignment. He understood, with the wisdom of his + calling, that one didn't go whale fishing with trout rods. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <p> + Early the next morning in a bedroom in a rooming house for aliens in + Fifteenth Street, a man sat in a chair scanning the want columns of a + newspaper. Occasionally he jotted down something on a slip of paper. This + man's job was rather an unusual one. He hunted jobs for other men—jobs + in steel mills, great factories, in the textile districts, the street-car + lines, the shipping yards and docks, any place where there might be a + grain or two of the powder of unrest and discontent. His business was to + supply the human matches. + </p> + <p> + No more parading the streets, no more haranguing from soap boxes. The + proper place nowadays was in the yard or shop corners at noontime. A word + or two dropped at the right moment; perhaps a printed pamphlet; little + wedges wherever there were men who wanted something they neither earned + nor deserved. Here and there across the land little flares, one running + into the other, like wildfire on the plains, and then—the upheaval. + As in Russia, so now in Germany; later, England and France and here. The + proletariat was gaining power. + </p> + <p> + He was no fool, this individual. He knew his clay, the day labourer, with + his parrotlike mentality. Though the victim of this peculiar potter + absorbs sounds he doesn't often absorb meanings. But he takes these sounds + and respouts them and convinces himself that he is some kind of Moses, + headed for the promised land. Inflammable stuff. Hence, the strikes which + puzzle the average intelligent American citizen. What is it all about? + Nobody seems to know. + </p> + <p> + Once upon a time men went on a strike because they were being cheated and + abused. Now they strike on the principle that it is excellent policy + always to be demanding something; it keeps capitalism where it belongs—on + the ragged edge of things. No matter what they demand they never expect to + give an equivalent; and a just cause isn't necessary. Thus the present-day + agitator has only one perplexity—that of eluding the iron hand of + the Department of Justice. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the man in the chair brought the newspaper close up and stared. + He jumped to his feet, ran out and up the next flight of stairs. He + stopped before a door and turned the knob a certain number of times. + Presently the door opened the barest crack; then it was swung wide enough + to admit the visitor. + </p> + <p> + “Look!” he whispered, indicating Cutty's advertisement. + </p> + <p> + The occupant of the room snatched the newspaper and carried it to a + window. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Will purchase the drums of jeopardy at top price. No questions + asked. Address this office. + Double C. +</pre> + <p> + “Very good. I might have missed it. We shall sell the accursed drums to + this gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “Sell them? But—” + </p> + <p> + “Imbecile! What we must do is to find out who this man is. In the end he + may lead us to him.” + </p> + <p> + “But it may be a trap!” + </p> + <p> + “Leave that to me. You have work of your own to do, and you had best be + about it. Do you not see beneath? Who but the man who harbours him would + know about the drums? The man in the evening clothes. I was too far away + to see his face. Get me all the morning newspapers. If the advertisement + is in all of them I will send a letter to each. We lost the young woman + yesterday. And nothing has been heard of Vladimir and Stemmler. Bad. I do + not like this place. I move to the house to-night. My old friend Stefani + may be lonesome. I dare not risk daylight. Some fool may have talked. To + work! All of us have much to do to wake up the proletariat in this country + of the blind. But the hour will come. Get me the newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + Karlov pushed his visitor from the room and locked and bolted the door. He + stepped over to the window again and stared down at the clutter of + pushcarts, drays, trucks, and human beings that tried to go forward and + got forward only by moving sideways or worming through temporary breaches, + seldom directly—the way of humanity. But there was no object lesson + in this for Karlov, who was not philosophical in the peculiar sense of one + who was demanding a reason for everything and finding allegory and + comparison and allusion in the ebb and flow of life. The philosophical is + often misapplied to the stoical. Karlov was a stoic, not a philosopher, or + he would not have been the victim of his present obsession. The idea of + live and let live has never been the propaganda of the anarch. To the + anarch the death of some body or the destruction of some thing is the + cornerstone to his madhouse. + </p> + <p> + Nothing would ever cure this man of his obsession—the death of + Hawksley and the possession of the emeralds. Moreover, there was the + fanatical belief in his poor disordered brain that the accomplishment of + these two projects would eventually assist in the liberation of mankind. + Abnormally cunning in his methods of approach, he lacked those imaginative + scales by which we weigh our projects and which we call logic. A child + alone in a house with a box of matches; a dog on one side of Fifth Avenue + that sees a dog on the other side, but not the automobiles—inexorable + logic—irresistible force—whizzing up and down the middle of + that thoroughfare. It is not difficult to prophesy what is going to happen + to that child, that dog. + </p> + <p> + Karlov was at this moment reaching out toward a satisfactory solution + relative to the disappearance of the gems. They had not been found on his + enemy; they had not been found in the Gregor apartment; the two men + assigned to the task of securing them would not have risked certain death + by trying to do a little bargaining on their own initiative. In the first + instance they had come forth empty-handed. In the second instance—that + of intimidating the girl to disclose his whereabouts—neither + Vladimir nor Stemmler had returned. Sinister. The man in the dress suit + again? + </p> + <p> + Conceivably, then, the drums were in the possession of this girl; and she + was holding them against the day when the fugitive would reclaim them. The + advertisement was a snare. Very good. Two could play that game as well as + one. + </p> + <p> + The girl. Was it not always so? That breed! God's curse on them all! A + crooked finger, and the women followed, hypnotized. The girl was away from + the apartment the major part of the day; so it was in order to search her + rooms. A pretty little fool. + </p> + <p> + But where were they hiding him? Gall and wormwood! That he should slip + through Boris Karlov's fingers, after all these tortuous windings across + the world! Patience. Sooner or later the girl would lead the way. Still, + patience was a galling hobble when he had so little time, when even now + they might be hunting him. Boris Karlov had left New York rather well + known. + </p> + <p> + He expanded under this thought. For the spiritual breath of life to the + anarch is flattery, attention. Had the newspapers ignored Trotzky's advent + into Russia, had they omitted the daily chronicle of his activities, the + Russian problem would not be so large as it is this day. Trotzky would + have died of chagrin. + </p> + <p> + He would answer this advertisement. Trap? He would set one himself. The + man who eventually came to negotiate would be made a prisoner and forced + to disclose the identity of the man who had interfered with the great + projects of Boris Karlov, plenipotentiary extraordinary for the red + government of Russia. + </p> + <p> + Midtown, Cutty tapped his breakfast egg dubiously. Not that he speculated + upon the freshness of the egg. What troubled him was that advertisement. + Last night, keyed high by his remarkable discovery of the identity of his + guest and his cupidity relative to the emeralds, he had laid himself open. + If he knew anything at all about the craft, that reporter would be digging + in. Fortunately he had resources unsuspected by the reporter. Legitimately + he could send a secret-service operative to collect the mail—if + Karlov decided to negotiate. Still within his rights, he could use another + operative to conduct the negotiations. If in the end Karlov strayed into + the net the use of the service for private ends would be justified. + </p> + <p> + Lord, those green stones! Well, why not? Something in the world worth a + hazard. What had he in life but this second grand passion? There shot into + his mind obliquely an irrelevant question. Supposing, in the old days, he + had proceeded to reach for Molly as he was now reaching for the emeralds—a + bit lawlessly? After all these years, to have such a thought strike him! + Hadn't he stepped aside meekly for Conover? Hadn't he observed and envied + Conover's dazzling assault? Supposing Molly had been wavering, and this + method of attack had decided her? Never to have thought of that before! + What did a woman want? A love storm, and then an endless after-calm. And + it had taken him twenty-odd years to make this discovery. + </p> + <p> + Fact. He had never been shy of women. He had somehow preferred to play + comrade instead of gallant; and all the women had taken advantage of that, + used him callously to pair with old maids, faded wives, and homely + debutantes. + </p> + <p> + What impellent was driving him toward these introspections? Kitty, Molly's + girl. Each time he saw her or thought of her—the uninvited ghost of + her mother. Any other man upon seeing Kitty or thinking about her would + have jumped into the future from the spring of a dream. The disparity in + years would not have mattered. It was all nonsense, of course. But for his + dropping into the office and casually picking up the thread of his + acquaintance with Kitty, Molly—the memory of her—would have + gone on dimming. Actions, tremendous and world-wide, had set his vision + toward the future; he had been too busy to waste time in retrospection and + introspection. Thus, instead of a gently rising and falling tide, + healthily recurrent, a flood of mixed longings that was swirling him into + uncertain depths. Those emeralds had bobbed up just in time. The chase + would serve to pull him out of this bog. + </p> + <p> + He heard a footstep and looked up. The nurse was beckoning to him. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “He's awake, and there is sanity in his eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “Great! Has he talked?” + </p> + <p> + “No. The awakening happened just this moment, and I came to you. You never + can tell about blows on the skull or brain fever—never any two eases + alike.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty threw down his napkin and accompanied the nurse to the bedside. The + glance of the patient trailed from Cutty to the nurse and back. + </p> + <p> + “Don't talk,” said Cutty. “Don't ask any questions. Take it easy until + later in the day. You are in the hands of persons who wish you well. Eat + what the nurse gives you. When the right time comes we'll tell you all + about ourselves, You've been robbed and beaten. But the men who did it are + under arrest.” + </p> + <p> + “One question,” said the patient, weakly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, just one.” + </p> + <p> + “A girl—who gave me something to eat?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She fed you, and later probably your life.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks.” Hawksley closed his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Cutty and the nurse watched him interestedly for a few minutes; but as he + did not stir again the nurse took up her temperature sheet and Cutty + returned to his eggs. Was there a girl? No question about the emeralds, no + interest in the day and the hour. Was there a girl? The last person he had + seen, Kitty; the first question, after coming into the light: Had he seen + her? Then and there Cutty knew that when he died he would carry into the + Beyond, of all his earthly possessions—a chuckle. Human beings! + </p> + <p> + The yarn that reporter had missed by a hair—front page, eight-column + head! But he had missed it, and that was the main thing. The poor devil! + Beaten and without a sou marque in his pockets, his trail was likely to be + crowded without the assistance of any newspaper publicity. But what a + yarn! What a whale of a yarn! + </p> + <p> + In his fevered flights Hawksley had spoken of having paid Kitty for that + meal. + </p> + <p> + Kitty had said nothing about it. Supposing— + </p> + <p> + “Telephone, sair,” announced the Jap. “Lady.” + </p> + <p> + Molly's girl! Cutty sprinted to the telephone. + </p> + <p> + “Hello! That you, Kitty?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. How is Johnny Two-Hawks?” + </p> + <p> + “Back to earth.” + </p> + <p> + “When can I see him? I'm just crazy to know what the story is!” + </p> + <p> + “Say the third or fourth day from this. We'll have him shaved and sitting + up then.” + </p> + <p> + “Has he talked?” + </p> + <p> + “Not permitted. Still determined to stay the run of your lease?” Cutty + heard a laugh. “All right. Only I hope you will never have cause to regret + this decision.” + </p> + <p> + “Fiddlesticks! All I've got to do in danger is to press a button, and + presto! here's Bernini.” + </p> + <p> + “Kitty, did Hawksley pay you for that meal?” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens, no! What makes you ask that?” + </p> + <p> + “In his delirium he spoke of having paid you. I didn't know.” Cutty's + heart began to rap against his ribs. Supposing, after all, Karlov hadn't + the stones? Supposing Hawksley had hidden them somewhere in Kitty's + kitchen? + </p> + <p> + “Anything about Gregor?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Remember, you're to call me up twice a day and report the news. Don't + go out nights if you can avoid it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be good,” Kitty agreed. “And now I must hie me to the job. Imagine, + Cutty!—writing personalities about stage folks and gabfesting with + Burlingame and all the while my brain boiling with this affair! The city + room will kill me, Cutty, if it ever finds out that I held back such a + yarn. But it wouldn't be fair to Johnny Two-Hawks. Cutty, did you know + that your wonderful drums of jeopardy are here in New York?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” barked Cutty. + </p> + <p> + “Somebody is offering to buy them. There was an advertisement in the paper + this morning. Cutty?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “The first problem in arithmetic is two and two make four. By-by!” + </p> + <p> + Dizzily Cutty hung up the receiver. He had not reckoned on the possibility + of Kitty seeing that damfool advertisement. Two and two made four; and + four and four made eight; so on indefinitely. That is to say, Kitty + already had a glimmer of the startling truth. The initial misstep on his + part had been made upon her pronouncement of the name Stefani Gregor. He + hadn't been able to control his surprise. And yesterday, having frankly + admitted that he knew Gregor, all that was needed to complete the circle + was that advertisement. Cutty tore his hair, literally. The very door he + hoped she might overlook he had thrown open to her. + </p> + <p> + Thaddeus of Warsaw. But it should not be. He would continue to offer a + haven to that chap; but no nonsense. None of that sinister and unfortunate + blood should meddle with Kitty Conover's happiness. Her self-appointed + guardian would attend to that. + </p> + <p> + He realized that his attitude was rather inexplicable; but there were some + adventures which hypnotized women; and one of this sort was now unfolding + for Kitty. That she had her share of common sense was negligible in face + of the facts that she was imaginative and romantical and adventuresome, + and that for the first time she was riding one of the great middle + currents in human events. She was Molly's girl; Cutty was going to look + out for her. + </p> + <p> + Mighty odd that this fear for her should have sprung into being that + night, quite illogically. Prescience? He could not say. Perhaps it was a + borrowed instinct—fatherly; the same instinct that would have + stirred her father into action—the protection of that dearest to + him. + </p> + <p> + If he told her who Hawksley really was, that would intrigue her. If he + made a mystery of the affair, that, too, would intrigue her. And there you + were, 'twixt the devil and the deep blue sea. Hang it, what evil luck had + stirred him to tell her about those emeralds? Already she was building a + story to satisfy her dramatic fancy. Two and two made four—which + signified that she was her father's daughter, that she would not rest + until she had explored every corner of this dark room. Wanting to keep her + out of it, and then dragging her into it through his cupidity. Devil take + those emeralds! Always the same; trouble wherever they were. + </p> + <p> + The real danger would rise during the convalescence. Kitty would be + contriving to drop in frequently; not to see Hawksley especially, but her + initial success in playing hide and seek with secret agents, friendly and + otherwise, had tickled her fancy. For a while it would be an exciting + game; then it might become only a means to an end. Well, it should not be. + </p> + <p> + Was there a girl! Already Hawksley had recorded her beauty. Very well; the + first sign of sentimental nonsense, and out he should go, Karlov or no + Karlov. Kitty wasn't going to know any hurt in this affair. That much was + decided. + </p> + <p> + Cutty stormed into his study, growling audibly. He filled a pipe and + smoked savagely. Another side, Kitty's entrance into the drama promised to + spoil his own fun; he would have to play two games instead of one. A fine + muddle! + </p> + <p> + He came to a stand before one of the windows and saw the glory of the + morning flashing from the myriad spires and towers and roofs, and wondered + why artists bothered about cows in pastures. + </p> + <p> + Touching his knees was an antique Florentine bridal chest, with exquisite + carving and massive lock. He threw back the lid and disclosed a miscellany + never seen by any eye save his own. It was all the garret he had. He dug + into it and at length resurrected the photograph of a woman whose face was + both roguish and beautiful. He sat on the floor a la Turk and studied the + face, his own tender and wistful. No resemblance to Kitty except in the + eyes. How often he had gone to her with the question burning his lips, + only to carry it away unspoken! He turned over the photograph and read: + “To the nicest man I know. With love from Molly.” With love. And he had + stepped aside for Tommy Conover! + </p> + <p> + By George! He dropped the photograph into the chest, let down the lid, and + rose to his feet. Not a bad idea, that. To intrigue Kitty himself, to + smother her with attentions and gallantries, to give her out of his wide + experience, and to play the game until this intruder was on his way + elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + He could do it; and he based his assurance upon his experiences and + observations. Never a squire of dames, he knew the part. He had played the + game occasionally in the capitals of Europe when there had been some + information he had particularly desired. Clever, scheming women, too. A + clever, passably good-looking elderly man could make himself peculiarly + attractive to young women and women in the thirties. Dazzlement for the + young; the man who knew all about life, the trivial little courtesies a + younger man generally forgot; the moving of chairs, the holding of wraps; + the gray hairs which served to invite trust and confidence, which lulled + the eternal feminine fear of the male. To the older women, no callow youth + but a man of discernment, discretion, wit and fancy and daring, who + remembered birthdays husbands forgot, who was always round when wanted. + </p> + <p> + There was no vanity back of these premises. Cutty was merely reaching + about for an expedient to thwart what to his anticipatory mind promised to + be an inevitability. Of course the glamour would not last; it never did, + but he felt he could sustain it until yonder chap was off and away. + </p> + <p> + That evening at five-thirty Kitty received a box of beautiful roses, with + Cutty's card. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the lovely things!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + She kissed them and set them in a big copper jug, arranged and rearranged + them for the simple pleasure it afforded her. What a dear man this Cutty + was, to have thought of her in this fashion! Her father's friend, her + mother's, and now hers; she had inherited him. This thought caused her to + smile, but there were tears in her eyes. A garden some day to play in, + this mad city far away, a home of her own; would it ever happen? + </p> + <p> + The bell rang. She wasn't going to like this caller for taking her away + from these roses, the first she had received in a long time—roses + she could keep and not toss out the window. For it must not be understood + that Kitty was never besieged. + </p> + <p> + Outside stood a well-dressed gentleman, older than Cutty, with shrewd, + inquiring gray eyes and a face with strong salients. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, but I am looking for a man by the name of Stephen Gregory. I + was referred by the janitor to you. You are Miss Conover?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Kitty. “Will you come in?” She ushered the stranger into + the living room and indicated a chair. “Please excuse me for a moment.” + Kitty went into her bedroom and touched the danger button, which would + summon Bernini. She wanted her watchdog to see the visitor. She returned + to the living room. “What is it you wish to know?” + </p> + <p> + “Where I may find this Gregory.” + </p> + <p> + “That nobody seems able to answer. He was carried away from here in an + ambulance; but we have been unable to locate the hospital. If you will + leave your name—” + </p> + <p> + “That is not necessary. I am out of bounds, you might say, and I'd rather + my name should be left out of the affair, which is rather peculiar.” + </p> + <p> + “In what way?” + </p> + <p> + “I am only an agent, and am not at liberty to speak. Could you describe + Gregory?” + </p> + <p> + “Then he is a stranger to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Absolutely.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty described Gregor deliberately and at length. It struck her that the + visitor was becoming bored, though he nodded at times. She was glad to + hear Bernini's ring. She excused herself to admit the Italian. + </p> + <p> + “A false alarm,” she whispered. “Someone inquiring for Gregor. I thought + it might be well for you to see him.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll work the radiator stuff.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” + </p> + <p> + Bernini went into the living room and fussed over the steam cock of the + radiator. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing the matter with it, miss. Just stuck.” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry to have troubled you,” said the stranger, rising and picking up his + hat. + </p> + <p> + Bernini went down to the basement, obfuscated; for he knew the visitor. He + was one of the greatest bankers in New York—that is to say, in + America! Asking questions about Stefani Gregor! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <p> + About nine o'clock that same night a certain rich man, having established + himself comfortably under the reading lamp, a fine book in his hands and a + fine after-dinner cigar between his teeth, was exceedingly resentful when + his butler knocked, entered, and presented a card. + </p> + <p> + “My orders were that I was not at home to any one.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. But he said you would see him because he came to see you + regarding a Mr. Gregory.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Damn these newspapers!... Wait, wait!” the banker called, for the butler + was starting for the door to carry the anathema to the appointed head. + “Bring him in. He's a big bug, and I can't afford to affront him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir”—with the colourless tone of a perfect servant. + </p> + <p> + When the visitor entered he stopped just beyond the threshold. He remained + there even after the butler closed the door. Blue eye and gray clashed; + two masters of fence who had executed the same stroke. The banker laughed + and Cutty smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said the banker, “you and I ought to sign an armistice, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Agreed.” + </p> + <p> + “And you've always been rather a puzzle to me. A rich man, a gentleman, + and yet sticking to the newspaper game.” + </p> + <p> + “And you're a puzzle to me, too. A rich man, a gentleman, and yet sticking + to the banking game.” + </p> + <p> + “What the devil was our row about?” + </p> + <p> + “Can't quite recall.” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever it was it was the way you went at it.” + </p> + <p> + “A reform was never yet accomplished by purring and pussyfooting,” said + Cutty. + </p> + <p> + “Come over and sit down. Now, how the devil did you find out about this + Gregory affair?” The banker held out his hand, which Cutty grasped with + honest pressure. “If you are here in the capacity of a newspaper man, not + a word out of me. Have a cigar?” + </p> + <p> + “I never smoke anything but pipes that ruin curtains. You should have + given your name to Miss Conover.” + </p> + <p> + “I was under promise not to explain my business. But before we proceed, an + answer. Newspaper?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I represent the Department of Justice. And we'll get along easier + when I add that I possess rather unlimited powers under that head. How did + you happen to stumble into this affair?” + </p> + <p> + “Through Captain Rathbone, my prospective son-in-law, who is in Coblenz. A + cable arrived this morning, instructing me to proceed precisely in the + manner I did. Rathbone is an intimate friend of the man I was actually + seeking. The apartment of this man Gregory was mentioned to Rathbone in a + cable as a possible temporary abiding place. What do you want to know?” + </p> + <p> + “Whether or not he is undesirable.” + </p> + <p> + “Decidedly, I should say, desirable.” + </p> + <p> + “You make that statement as an American citizen?” + </p> + <p> + “I do. I make it unreservedly because my future son-in-law is rather a + difficult man to make friends with. I am acting merely as Rathbone's + agent. On the other hand, I should be a cheerful liar if I told you I + wasn't interested. What do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything,” answered Cutty, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “You know where this young man is?” + </p> + <p> + “At this moment he is in my apartment, rather seriously battered and + absolutely penniless.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll be tinker-dammed! You know who he is, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And I want all your information so that I may guide my future + actions accordingly. If he is really undesirable he shall be deported the + moment he can stand on his two feet.” + </p> + <p> + The banker pyramided his fingers, rather pleased to learn that he could + astonish this interesting beggar. “He has on account at my bank half a + million dollars. Originally he had eight hundred thousand. The three + hundred thousand, under cable orders from Yokohama, was transferred to our + branch in San Francisco. This was withdrawn about two weeks ago. How does + that strike you?” + </p> + <p> + “All in a heap,” confessed Cutty. “When was this fund established with + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Shortly before Kerensky's government blew up. The funds were in our + London bank. There was, of course, a lot of red tape, excessive charges in + exchange, and all that. Anyhow, about eight hundred thousand arrived.” + </p> + <p> + “What brought him to America? Why didn't he go to England? That would have + been the safest haven.” + </p> + <p> + “I can explain that. He intends to become an American citizen. Some time + ago he became the owner of a fine cattle ranch in Montana.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll be tinker-dammed, too!” exploded Cutty. + </p> + <p> + “A young man with these ideas in his head ought eventually to become a + first-rate citizen. What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + “I am considerably relieved. His forbears, the blood—” + </p> + <p> + “His mother was a healthy Italian peasant—a famous singer in her + time. His fortune, I take it, was his inheritance from her. She made a + fortune singing in the capitals of Europe and speculating from time to + time. She sent the boy, at the age of ten, to England. Afraid of the home + influence. He remained there, under the name of Hawksley, for something + like fourteen years, under the guardianship of this fellow Gregory. Of + Gregory I know positively nothing. The young fellow is, to all purposes, + methods of living, points of view, an Englishman. Rathbone, who was + educated at Oxford, met him there and they shared quarters. But it was + only in recent years that he learned the identity of his friend. In 1914 + the young fellow returned to Russia. Military obligations. That's all I + know. Mighty interesting, though.” + </p> + <p> + “I am much obliged to you. The white elephant becomes a normal drab + pachyderm,” said Cutty. + </p> + <p> + “Still something of an elephant on your hands. I see. Bring him here if + you wish.” + </p> + <p> + “And sic the Bolshevik at your door.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so. You spoke of his having been beaten and robbed. Bolshevik?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. An old line of reasoning first put into effect by Oliver Cromwell. + The axe.” + </p> + <p> + “The poor devil!” + </p> + <p> + “Fact. I'm sorry for him, but I wish he would blow away conveniently.” + </p> + <p> + “Rathbone says he's handsome, gay, but decent, considering. Humanity is + being knocked about some. The hour has come for our lawyers to go back to + their offices. Politics must step aside for business. We ought to hang up + signs in every state capitol in the country: 'Men Wanted—Specialists.' + A steel man from Pittsburgh, a mining man from Idaho, a shipowner from + Boston, a meat packer from Omaha, a grain man from Chicago. What the devil + do lawyers know about these things—the energies that make the wheels + of this country go round? By the way, that Miss Conover was a remarkably + pretty girl. She seemed to be a bit suspicious of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Good reasons. That chap went to Gregor's—Gregor is his name—and + was beaten, robbed, and left for dead. She saved his life.” + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord! Does she know?” + </p> + <p> + “No. And what's more, I don't want her to. I am practically her guardian.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you ought to get her out of that roost.” + </p> + <p> + “Hang it, I can't get her to leave. I'm not legally her guardian; + self-appointed. But she has agreed to leave in May.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you dropped in. Command me in any way you please.” + </p> + <p> + “That's very good of you, considering.” + </p> + <p> + “The war is over. We'd be a fine pair of fools to let an ancient grudge go + on. They tell me you've a wonderful apartment on top of that skyscraper of + yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you come to dinner some night?” + </p> + <p> + “Any time you say. I should like to bring my daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “She doesn't know?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Heard of Hawksley; thinks he's English.” + </p> + <p> + “I am certainly agreeable.” This would be a distinct advantage to Kitty. + “I see you have a good book there. I'll take myself off.” + </p> + <p> + In the Avenue Cutty loaded his pipe. He struck a match on the flagstone + and cupped it over the bowl of his pipe, thereby throwing his picturesque + countenance into ruddy relief. Opposite emotions filled the hearts of the + two men watching him—in one, chagrin; in the other, exultation. + </p> + <p> + Cutty decided to walk downtown, the night being fine. He set his foot to a + long, swinging stride. An elephant on his hands, truly. Poor devil, for a + fad! Nobody wanted him, not even those who wished him well. Wanted to + become an American citizen. He would have been tolerably safe in England. + Here he would never be free of danger. A ranch. The beggar would have a + chance out there in the West. The anarchist and the Bolshevik were town + cooties. His one chance, actually. The poor devil! Kitty had the right + idea. It was a mighty fine thing, these times, to be a citizen under the + protection of the American doctrine. + </p> + <p> + Three hundred thousand! And Karlov had got that along with the drums. The + devil's own for luck! The fool would be able to start some fine ructions + with all that capital behind him. Episodes in the night. + </p> + <p> + Kitty dreamed of wonderful rose gardens, endless and changing; but strive + as she would she could not find Cutty anywhere, which worried her, even in + her dream. + </p> + <p> + The nurse heard the patient utter a single word several times before he + fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Fan!” And he smiled. + </p> + <p> + She hunted for the palm leaf, but with a slight gesture he signified that + that was not what he wanted. + </p> + <p> + Cutty played solitaire with his chrysoprase until the telephone broke in + upon his reveries. What he heard over the wire disturbed him greatly. + </p> + <p> + “You were followed from the Avenue to the apartment.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “I am Henderson. You assigned me to watch the apartment in Eightieth + through the night. I followed the man who followed you. He saw your face + when you lit the pipe. When the banker left Miss Conover he was followed + home. That established him in the affair. The follower hung round, and so + did I. You appeared. He took a chance shot in the dark. Not sure, but + doing a bit of clever guessing.” + </p> + <p> + “You still followed him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did he wind up?” + </p> + <p> + “A house in the warehouse district. Vacant warehouses on each side. Some + new nest. I can lead you to it, sir, any time you wish.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty pushed aside the telephone and returned to his green stones. After + all, why worry? It was unfortunate, of course, but the apartment was more + inaccessible than the top of the Matterhorn. Still, they might discover + what his real business was and interfere seriously with his future work on + the other side. A ruin in the warehouse district? A good place to look for + Stefani Gregor—if he were still alive. + </p> + <p> + He was. And in his dark room he cried piteously for water—water—water! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <p> + A March day, sunny and cloudless, with fresh, bracing winds. Green things + pushed up from the soil; an eternal something was happening to the tips of + the tree branches; an eternal something was happening in young hearts. A + robin shook the dust of travel from his wings and bathed publicly in a + park basin. + </p> + <p> + Here and there under the ten thousand roofs of the great city poets were + busy with inkpots, trying to say an old thing in a new way. Woe to the + pinched soul that did not expand this day, for it was spring. Expansion! + Nature—perhaps she was relenting a little, perhaps she saw that + humanity was sliding down the scale, withering, and a bit of extra + sunshine would serve to check the descension and breed a little optimism. + </p> + <p> + Cutty's study. The sunlight, thrown westward, turned windows and roofs and + towers into incomparable bijoux. The double reflection cast a white light + into the room, lifting out the blue and old-rose tints of the Ispahan rug. + </p> + <p> + Cutty shifted the chrysoprase, irresolutely for him. A dozen problems, and + it was mighty hard to decide which to tackle first. Principally there was + Kitty. He had not seen her in four days, deeming it advisable for her not + to call for the present. The Bolshevik agent who had followed him from the + banker's might decide, without the aid of some connecting episode, that he + had wasted his time. + </p> + <p> + It did not matter that Kitty herself was no longer watched and followed + from her home to the office, from the office home. Was Karlov afraid or + had he some new trick up his sleeve? It was not possible that he had given + up Hawksley. He was probably planning an attack from some unexpected + angle. To be sure that Karlov would not find reason to associate him with + Kitty, Cutty had remained indoors during the daytime and gone forth at + night in his dungarees. + </p> + <p> + Problem Two was quite as formidable. The secret agent who had passed as a + negotiator for the drums of jeopardy had disappeared. That had sinister + significance. Karlov did not intend to sell the drums; merely wanted + precise information regarding the man who had advertised for them. If the + secret-service man weakened under torture, Cutty recognized that his own + usefulness would be at an end. He would have to step aside and let the + great currents sweep on without him. In that event these fifty-two years + would pile upon his head, full measure; for the only thing that kept him + vigorous was action, interest. Without some great incentive he would + shrivel up and blow away—like some exhumed mummy. + </p> + <p> + Problem Three. How the deuce was he going to fascinate Kitty if he + couldn't see her? But there was a bit of silver lining here. If he + couldn't see her, what chance had Hawksley? The whole sense and prompting + of this problem was to keep Kitty and Hawksley apart. How this was + accomplished was of no vital importance. Problem Three, then, hung fire + for the present. Funny, how this idea stuck in his head, that Hawksley was + a menace to Kitty. One of those fool ideas, probably, but worth trying + out. + </p> + <p> + Problem Four. That night, all on his own, he would make an attempt to + enter that old house sandwiched between the two vacant warehouses. Through + pressure of authority he had obtained keys to both warehouses. There would + be a trap on the roof of that house. Doubtless it would be covered with + tin; fairly impregnable if latched below. But he could find out. From the + third-floor windows of either warehouse the drop was not more than six + feet. If anywhere in town poor old Stefani Gregor would be in one of those + rooms. But to storm the house frontally, without being absolutely sure, + would be folly. Gregor would be killed. The house was in fact an insane + asylum, occupied by super-insane men. Warned, they were capable of blowing + the house to kingdom come, themselves with it. + </p> + <p> + Problem Five was a mere vanishing point. He doubted if he would ever see + those emeralds. What an infernal pity! + </p> + <p> + He built a coronet and leaned back, a wisp of smoke darting up from the + bowl of his pipe. + </p> + <p> + “I say, you know, but that's a ripping game to play!” drawled a tired + voice over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Cutty turned his head, to behold Hawksley, shaven, pale, and handsome, + wrapped in a bed quilt and swaying slightly. + </p> + <p> + “What the deuce are you doing out of your room?” growled Cutty, but with + the growl of a friendly dog. + </p> + <p> + Hawksley dropped into a chair weakly. “End of my rope. Got to talk to + someone. Go dotty, else. Questions. Skull aches with 'em. Want to know + whether this is a foretaste of the life I have a right to live—or + the beginning of death. Be a good sport, and let's have it out.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it you wish to know?” asked Cutty, gently. The poor beggar! + </p> + <p> + “Where I am. Who you are. What happened to me. What is going to happen to + me,” rather breathlessly. “Don't want any more suspense. Don't want to + look over my shoulder any more. Straight ahead. All the cards on the + table, please.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty rose and pushed the invalid's chair to a window and drew another up + beside it. + </p> + <p> + “My word, the top of the world! Bally odd roost.” + </p> + <p> + “You will find it safer here than you would on the shores of Kaspuskoi + More,” replied Cutty, gravely. “The Caspian wouldn't be a healthy place + for you now.” + </p> + <p> + With wide eyes Hawksley stared across the shining, wavering roofs. A + pause. “What do you know?” he asked, faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Everything. But wait!” Cutty fetched one of the photographs and laid it + upon the young man's knees. “Know who this is—Two-Hawks?” + </p> + <p> + A strained, tense gesture as Hawksley seized the photograph; then his chin + sank slowly to his chest. A moment later Cutty was profoundly astonished + to see something sparkle on its way down the bed quilt. Tears! + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry!” cried Cutty, troubled and embarrassed. “I'm terribly sorry! I + should have had the decency to wait a day or two.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, thank you!” Hawksley flung up his head. “Nothing in all + God's muddied world could be more timely—the face of my mother! I am + not ashamed of these tears. I am not afraid to die. I am not even afraid + to live. But all the things I loved—the familiar earth, the human + beings, my dog—gone. I am alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry,” repeated Cutty, a bit choked up. This was honest misery and + it affected him deeply. He felt himself singularly drawn. + </p> + <p> + “I want to live. Because I am young? No. I want to prove to the shades of + those who loved me that I am fit to go on. So my identity is known to + you?”—dejectedly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You wish me to forget what I know?” + </p> + <p> + “Will you?”—eagerly. “Will you forget that I am anything but a + naked, friendless human being?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But your enemies know.” + </p> + <p> + “I rather fancy they will keep the truth to themselves. Let them publish + my identity, and a hundred havens would be offered. Your Government would + protect me.” + </p> + <p> + “It is doing so now, indirectly. But why do you not want it known?” + </p> + <p> + “Freedom! Would I have it if known? Could I trust anybody? Would it not be + essentially the old life in a new land? I want a new life in a new land. I + want to be born again. I want to be what you patently are, an American. + That is why I risked life a hundred times in coming all these miles, why I + sit in this chair before you, with the room rocking because they battered + in my head. I do not offer a human wreck, an illiterate mind, in exchange + for citizenship. I bring a tolerably decent manhood. Try me! Always I have + admired you people. Always we Russians have. But there is no Russia now + that I can ever return to!” Hawksley's head drooped again and his + bloodshot eyes closed. + </p> + <p> + Cutty sensed confusion, indecision; all his deductions were upset in the + face of this strange appeal. Russian, born of an Italian mother and + speaking Oxford English as if it were his birthright; and wanting + citizenship! Wasn't ashamed of his tears; wasn't afraid to die or to live! + Cutty searched quickly for a new handhold to his antagonism, but he found + only straws. He was honest enough to realize that he had built this + antagonism upon a want, a desire; there was no foundation for it. + Downright likeable. A chap who had gone through so much, who was in such a + pitiable condition, would not have the wit to manufacture character, + camouflage his soul. + </p> + <p> + “Hang it!” he said, briskly. “You shall have your chance. Talk like that + will carry a man anywhere in this country. You shall stay here until you + are strong again. Then some night I'll put you on your train for Montana. + You want to ask questions. I'll save you the trouble by telling you what I + know.” + </p> + <p> + But his narrative contained no mention of the emeralds. Why? A bit + conscience-stricken because, if he could, he was going to rob his guest on + the basis that findings is keepings? Cutty wasn't ready to analyze the + omission. Perhaps he wanted Hawksley himself to inquire about the stones; + test him out. If he asked frankly that would signify that he had brought + the stones in honestly, paid his obligations to the Customs. Otherwise, + smuggling; and in that event conscience wouldn't matter; the emeralds + became a game anybody could take a hand in—anybody who considered + the United States Customs an infringement upon human rights. + </p> + <p> + What a devil of a call those stones had for him! Did they mean anything to + Hawksley aside from their intrinsic value? But for the nebulous idea, + originally, that the emeralds were mixed up somewhere in this adventure, + Cutty knew that he would have sent Hawksley to a hospital, left him to his + fate, and never known who he was. + </p> + <p> + All through the narration Hawksley listened motionless, with his eyes + closed, possibly to keep the wavering instability of the walls from + interfering with his assimilation of this astonishing series of fact. + </p> + <p> + “Found you insensible on the floor,” concluded Cutty, “hoisted you to my + shoulders, took you to the street—and here you are!” + </p> + <p> + Hawksley opened his eyes. “I say, you know, what a devil of an old + Sherlock you must be! And you carried me on your shoulders across that + fire escape? Ripping! When I stepped back into that room I heard a rushing + sound. I knew! But I didn't have the least chance.... You and that bully + girl!” + </p> + <p> + Cutty swore under his breath. He had taken particular pains to avoid + mentioning Kitty; and here, first off, the fat was in the fire. He + remembered now that he had told Hawksley that Kitty had saved his life. + Fortunately, the chap wasn't keen enough with that banged-up head of his + to apply reason to the omission. + </p> + <p> + “Saved my life. Suppose she doesn't want me to know.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty jumped at this. “Doesn't care to be mixed up with the Bolshevik end + of it. Besides, she doesn't know who you are.” + </p> + <p> + “The fewer that know the better. But I'll always remember her kindness and + that bally pistol with the fan in it. But you? Why did you bother to bring + me up here?” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't decently leave you where Karlov could get to you again.” + </p> + <p> + “Is Stefani Gregor dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't know; probably not. But we are hunting for him.” Cutty had not + explained his interest in Gregor. Those plaguey stones again. They were + demoralizing him. Loot. + </p> + <p> + “You spoke of Karlov. Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, the man who followed you across half the world.” + </p> + <p> + “There were many. What is he like?” + </p> + <p> + “A gorilla.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” Hawksley became galvanized and extended his fists. “God let me live + long enough to put my hands on him! I had the chance the other day—to + blot out his face with my boots! But I couldn't do it! I couldn't do it!” + He sagged in the chair. “No, no! Just a bit groggy. All right in a + moment.” + </p> + <p> + “By the Lord Harry, I'll see you through. Now buck up. Hear that?” cried + Cutty, throwing up a window. + </p> + <p> + “Music.” + </p> + <p> + “Look through that street there. See the glint of bayonets? American + soldiers, marching up Fifth Avenue, thousands of them, freemen who broke + the vaunted Hindenburg Line. God bless 'em! Americans, every mother's son + of 'em; who went away laughing, who returned laughing, who will go back to + their jobs laughing. The ability to laugh, that's America. Do you know how + to laugh?” + </p> + <p> + “I used to. I'm jolly weak just now. But I'll grin if you want me to.” And + Hawksley grinned. + </p> + <p> + “That's the way. A grin in this country will take you quite as far. All + right. In five years you'll be voting. I'll see to that. Now back to bed + with you, and no more leaving it until the nurse says so. What you need is + rest.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty sent a call to the nurse, who was standing undecidedly in the + doorway; and together they put the derelict back to bed. Then Cutty + fetched the photograph and set it on top of the dresser, where Hawksley + could see it. + </p> + <p> + “Now, no more gallivanting about.” + </p> + <p> + “I promise, old top. This bed is a little bit of all right. I say!” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “How long am I to be here?” + </p> + <p> + “If you're good, two weeks,” interposed the nurse. + </p> + <p> + “Two weeks? I say, would you mind doing me a trifling favour? I'd like a + violin to amuse myself with.” + </p> + <p> + “A fiddle? I don't know a thing about 'em except that they sound good.” + Cutty pulled at his chin. + </p> + <p> + “Whatever it costs I'll reimburse you the day I'm up.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. I'll bring you a bundle of them, and you can do your own + selecting.” + </p> + <p> + Out in the corridor the nurse said: “I couldn't hold him. But he'll be + easier now that he's got the questions off his mind. He will have to be + humoured a lot. That's one of the characteristics of head wounds.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of him?” + </p> + <p> + “He seems to be gentle and patient; and I imagine he's hard to resist when + he wants anything. Winning, you'd call it. I suppose I mustn't ask who he + really is?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Poor devil. The fewer that know, the better. I'll be home round + three.” + </p> + <p> + Once in the street, Cutty was besieged suddenly with the irresistible + desire to mingle with the crowd over in the Avenue, to hear the military + bands, the shouts, to witness the gamut of emotions which he knew would + attend this epochal day. Of course he would view it all from the aloof + vantage of the historian, and store away commentaries against future + needs. + </p> + <p> + And what a crowd it was! He was elbowed and pushed, jostled and trod on, + carried into the surges, relegated to the eddies; and always the metallic + taptap of steel-shod boots on the asphalt, the bayonets throwing back the + radiant sunshine in sharp, clear flashes. The keen, joyous faces of those + boys. God, to be young like that! To have come through that hell on earth + with the ability still to smile! Cutty felt the tears running down his + cheeks. Instinctively he knew that this was to be his last thrill of this + order. He was fifty-two. + </p> + <p> + “Quit your crowding there!” barked a voice under his chin. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry, but it's those behind me,” said Cutty, looking down into a florid + countenance with a raggedy gray moustache and a pair of blue eyes that + were blinking. + </p> + <p> + “I'm so damned short I can't see anything!” + </p> + <p> + “Neither can I.” + </p> + <p> + “You could if you wiped your eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “You're crying yourself,” declared Cutty. + </p> + <p> + “Blinking jackass! Got anybody out there?” + </p> + <p> + “All of 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “I get you, old son of a gun! No flesh and blood, but they're ours all the + same. Couple of old fools; huh?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure pop! What right have two old codgers got here, anyhow? What brought + you out?” + </p> + <p> + “What brought you?” + </p> + <p> + “Same thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Damn it! If I could only see something!” + </p> + <p> + Cutty put his hands upon the shoulders of this chance acquaintance and + propelled him toward the curb. There were cries of protest, curses, + catcalls, but Cutty bored on ahead until he got his man where he could see + the tin hats, the bayonets, and the colours; and thus they stood for a + full hour. Each time the flag went by the little man yanked off his derby + and turned truculently to see that Cutty did the same. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” he said as they finally dropped back, “I'd offer to buy a drink, + only it sounds flat.” + </p> + <p> + “And it would taste flat after a mighty wine like this,” replied Cutty. + “Maybe you've heard of the nectar of the gods. Well, you've just drunk it, + my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “I sure have. Those kids out there, smiling after all that hell; and you + and me on the sidewalk, blubbering over 'em! What's the answer? We're + Americans!” + </p> + <p> + “You said it. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty pressed on to the flow and went along with it, lighter in the heart + than he had been in many a day. These two million who lined Fifth Avenue, + who cheered, laughed, wept, went silent, cheered again, what did their + presence here signify? That America's day had come; that as a people they + were homogeneous at last; that that which laws had failed to bring forth + had been accomplished by an ideal. + </p> + <p> + Bolshevism, socialism—call it what you will—would beat itself + into fragments against this Rock of Democracy, which went down to the + centre of the world and whose pinnacle touched the stars. Reincarnation; + the simple ideals of the forefathers restored. And with this knowledge + tingling in his thoughts—and perhaps there was a bit of spring in + his heart—Cutty continued on, without destination, chin jutting, + eyes shining. He was an American! + </p> + <p> + He might have continued on indefinitely had he not seen obliquely a window + filled with musical instruments. + </p> + <p> + Hawksley's fiddle! He had all but forgotten. All right. If the poor beggar + wanted to scrape a fiddle, scrape it he should. The least he, Cutty, could + do would be to accede to any and every whim Hawksley expressed. Wasn't he + planning to rob the beggar of the drums, happen they ever turned up? But + how the deuce to pick out a fiddle which would have a tune in it? Of all + the hypercritical duffers the fiddler was the worst. Beside a fiddler of + the first rank the rich old maid with the poodle was a hail fellow well + met. + </p> + <p> + Of course Gregor had taught the chap. That meant he would know instantly; + just as his host would instantly observe the difference between green + glass and green beryl. + </p> + <p> + Cutty turned into the shop, infinitely amused. Fiddles! What next? Having + constituted a guardianship over Kitty, he was now playing impressario to + Hawksley. As if he hadn't enough parts to play! Wouldn't he be risking his + life to-night trying to find where Stefani Gregor was? Fiddles! Fiddles + and emeralds! What a choice old hypocrite he was! + </p> + <p> + Fate has a way of telling you all about it—afterward; conceivably, + that humanity might continue to reproduce its species. Otherwise humanity + would proceed to extinguish itself forthwith. Thus, Cutty was totally + unaware upon entering the shop that he was about to tear off its hinges + the door he was so carefully bolting and latching and padlocking between + Kitty Conover and this duffer who wanted to fiddle his way through + convalescence. + </p> + <p> + Where there is fiddling there is generally dancing. If it be not the feet, + then it will be the soul. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <p> + There are some men who know a little about all things and a great deal + about many. Such a man was Cutty. But as he approached the counter behind + which stood an expectant clerk he felt for once that he was in a far + country. There were fiddles and fiddles, just as there were emeralds and + emeralds. Never again would he laugh over the story of the man who thought + Botticelli was a manufacturer of spool thread. He attacked the problem, + however, like the thoroughbred he was—frankly. + </p> + <p> + “I want to buy a violin,” he began, knowing that in polite musical circles + the word fiddle was taboo. “I know absolutely nothing at all about quality + or price. Understand, though, while you might be able to fool me, you + wouldn't fool the man I'm buying it for. Now what would you suggest?” + </p> + <p> + The clerk—a salesman familiar with certain urban types, thinly + including the Fifth Avenue, which came in for talking-machine records—recognized + in this well-dressed, attractive elderly man that which he designated the + swell. Hateful word, yes, but having a perfectly legitimate niche, since + in the minds of the hoi polloi it nicely describes the differences between + the poor gentleman and the gentleman of leisure. To proceed with the + digression, to no one is the word more hateful than to the individual to + whom it is applied. Cutty would have blushed at the clerk's thought. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I'd better get the proprietor,” was the clerk's suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “Good idea,” Cutty agreed. “Take my card along with you.” This was a Fifth + Avenue shop, and Cutty knew there would be a Who's Who or a Bradstreet + somewhere about. + </p> + <p> + In the interim he inspected the case-lined walls. Trombones. He chuckled. + Lucky that Hawksley's talent didn't extend in this direction. True, he + himself collected drums, but he did not play them. Something odd about + music; human beings had to have it, the very lowest in the scale. A + universal magic. He was himself very fond of good music; but these days he + fought shy of it; it had the faculty of sweeping him back into the + twenties and reincarnating vanished dreams. + </p> + <p> + After a certain length of time, from the corner of his eye he saw the + clerk returning with the proprietor, the latter wearing an amiable smile, + which probably connoted a delving into the aforesaid volumes of attainment + and worth. Cutty hoped this was so, as it would obviate the necessity of + going into details as to who he was and what he had. + </p> + <p> + “Your name is familiar to me,” began the proprietor. “You collect antique + drums. My clerk tells me that you wish to purchase a good violin.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good. I have in my apartment rather a distinguished guest who plays + the violin for his own amusement. He is ill and cannot select for himself. + Now I know a little about music but nothing about violins.” + </p> + <p> + “I suggest that I personally carry half a dozen instruments to your + apartment and let your guest try them. How much is he willing to pay?” + </p> + <p> + “Top price, I should say. Shall I make a deposit?” + </p> + <p> + “If you don't mind. Merely precautionary. Half a dozen violins will + represent quite a sum of money; and taxicabs are unreliable animals. A + thousand against accidents. What time shall I call?” The proprietor's + curiosity was stirred. Musical celebrities, as he had occasion to know, + were always popping up in queer places. Some new star probably, whose + violin had been broken and who did not care to appear in public before the + hour of his debut. + </p> + <p> + “Three o'clock,” said Cutty. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, sir. I promise to bring the violins myself.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty wrote out his check for a thousand and departed, the chuckle still + going on inside of him. Versatile old codger, wasn't he? + </p> + <p> + Promptly at three the dealer arrived, his arms and his hands gripping + violin cases. Cutty hurried to his assistance, accepted a part of the + load, and beckoned to the man to follow him. The cases were placed on the + floor, and the dealer opened them, putting the rosin on a single bow. + </p> + <p> + Hawksley, a fresh bandage on his head, his shoulders propped by pillows, + eyed the initial manoeuvres with frank amusement. + </p> + <p> + “I say, you know, would you mind tuning them for me? I'm not top hole.” + </p> + <p> + The dealer's eyebrows went up. An Englishman? Bewildered, he bent to the + trifling labour of tuning the violins. Hawksley rejected the first two + instruments after thrumming the strings with his thumb. He struck up a + melody on the third but did not finish it. + </p> + <p> + “My word! If you have a violin there why not let me have it at once?” + </p> + <p> + The dealer flushed. “Try this, sir. But I do not promise you that I shall + sell it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” Hawksley stretched out his hands to receive the instrument. + </p> + <p> + Of course Cutty had heard of Amati and Stradivari, master and pupil. He + knew that all famous violinists possessed instruments of these schools, + and that such violins were practically beyond the reach of many. Only + through some great artist's death or misfortune did a fine violin return + to the marts. But the rejected fiddles had sounded musically enough for + him and looked as if they were well up in the society of select fiddles. + The fiddle Hawksley now held in his hands was dull, almost black. The + maple neck was worn to a shabby gray and the varnish had been sweated off + the chin rest. + </p> + <p> + Hawksley laid his fingers on the strings and drew the bow with a powerful + flourishing sweep. The rich, sonorous tones vibrated after the bow had + passed. Then followed the tricks by which an artist seeks to discover + flaws or wolf notes. A beatific expression settled upon Hawksley face. He + nestled the violin comfortably under his chin and began to play softly. + Cutty, the nurse, and the dealer became images. + </p> + <p> + Minors; a bit of a dance; more minors; nothing really begun, nothing + really finished—sketches, with a melancholy note running through + them all. While that pouring into his ears enchained his body it stirred + recollections in Cutty's mind: The fair at Novgorod; the fiddling + mountebanks; Russian. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the dealer's astonishment was greatest. An Englishman! Who ever + heard of an Englishman playing a violin like that? + </p> + <p> + “I will buy it,” said Hawksley, sinking back. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” began the dealer, “I am horribly embarrassed. I cannot sell that + violin because it isn't mine. It is an Amati worth ten thousand dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “I will give you twelve.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sir—” + </p> + <p> + “Name a price,” interrupted Hawksley, rather imperiously. “I want it.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty understood that he was witnessing a flash of the ancient blood. To + want anything was to have it. + </p> + <p> + “I repeat, sir, I cannot sell it. It belongs to a Hungarian who is now in + Hungary. I loaned him fifteen hundred and took the Amati as security. + Until I learn if he is dead I cannot dispose of the violin. I am sorry. + But because you are a real artist, sir, I will loan it to you if you will + make a deposit of ten thousand against any possible accident, and that + upon demand you will return the instrument to me.” + </p> + <p> + “That's fair enough,” interposed Cutty. + </p> + <p> + “I beg pardon,” said Hawksley. “I agree. I want it, but not at the price + of any one's dishonesty.” + </p> + <p> + He turned his head toward Cutty, “You're a thoroughbred, sir. This will do + more to bring me round than all the doctors in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “But what the deuce is the difference?” Cutty demanded with a gesture + toward the rejected violins. + </p> + <p> + The dealer and Hawksley exchanged smiles. Said the latter: “The other + violins are pretty wooden boxes with tolerable tunes in their insides. + This has a soul.” He put the violin against his cheek again. + </p> + <p> + Massenet's “Elegie,” Moszkowski's “Serenata,” a transcription, and then + the aria from Lucia. Not compositions professional violinists would have + selected. Cutty felt his spine grow cold as this aria poured goldenly + toward heaven. He understood. Hawksley was telling him that the shade of + his glorious mother was in this room. The boy was right. Some fiddles had + souls. An odd depression bore down upon him. Perhaps this surprising + music, topping his great emotions of the morning, was a straw too much. + There were certain exaltations that could not be sustained. + </p> + <p> + A whimsical forecast: This chap here, in the dingy parlour of his Montana + ranch, playing these indescribable melodies to the stars, his cowmen + outside wondering what was the matter with their “inards.” Somehow this + picture lightened the depression. + </p> + <p> + “My fingers are stiff,” said Hawksley. “My hand is tired. I should like to + be alone.” He lay back rather inertly. + </p> + <p> + In the corridor Cutty whispered to the dealer: “What do you think of him?” + </p> + <p> + “As he says, his touch shows a little stiffness, but the wonderful fire is + there. He's an amateur, but a fine one. Practice will bring him to a + finish in no time. But I never heard an Englishman play a violin like that + before.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I,” Cutty agreed. “When the owner sends for that fiddle let me know. + Mr. Hawksley might like to dicker for it. If you know where the owner is + you might cable that you have an offer of twelve thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, but I haven't the least idea where the owner is. However, + there is an understanding that if the loan isn't covered in eighteen + months the instrument becomes salable for my own protection. There is a + year still to run.” + </p> + <p> + Four o'clock found Cutty pacing his study, the room blue with smoke. Of + all the queer chaps he had met in his varied career this Two-Hawks topped + the lot. The constant internal turmoil that must be going on, the + instincts of the blood—artist and autocrat! And in the end, the + owner of a cattle ranch, if he had the luck to get there alive! Dizzy old + world. + </p> + <p> + Something else happened at four o'clock. A policeman strolled into + Eightieth Street. He was at peace with the world. Spring was in his + whistle, in his stride, in the twirl of his baton. Whenever he passed a + shop window he made it serve as a mirror. No waistline yet—a + comforting thought. + </p> + <p> + Children swarmed the street and gathered at corners. The older ones played + boldly in midstreet, while the toddlers invented games that kept them to + the sidewalk and curb. The policeman came stealthily upon one of these + latter groups—Italians. At the sight of his brass buttons they fled + precipitately. He laughed. Once in a month of moons he was able to get + near enough to touch them. Natural. Hadn't he himself hiked in the old + days at the sight of a copper? Sure, he had. + </p> + <p> + A bit of colour on the sidewalk attracted his eye, and he picked up the + object. Something those kids had been playing with. A bit of red glass out + of a piece of cheap jewellery. Not half bad for a fake. He would put one + over on Maggie when he turned in for supper. Certainly this was the age of + imitation. You couldn't buy a brass button with any confidence. He put the + trinket in his pocket and continued on, soon to forget it. + </p> + <p> + At six he was off duty. As he was leaving the precinct the desk sergeant + called him back. + </p> + <p> + “Got change for a dollar, an' I'll settle that pinochle debt,” offered the + sergeant. + </p> + <p> + “I'll take a look.” The policeman emptied his coin pocket. + </p> + <p> + “What's that yuh got there?” + </p> + <p> + “Which?” + </p> + <p> + “The red stone?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that? Picked it up on the sidewalk. Some Italian kids dropped it as + they skedaddled.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's have a look.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure.” The policeman passed over the stone. + </p> + <p> + “Gee! That looks like real money. Say, they can do anything with glass + these days.” + </p> + <p> + “They sure can.” + </p> + <p> + A man in civilian clothes—a detective from headquarters—went + up to the desk. “What you guys got there?” + </p> + <p> + “A ruby this boob picks up off'n the sidewalk,” said the sergeant, winking + at the finder, who grinned. + </p> + <p> + “Let's have a squint at it.” + </p> + <p> + The stone was handed to him. The detective stared at it carefully, holding + it on his palm and rocking it gently under the desk light. Crimson darts + of flame answered to this treatment. He pushed back his hat. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you boobs!” he drawled. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Matter? Why, this is a ruby! A whale of a ruby, an' pigeon blood at that! + I didn't work in the' appraiser's office for nothing. But for a broken + point—kids probably tried to crack it—it would stack up + somewhere between three and four thousand dollars!” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant and the policemen barked simultaneously: “What?” + </p> + <p> + “A pigeon blood. Where was it you found it?” + </p> + <p> + “Holy Moses! On Eightieth.” + </p> + <p> + “Any chance of finding that bunch of kids?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a chance, not a chance! If I got the hull district here there + wouldn't be nothin' doin'. The kids'd be too scared t' remember anything. + A pigeon-blood ruby, an' I wasn't gonna pick it up at first!” + </p> + <p> + “Lock it up, sergeant,” ordered the detective. “I'll pass the word to + headquarters. Too big for a ring. Probably fallen from a pin. But there'll + be a holler in a few hours. Lost or stolen, there'll be some big noise. + You two boobs!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, whadda yuh know about that?” whined the policeman. “An' me thinkin' + it was glass!” + </p> + <p> + But there was no big noise. No one had reported the loss or theft of a + pigeon-blood ruby of unusual size and quality. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <p> + Kitty came home at nine that night, dreadfully tired. She had that day + been rocked by so many emotions. She had viewed the parade from the + windows of a theatrical agency, and she had cheered and cried like + everybody else. Her eyes still smarted, and her throat betrayed her every + time she recalled what she had seen. Those boys! + </p> + <p> + Loneliness. She had dined downtown, and on the way home the shadow had + stalked beside her. Loneliness. Never before had these rooms seemed so + empty, empty. If God had only given her a brother and he had marched in + that glorious parade, what fun they two would be having at this moment! + Empty rooms; not even a pet. + </p> + <p> + Loneliness. She had been a silly little fool to stand so aloof, just + because she was poor and lived in a faded locality. She mocked herself. + Poor but proud, like the shopgirl in the movies. Denied herself + companionship because she was ashamed of her genteel poverty. And now she + was paying for it. Silly little fool! It wasn't as if she did not know how + to make and keep friends. She knew she had attractions. Just a senseless + false pride. The best friends in the world, after a series of rebuffs, + would drop away. Her mother's friends never called any more, because of + her aloofness. She had only a few girl friends, and even these no doubt + were beginning to think her uppish. + </p> + <p> + She did not take off her hat and coat. She wandered through the empty + rooms, undecided. If she went to a movie the rooms would be just as lonely + when she returned. Companionship. The urge of it was so strong that there + was a temptation to call up someone, even someone she had rebuffed. She + was in the mood to confess everything and to make an honest attempt to + start all over again—to accept friendship and let pride go hang. + Impulsively she started for the telephone, when the doorbell rang. + </p> + <p> + Immediately the sense of loneliness fell away. Another chapter in the + great game of hide and seek that had kept her from brooding until + to-night? The doorbell carried a new message these days. Nine o'clock. Who + could be calling at that hour? She had forgotten to advise Cutty of the + fact that someone had gone through the apartment. She could not positively + assert the fact. Those articles in her bureau she herself might have + disturbed. She might have taken a handkerchief in a hurry, hunted for + something under the lingerie impatiently. Still she could not rid herself + of the feeling that alien hands had been rifling her belongings. Not + Bernini, decidedly. + </p> + <p> + Remembering Cutty's advice about opening the door with her foot against + it, she peered out. No emissary of Bolshevisim here. A weary little + messenger boy with a long box in his arms called her name. + </p> + <p> + “Miz Conover?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + The boy thrust the box into her hands and clumped to the stairhead. Kitty + slammed the door and ran into the living room, tearing open the box as she + ran. Roses from Cutty; she knew it. The old darling! Just when she was on + the verge of breaking down and crying! She let the box fall to the floor + and cuddled the flowers to her heart, her eyes filling. Cutty. + </p> + <p> + One of those ideas which sometime or another spring into the minds of all + pretty women who are poor sprang into hers—an idea such as an honest + woman might muse over, only to reject. Sinister and cynical. Kitty was at + this moment in rather a desperate frame of mind. Those two inherent + characteristics, which she had fought valiantly—love of good times + and of pretty clothes—made ingress easy for this sinister and + cynical idea. Having gained a foothold it pressed forward boldly. Cutty, + who had everything—strength, comeliness, wisdom, and money. To live + among all those beautiful things, never to be lonely again, to be waited + on, fussed over, made much of, taken into the high world. Never more to + add up accounts, to stretch five-dollar bills across the chasm of seven + days. An old man's darling! + </p> + <p> + “No, no, no!” she burst out, passionately. She drew a hand across her + eyes. As if that gesture could rub out an evil thought! It is all very + well to say “Avaunt!” But if the idea will not? “I couldn't, I couldn't! + I'd be a liar and a cheat. But he is so nice! If he did want me!... No, + no! Just for comforts! I couldn't! What a miserable wretch I am!” + </p> + <p> + She caught up the copper jug and still holding the roses to her heart, the + tears streaming down her cheeks, rushed out to the kitchen for water. She + dropped the green stems into the jug, buried her face in the buds to cool + the hot shame on her cheeks, and remembered—what a ridiculous thing + the mind was!—that she had three shirt waists to iron. She set the + jug on the kitchen table, where it remained for many hours, and walked + over to the range, to the flatiron shelf. As she reached for a flatiron + her hand stopped in midair. + </p> + <p> + A fat black wallet! Instantly she knew who had placed it there. That poor + Johnny Two-Hawks! + </p> + <p> + Kitty lifted out the wallet from behind the flatirons. No doubt of it, + Johnny Two-Hawks had placed it there when she had gone to the speaking + tube to summon the janitor. Not knowing if he would ever call for it! + Preferring that she rather than his enemies should have it. And without a + word! What a simple yet amazing hiding place; and but for the need of a + flatiron the wallet would have stayed there until she moved. Left it + there, with the premonition that he was heading into trouble. But what if + they had killed him? How would she have explained the wallet's presence in + her apartment? Good gracious, what an escape! + </p> + <p> + Without direct consciousness she raised the flap. She saw the edges of + money and documents; but she did not touch anything. There was no need. + She knew it belonged to Johnny Two-Hawks. Of course there was an appalling + attraction. The wallet was, figuratively, begging to be investigated. But + resolutely she closed the flap. Why? Because it was as though Two-Hawks + had placed the wallet in her hands, charging her to guard it against the + day he reclaimed it. There was no outward proof that the wallet was his. + She just knew, that was all. + </p> + <p> + Still, she examined the outside carefully. In one corner had been + originally a monogram or a crest; effectually obliterated by the + application of fire. + </p> + <p> + Who he was and what he was, by a simple turn of the wrist. It was Cutty's + affair now, not hers. He had a legal right to examine the contents. He was + an agent of the Federal Government. The drums of jeopardy and Stefani + Gregor and Johnny Two-Hawks, all interwoven. She had waited in vain for + Cutty to mention the emeralds. What signified his silence? She had + indirectly apprised him of the fact that she knew the author of that + advertisement offering to purchase the drums, no questions asked. Who but + Cutty in New York would know about them? The mark of the thong. Johnny + Two-Hawks had been carrying the drums, and Karlov's men had torn them from + their victim's neck during the battle. Was there any reason why Cutty + should not have taken her completely into his confidence? Palaces looted. + If Stefani Gregor had lived in a palace, why not his protege? Still, it + was possible Cutty was holding back until he could tell her everything. + </p> + <p> + But what to do with it? If she called him up and made known her discovery, + Cutty would rush up as fast as a taxicab could bring him. He had + peremptorily ordered her not to come to his apartment for the present. But + to sit here and wait, to be alone again after he had gone! It was not to + be borne. Orders or no orders, she would carry the wallet to him. He could + lecture her as much as he pleased. To-night, at least, she would lay aside + her part as parlour maid in the drama. It would give her something to do, + keep her mind off herself. Nothing but excitement would pull her out of + this semi-hysterical doldrum. + </p> + <p> + She hid the wallet in the pocket of her underskirt. Already her blood was + beginning to dance. She ran into her bedroom for two veils, a gray + automobile puggree and one of those heavy black affairs with butterflies + scattered over it, quite as effectual as a mask. She wound the puggree + about her hat. When the right moment came she would discard the puggree + and drop the black veil. Her coat was of dark blue, lined with steel-gray + taffeta. Turned inside out it would fool any man. She wore spats. These + she would leave behind when she made the change. + </p> + <p> + Someone might follow her as far as the Knickerbocker, but beyond there, + never. She was sorry, but she dared not warn Bernini. He might object, + notify Cutty, and spoil everything. + </p> + <p> + By the time she reached the street exhilaration suffused her. The + melancholia was gone. The sinister and cynical idea had vanished + apparently. Apparently. Merely it had found a hiding place and was content + to abide there for the present. Such ideas are not without avenues of + retreat; they know the hours of attack. Kitty was alive to but one fact: + The game of hide and seek was on again. She was going to have some + excitement. She was going into the night on an adventure, as children play + at bears in the dark. The youth in her still rejected the fact that the + woof and warp of this adventure were murder and loot and pain. + </p> + <p> + En route to the Subway she never looked back. At Forty-second Street she + detrained, walked into the Knickerbocker, entered the ladies dressing + room, turned her coat, redraped her hat, checked her gaiters, and sought a + taxi. Within two blocks of Cutty's she dismissed the cab and finished the + journey on foot. + </p> + <p> + At the left of the lobby was an all-night apothecary's, with a door going + into the lobby. Kitty proceeded to the elevator through this avenue. + Number Four was down, and she stepped inside, raising her veil. + </p> + <p> + “You, miss?” + </p> + <p> + “Very important. Take me up.” + </p> + <p> + “The boss is out.” + </p> + <p> + “No matter. Take me up. + </p> + <p> + “You're the doctor!” What a pretty girl she was. No come-on in her eyes, + though. “The boss may not get back until morning. He just went out in his + engineer's togs. He sure wasn't expecting you. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where he went?” + </p> + <p> + “Never know. But I'll be in this bird cage until he comes back.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall have to wait for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Up she goes!” + </p> + <p> + As Kitty stepped out into the corridor a wave of confusion assailed her. + She hadn't planned against Cutty's absence. There was nothing she could + say to the nurse; and if Johnny Two-Hawks was asleep—why, all she + could do would be to curl up on a divan and await Cutty's return. + </p> + <p> + The nurse appeared. “You, Miss Conover?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Kitty realized at once that she must take the nurse into her + confidence. “I have made a really important discovery. Did Cutty say when + he would return?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I am not in his confidence to that extent. But I do know that you + assumed unnecessary risks in coming here.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty shrugged and produced the wallet. “Is Mr. Hawksley awake?” + </p> + <p> + “He is.” + </p> + <p> + “It appears that he left this wallet in my kitchen that night. It might + buck him up if I gave it to him.” + </p> + <p> + The nurse, eyeing the lovely animated face, conceded that it might. “Come, + I've been trying futilely to read him asleep, but he is restless. No + excitement, please.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll try not to. Perhaps, after all, you had better give him the wallet.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, that would start a series of questions I could not + answer. Come along.” + </p> + <p> + When Kitty saw Hawksley she gave a little gasp of astonishment. Why, he + was positively handsome! His dark head, standing out boldly against the + bolstering pillows, the fine lines of his face definite, the pallor—he + was like a Roman cameo. Who and what could he be, this picturesque + foundling? + </p> + <p> + His glance flashed into hers delightedly. For hours and hours the constant + wonder where she was, why no one mentioned her, why they evaded his + apparently casual questions. To burst upon his vision in the nadir of his + boredom and loneliness like this! She was glorious, this American girl. + She made him think of a golden scabbard housing a fine Toledo blade. + Hadn't she saved his life? More, hadn't she assumed a responsibility in so + doing? Instantly he purposed that she should not be permitted to resign + the office of good Samaritan. He motioned toward the nurse's chair; and + Kitty sat down, her errand in total eclipse. + </p> + <p> + “Just when I never felt so lonely! Ripping!” + </p> + <p> + His quick smile was so engaging that Kitty answered it—kindred + spirits, subconsciously recognizing each other. Fire; but neither of them + knew that; or that two lonely human beings of opposite sex, in touch, + constitute a first-rate combustible. + </p> + <p> + Quietly the nurse withdrew. There would be a tonic in this meeting for the + patient. Her own presence might neutralize the effect. She had not spent + all those dreadful months in base hospitals without acquiring a keen + insight into the needs of sick men. No harm in letting him have this + pretty, self-reliant girl alone to himself for a quarter of an hour. She + would then return with some broth. + </p> + <p> + “How—how are you?” asked Kitty, inanely. + </p> + <p> + “Top-hole, considering. Quite ready to be killed all over again.” + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't talk like that!” she protested. + </p> + <p> + “Only to show you I was bucking up. Thank you for doing what you did.” + </p> + <p> + “I had to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Most women would have run away and left me to my fate.” + </p> + <p> + “Not my kind.” + </p> + <p> + “Rather not! Your kind would risk its neck to help a stray cat. I say, + what's that you have in your hand?” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious!” Kitty extended the wallet. “It is yours, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I wanted you to bring it to me the way you have. If I hadn't come + back—out of that—it was to be yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Mine?”—dumfounded. “But——” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Gregor gone, there wasn't a soul in the world. I was hungry, and + you gave me food. I wanted that to pay you. I'll wager you've never looked + into it.” + </p> + <p> + “I had no right to.” + </p> + <p> + “See!” He opened the wallet and spread the contents on the counterpane. “I + wasn't so stony as you thought. What? Cash and unregistered bonds. They + would have been yours absolutely.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't—I can't quite,” Kitty stammered—“but I couldn't + have kept them!” + </p> + <p> + “Positively yes. You would have shown them to that ripping guardian of + yours, and he would have made you see.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, yes! He would have been scared to death. You poor man, can't you + see? Circumstantial evidence that I had killed you!” + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord! And you're right, too! So it goes. You can't do anything you + want to do. The good Samaritan is never requited; and I wanted to break + the rule. Lord, what a bally mix-up I'd have tumbled you in! I forgot that + you were you, that you would have gone straight to the authorities. Of + course I knew if I pulled through and you found the wallet you would bring + it to me.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty no longer had a foot on earth. She floated. Her brain floated, too, + because she could not make it think coherently for her. A fortune—for + a dish of bacon and eggs! The magnificence, the utter prodigality of such + generosity! For a dish of bacon and eggs and a bottle of milk! Had she + left home? Hadn't she fallen asleep, the victim of another nightmare? A + corner of the atmosphere cleared a little. A desire took form; she wanted + the nurse to come back and stabilize things. In a wavering blur she saw + the odd young man restore the money and bonds and other documents to the + wallet. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to give this to your guardian when he comes in. I want him to + understand. I say, you know, I'm going to love that old thoroughbred! He's + fine. Fancy his carrying me on his shoulders and eventually bringing me up + here among the clouds! Americans.... Are you all like that? And you!” + </p> + <p> + Kitty's brain began to make preparations to alight, as it were. Cutty. + That gave her a touch of earth. She heard herself say faintly: “And what + about me?” + </p> + <p> + “You were brave and kind. To help an unknown, friendless beggar like that, + when you should have turned him over to the police! Makes me feel a bit + stuffy. They left me for dead. I wonder—” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “If—it wouldn't have been just as well!” + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't talk like that! You just mustn't! You're with friends, real + friends, who want to help you all they can.” And then with a little flash + of forced humour, because of the recurrent tightening in her throat—“Who + could be friendless, with all that money?” Instantly she felt like biting + her tongue. He would know nothing of the sad American habit of trying to + be funny to keep a wobbly situation on its legs. He would interpret it as + heartlessness. “I didn't mean that!” With the Irish impulsiveness which + generally weighs acts in retrospection, she reached over and gripped his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “I say, you two!” Hawksley closed his eyes for a second. “Wanting to buck + up a chap because you re that sort! All right. I'll stick it out! You two! + And I might be the worst scoundrel unhung!” + </p> + <p> + He drew her hand toward his lips, and Kitty had not the power to resist + him. She felt strangely theatrical, a character in a play; for American + men, except in playful burlesque, never kissed their women's hands. The + moment he released the hand the old wave of hysteria rolled over her. She + must fly. The desire to weep, little fool that she was! was breaking + through her defences. Loneliness. The two of them all alone but for Cutty. + She rose, crushing the wallet in her hand. + </p> + <p> + Ah, never had she needed that darling mother of hers so much as now. Tears + did not seem to afford relief when one shed them into handkerchiefs and + pillows. But on that gentle bosom, to let loose this brimming flood, to + hear the tender voice consoling! + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say, now! Please!” she heard Johnny Two-Hawks cry out. + </p> + <p> + But she rushed on blindly, knocking against the door jamb and almost + upsetting the nurse, who was returning. Somehow she managed to reach the + living room, glad it was dark. Alter sundry reaching about she found the + divan and flung herself upon it. What would he think? What would the nurse + think? That Kitty Conover had suddenly gone stark, raving crazy! And now + that she was in the dark, alone, the desire to weep passed over and she + lay quietly with her face buried in the pillow. But not for long. + </p> + <p> + She sat up. Music—violin music! A gay waltz that made her think of + flashing water, the laughter of children. Tschaikowsky. Thrilled, she + waited for the finale. Silence. Scharwenka's “Polish Dance,” with a swing + and a fire beyond anything she had ever heard before. Another stretch of + silence—a silence full of interrogation points. Then a tender little + sketch, quite unfamiliar. But all at once she understood. He was imploring + her to return. She smiled in the dark; but she knew she was going to + remain right where she was. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Conover?” It was the voice of the nurse. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I'm over here on the divan.” + </p> + <p> + “Anything wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious, no! I'm overtired. A little hysterical, maybe. The parade + to-day, with all those wounded boys in automobiles, the music and colour + and excitement—have rather done me up. And the way I rushed up here. + And not finding Cutty—” + </p> + <p> + “Anything I can get for you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks. I'll try to snatch a little sleep before Cutty returns.” + </p> + <p> + “But he may be gone all night!” + </p> + <p> + “Will it be so very scandalous if I stay here?” + </p> + <p> + “You poor child! Go ahead and sleep. Don't hesitate to call me if you want + anything. I have a mild sedative if you would like it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks. I did not know that Mr. Hawksley played.” + </p> + <p> + “Wonderfully! But does it bother you?” + </p> + <p> + “It kind of makes me choky.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell him.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty, now strangely at peace, snuggled down among the pillows. Some great + Polish violinist, who had roused the bitter enmity of the anarchist? But + no; he was Russian. Cutty had admitted that. It struck her that Cutty knew + a great deal more than Kitty Conover; and so far as she could see there + was no apparent reason for this secrecy. She rather believed she had + Cutty. Either he should tell her everything or she would run loose, + Bolshevik or no Bolshevik. + </p> + <p> + Sheep. She boosted one over the bars, another and another. Round somewhere + in the thirties the bars dissolved. The next thing she knew she was + blinking in the light, Cutty, his arms folded, staring down at her + sombrely. There was blood on his face and blood on his hands. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <p> + Karlov moodily touched the shoulder of the man on the cot. Stefani Gregor + puzzled him. He came to this room more often than was wise, driven by a + curiosity born of a cynical philosophy to discover what it was that + reenforced this fragile body against threats and thirst and hunger. He + knew what he wanted of Gregor—the fiddler on his knees begging for + mercy. And always Gregor faced him with that silent calm which reminded + him of the sea, aloof, impervious, exasperating. Only once since the day + he had been locked in this room had Gregor offered speech. He, Karlov, had + roared at him, threatened, baited, but his reward generally had been a + twisted wintry smile. + </p> + <p> + He could not offer physical torture beyond the frequent omissions of food + and water; the body would have crumbled. To have planned this for months, + and then to be balked by something as visible yet as elusive as + quicksilver! Born in the same mudhole, and still Boris Karlov the avenger + could not understand Stefani Gregor the fiddler. Perhaps what baffled him + was that so valiant a spirit should be housed in so weak a body. It was + natural that he, Boris, with the body of a Carpathian bear, should have a + soul to match. But that Stefani, with his paper body, should mock him! The + damned bourgeoisie! + </p> + <p> + The quality of this unending calm was understandable: Gregor was always + ready to die. What to do with a man to whom death was release? To hold the + knout and to see it turn to water in the hand! In lying he had + overreached. Gregor, having accepted as fact the reported death of Ivan, + had nothing to live for. Having brought Gregor here to torture he had, + blind fool, taken away the fiddler's ability to feel. The fog cleared. He + himself had given his enemy this mysterious calm. He had taken out + Gregor's soul and dissipated it. + </p> + <p> + No. Not quite dissipated. What held the body together was the iron residue + of the soul. Venom and blood clogged Karlov's throat. He could kill only + the body, as he had killed the fiddle; he could not reach the mystery + within. Ah, but he had wrung Stefani's heart there. There were pieces of + the fiddle on the table where Gregor had placed them, doubtless to weep + over when he was alone. Why hadn't he thought to break the fiddle a little + each day? + </p> + <p> + “Stefani Gregor, sit up. I have come to talk.” This was formula. Karlov + did not expect speech from Gregor. + </p> + <p> + Slowly the thin arms bore up the torso; slowly the legs swung to the + floor. But the little gray man's eyes were bright and quick to-night. + </p> + <p> + “Boris, what is it you want?” + </p> + <p> + “To talk”—surprised at this unexpected outburst. + </p> + <p> + “No, no. I mean, what is it all about—these killings, these + burnings?” + </p> + <p> + Karlov was ready at all times to expound the theories that appealed to his + dark yet simple mind—humanity overturned as one overturned the sod + in the springtime to give it new life. + </p> + <p> + “To give the proletariat what is his.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” said the little man on the cot. “What is his?” + </p> + <p> + “That which capitalism has taken away from him.” + </p> + <p> + “The proletariat. The lowest in the human scale—and therefore the + most helpless. They shall rule, say you. My poor Russia! Beaten and robbed + for centuries, and now betrayed by a handful of madmen—with brains + atrophied on one side! You are a fool, Boris. Your feet are in strange + quicksands and your head among chimeras. You write some words on a piece + of paper, and lo! you say they are facts. Without first proving your + theories correct you would ram them down the throat of the world. The + world rejects you.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait and see, damned bourgeoisie!” thundered Karlov, not alive to the + fact that he was being baited. + </p> + <p> + “Bourgeoisie? Yes, I am of the middle class; the rogue on top and the fool + below. I see. The rogue and the fool cannot combine unless the bourgeoisie + is obliterated. Go on. I am interested.” + </p> + <p> + “Under the soviet the government shall be everything.” + </p> + <p> + “As it was in Prussia.” + </p> + <p> + Karlov ignored this. “The individual shall never again become rich by + exploiting the poor.” + </p> + <p> + Karlov strove to speak calmly. Gregor's willingness to discuss the aims of + the proletariat confused him. He suspected some ulterior purpose behind + this apparent amiability. He must hold down his fury until this purpose + was in the open. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that is good,” Gregor admitted. “But somehow it sounds ancient on + my ear. Was there not a revolution in France?” + </p> + <p> + “Fool, it is the world that is revolting!” Karlov paused. “And no man in + the future shall see his sister or his daughter made into a loose woman + without redress.” + </p> + <p> + “Your proletariat's sister and daughter. But the daughter of the noble and + the daughter of the bourgeoisie—fair game!” + </p> + <p> + Sometimes there enters a man's head what might be called a sick idea; when + the vitality is at low ebb and the future holds nothing. Thus there was a + grim and sick idea behind Gregor's gibes. It was in his mind to die. All + the things he had loved had been destroyed. So then, to goad this madman + into a physical frenzy. Once those gorilla-like hands reached out for him + Stefani Gregor's neck would break. + </p> + <p> + “Be still, fiddler! You know what I mean. There will be no upper class, + which is idleness and wastefulness; no middle class, the usurers, the + gamblers of necessities, the war makers. One great body of equals shall + issue forth. All shall labour.” + </p> + <p> + “For what?” + </p> + <p> + “The common good.” + </p> + <p> + “Your Lenine offered peace, bread, and work for the overthrow of Kerensky. + What you have given—murder and famine and idleness. Can there be + common good that is based upon the blood of innocents? Did Ivan ever harm + a soul? Have I?” + </p> + <p> + “You!” Karlov trembled. “You—with your damned green stones! Did you + not lure Anna to dishonour with the promise to show her the drums, the + sight of which would make all her dreams come true? A child, with a fairy + story in her head!” + </p> + <p> + “You speak of Anna! If you hadn't been spouting your twaddle in taverns + you would have had time to instruct Anna against guilelessness and + superstition.” + </p> + <p> + “How much did they pay you? Did you fiddle for her to dance?... But I left + their faces in the mud!” + </p> + <p> + A madman, with two obsessions. A pitiable Samson with his arms round the + pillars of society to drag it down upon his head because society had + defiled his sister! Ah, how many thousands in Russia like him! A great + yearning filled Gregor's heart, because he understood; but he suppressed + expression of it because the sick idea was stronger. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes! I loved those green stones because it was born in me to love + beautiful things. Have you forgotten, Boris, the old days in Moscow, when + we were students and I made you weep with my fiddle? There was hope for + you then. You had not become a pothouse orator on the rights of the + proletariat—the red-combed rooster on the smouldering dungheap! + Beauty, no matter in what form, I loved it. Yes, I was mad about those + emeralds. I was always stealing in to see them, to hold them to the light, + simply because they were beautiful.” Gregor's hands flew to his throat, + which he bared. “I lured her there! 'Twas I, Boris!... Those beautiful + hands of yours, fit for the butcher's block! Kill me! Kill me!” + </p> + <p> + But Karlov shrank back, covering his eyes. “No! I see now! You wish to + die! You shall live!” He rushed toward the far wall, a huge grotesque + shadow rising to meet him—his own, thrown upon the wall by the + wavering candlelight. He turned shaking, for the temptation had been + great. + </p> + <p> + At once Gregor realized his failure. The tenseness went out of him. He + spoke calmly. “Yes, I wanted to die. I no longer possess anything. I lied, + Boris; but it is useless to tell you that. I knew nothing of Anna until it + was too late. I wanted to die.” + </p> + <p> + Karlov began to pace furiously, the candle flame springing after him each + time he passed it. + </p> + <p> + There was a question in Gregor's mind. It rushed to his lips a dozen times + but he dared not voice it. Olga. Since Karlov could not be tempted to + murder, it would be futile to ask for an additional burden of mental + torture. Perhaps it had not happened—the terrible picture he drew in + his mind—since Karlov had not boasted of it. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Boris. There is blood on your hands. What is one more daub of it?” + </p> + <p> + Karlov stopped, scowled, and ran his fingers through his hair. Perhaps + some ugly memory stirred the roots of it. “You wish to die!” + </p> + <p> + Gregor bent his head to his hands and Karlov resumed his pacing. After a + while Gregor looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Private vengeance. You begin your rule with private vengeance.” + </p> + <p> + “The vengeance of a people. All the breed. Did France stop at Louis? Do we + tear up the roots of the poisonous toadstool that killed someone we loved + and leave the other toadstools thriving?” + </p> + <p> + “To cure the world of all its ills by tearing up the toadstools and the + flowers together—do you call that justice? The proletariat shall + have everything, and he begins by killing off noble and bourgeoisie and + dividing up the loot! Even with his oppression the noble had a right to + live. The bourgeoisie must die because of his benefactions to a people. + The world for the proletariat, and damnation for the rest!” + </p> + <p> + “Let each become one of us,” cried Karlov, hoarsely. “We give them that + right.” + </p> + <p> + “You lie! You have done nothing but assassinate them when they + surrendered. But tell me, have not you, Lenine, and Trotzky overlooked + something?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” Karlov was vaguely grateful for this diversion. The lust to kill + was still upon him and he was fighting it. He must remember that Gregor + wished to die. “What have we overlooked?” + </p> + <p> + “Human nature. Can you tear it apart and reconstruct it, as you would a + clock? What of creative genius in this proletariat millennium of yours?” + </p> + <p> + “The state will carefully mother that.” + </p> + <p> + Gregor laughed sardonically. “Will there be creative genius under your + rule? Will you not suffocate it by taking away the air that energizes it—ambition? + You will have all the present marvels of invention to start with, but will + you ever go beyond? Have you read history and observed the inexorable? I + doubt it. What is progress? A series of almost imperceptible steps.” + </p> + <p> + “Which capitalism has always obstructed,” flung back Karlov. + </p> + <p> + “Which capitalism has always made possible. Curb it, yes; but abolish it, + as you have done in unhappy Russia! Why do you starve there? Poor fool, + because you have assassinated those forces which created food—that + is to say, put it where you could get it. Three quarters of Russia are + against you. You read nothing in that? The efficient and the inefficient, + they shall lie down together as the lion and the ass, to paraphrase. They + shall become equal because you say so. What is, fundamentally, this + Bolshevism? The revolt of the inefficient. The mantle of horror that was + Germany's you have torn from her shoulders and thrown upon yours. Fools!” + </p> + <p> + The anarch's huge fists became knotted; wrinkles corrugated his forehead; + but he did not stir. Gregor wanted to die. + </p> + <p> + Gregor pointed with trembling hand toward the brown litter on the table. + “To destroy. You shattered a soul there. You tore mine apart when you did + it. For what? To better humanity? No; to rend something, to obliterate + something that was beautiful. Demolition. Go on. You will tear and rend + until exhaustion comes, then some citizen king, some headstrong Napoleon, + will step in. The French Revolution taught you nothing. You play 'The + Marseillaise' in the Neva Prospekt and miss the significance of that song. + Liberty? You choose license. Equality? You deny it in your acts. + Fraternity? You slaughter your brothers.” + </p> + <p> + “Be silent!” roared Karlov, wavering. + </p> + <p> + But Gregor continued with a new-found hope. He saw that his jeers were + wearing down the other's control. Perhaps the weak side was the political. + Karlov was a fanatic. There might yet be death in those straining fingers. + </p> + <p> + “To seize by confiscation, without justice, indiscriminately all that the + group efficient laboriously constructed. I enter your house, kill your + family and steal your silver. Are your acts fundamentally different from + mine? Remember, I am speaking from the point of view as three quarters of + Russia see it, and all the other civilized nations. There may be something + magnificent in that soviet constitution of yours; but you have deluged it + in blood and folly. Ostensibly you are dividing up the great estates, but + actually you are parcelling them out and charging rent. You will not own + anything. The state shall own all the property. What will be the + patriotism of the man who has nothing? Why defend something that is only + his government's, not his own? You are legalizing women as cows. The sense + of motherhood will vanish when a woman may not select her mate. What is + the greatest thing in the world? The human need of possession. To own + something, however little. The spur of creative genius. Human beings will + never be equal except in lawful privileges. The skillful will outpace the + unskillful; the thrifty will take from the improvident; genius will + overtop mediocrity. And you will change all this with a scrape of your + bloody pen!” + </p> + <p> + Karlov's body began to rock and sway like an angry bear's; but still he + held his ground. Gregor wanted to die, to cheat him. + </p> + <p> + “What of power?” went on his baiter. “Capitalism of might. Lenine and + Trotzky; are they—have they been—honest? Has Russia actually + voted them into office? They sit in the seats of the mighty by the + capitalism of force. For the capitalism of money, which is progress + physical and moral, you substitute the capitalism of force, which is + terror. You speak of yourselves as internationalists. Bats, that is the + judgment day of God—internationalism! For only on the judgment day + will nations become a single people.” + </p> + <p> + A short silence. Gregor was beginning to grow weak. Presently he picked up + the thread of his diatribe. + </p> + <p> + “I have lived in England, France, Italy, and here. I am competent to draw + comparisons. Where you went to distill poison I went to absorb facts. And + I found that here in this great democracy is the true idea. But you will + not read the lesson.” + </p> + <p> + Sweat began to drop from Karlov's beetling eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “You will fail miserably here. Why? Because the Americans are the greatest + of individual property owners. The sense of possession is satisfied. And + woe to the fool who suggests they surrender this. Little wooden houses, + thousands and thousands of them, with a small plot of ground in the rear + where a man in the springtime may dig his hands into the soil and say + gratefully to God, 'Mine, mine!' I, too, am a Russ. I thought in the + beginning that you would take this country as an example, a government of + the people, by the people, for the people. Wrongs? Yes. But day by day + these wrongs are being righted. No lesson in this for Trotzky, a beer-hall + orator like yourself. Ten million men drafted to carry arms. Did they + revolt? Shoulder to shoulder the selected millions marched to the great + ships, shoulder to shoulder they pressed toward the Rhine. No lesson in + that! + </p> + <p> + “Capitalism, seeking to save its loans, you rant! Capitalism of blood and + money that asked only for simple justice to mankind. The ideal of a great + people—a mixture of all bloods, even German! No lessons in these + tremendous happenings! And you babble about your damned proletariat who + represents the dregs of Russia. What is he? The inefficient, whining that + the other man has the luck, so kill him! Russia, the kindly ox, fallen + among wolves! You cannot tear down the keystone of civilization—which + took seven thousand years to construct—insert it upside down, and + expect the arch to stand. You have your chance to prove your theories. + Prove them in Petrograd and Moscow, and you will not have to go forth with + the torch. And what is this torch but the hidden fear that you may be + wrong?... To wreck the world before you are found out! You are idiots, and + you have turned Russia into a madhouse! Spawns from the dung-heap!” + </p> + <p> + “Damn you, Stefani Gregor!” Karlov rushed to the cot, raised his terrible + fists, his chest heaving. Gregor waited. “No, no! You wish to die!” The + madman swung on his heels and dashed toward the door, sweeping the pieces + of the violin to the floor as he passed the table. + </p> + <p> + Gregor feebly drew himself back upon his cot and laid his face in the + pillow. + </p> + <p> + “Ivan—my violin—all that I knew and loved—gone! And God + will not let me die!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI + </h2> + <p> + From a window in one of the vacant warehouses, twenty-odd feet away Cutty, + from an oblique angle, had witnessed the peculiar drama without being able + to grasp head or tail to it. For two hours he had crouched behind his + window, watching the man on the cot and wondering if he would ever turn + his face toward the candlelight. Then Karlov had entered. Gregor's ironic + calm—with the exception of the time he had bared his throat—and + Karlov's tempestuous exit baffled him. To the eye it had the appearance of + a victory for Gregor and a defeat for Karlov, but Cutty had long ago + ceased to believe his eyes without some corroborative evidence of + auricular character. + </p> + <p> + He had recognized both men. Karlov answered to Kitty's description as an + old glove answers to the hand. And no man, once having seen Gregor, could + possibly forget his picturesque head. The old chap was alive! This fact + made the night's adventure tally one hundred per cent. How to get a cheery + word to him, to buck him up with, the promise of help? A hard nut to + crack; so many obstacles. Primarily, this was a Federal affair. Yonder hid + the werewolf and his pack, and it would be folly to send them scattering + just for the sake of advising Gregor that he was being watched over. + </p> + <p> + Underneath the official obligation there was a personal interest in not + risking the game to warn Gregor. Cutty was now positive that the drums of + jeopardy were hidden somewhere in this house. To perform three acts, then: + Save Gregor, capture Karlov and his pack, and privately confiscate the + emeralds. Findings were keepings. No compromise regarding those green + stones. It would not particularly hurt his reputation with St. Peter to + play the half rogue once in a lifetime. Besides, St. Peter, hadn't he + stolen something himself back there in the Biblical days; or got into a + scrape or something? The old boy would understand. Cutty grinned in the + dark. + </p> + <p> + Any obsession is a blindfold. A straight course lay open to Cutty, but he + chose the labyrinthian because he was obsessed. He wanted those emeralds. + Nothing less than the possession of them would, to his thinking, round out + a varied and active career. Later, perhaps, he would declare the stones to + the customs and pay the duty; perhaps. Thus his subsequent mishaps this + night may be laid to the fact that he thought and saw through green + spectacles. + </p> + <p> + The idea that the jewels were hidden near by made it imperative that he + should handle this affair exclusively. Coles, the operative he had sent to + negotiate with Karlov, was conceivably a prisoner upstairs or down. Coles + knew about the drums, and they must not turn up under his eye. Federal + property, in that event. + </p> + <p> + If ever he laid his hands upon the drums he would buy something gorgeous + for Kitty. Little thoroughbred! + </p> + <p> + Time for work. Without doubt Karlov had cellar exits through this + warehouse or the other. The job on hand would be first to locate these + exits, and then to the trap on the roof. With his pocket lamp blazing a + trail he went down to the cellar and carefully inspected the walls that + abutted those of the house. Nothing on this side. + </p> + <p> + He left the warehouse and hugged the street wall for a space. The street + was deserted. Instead of passing Karlov's abode he wisely made a detour of + the block. He reached the entrance to the second warehouse without + sighting even a marauding tom. In the cellar of this warehouse he + discovered a newly made door, painted skillfully to represent the + limestone of the foundation. Tiptop. + </p> + <p> + Immediately he outlined the campaign. There should be two drives—one + from the front and another from the roof—so that not an anarchist or + Bolshevik could escape. The mouth of the Federal sack should be held at + this cellar exit. No matter what kind of game he played offside, the raid + itself must succeed absolutely. Nothing should swerve him from making + these plans as perfect as it was humanly possible. He would be on hand to + search Karlov himself. If the drums were not on him he would return and + pick the old mansion apart, lath by lath. Gay old ruffian, wasn't he? + </p> + <p> + Another point worth considering: He would keep his discoveries under cover + until the hour to strike came. Some over-zealous subordinate might attempt + a coup on his own and spoil everything. + </p> + <p> + He picked his way to the far end of the cellar, to the doors. Locks gone. + He took it for granted that the real-estate agent would not come round + with prospective tenants. These doors would take them into the trucking + alley, where there were a dozen feasible exits. There was no way out of + the house yard, as the brick wall, ten feet high and running from + warehouse to warehouse, was blind. Now for the trap on the roof. + </p> + <p> + He climbed the three flights of stairs crisscrossed and festooned with + ancient cobwebs. Occasionally he sneezed in the crook of his elbow, + philosophizing over the fact that there was a lot of deadwood property in + New York. Americans were eternally on the move. + </p> + <p> + The window from which he intended dropping to the house roof was obdurate. + Only the upper half was movable. With hardly any noise at all he pulled + this down, straddled it, balanced himself, secured a good grip on the + ledge, and let himself down. The tips of his shoes, rubber-soled, just + reached the roof. He landed silently. + </p> + <p> + The glare of the street lamp at the corner struck the warehouse, and this + indirect light was sufficient to work by. He made the trap after a series + of extra-cautious steps. The roof was slanting and pebbled, and the least + turn of the foot might start a cascade and bell an alarm. A comfort-loving + dress-suiter like himself, playing Old Sleuth, when he ought to be home + and in bed! It was all of two-thirty. What the deuce would he do when + there were no more thrills in life? + </p> + <p> + He stooped and caught hold of a corner of the trap to test it—and + drew back with a silent curse. Glass! He had cut his hand. The beggars had + covered the trap with cement and broken glass, sealing it. It would take + time to cut round the trap; and even then he wouldn't be sure; they might + have nailed it down from the inside. The worst of it was he would have to + do the work himself; and in the meantime Karlov would have a fair wind for + his propaganda gas, and perhaps the disposal of the drums to some + collector who wasn't above bargaining for smuggled emeralds. Odd, though, + that Karlov should have made a prisoner of Coles. What lay behind that + manoeuvre? Well, this trap must be liberated; no getting round that. + </p> + <p> + Hang it, he wasn't going to be dishonest exactly; it would be simply a + double play, half for Uncle Sam and half for himself. The idea of offering + freely his blood and money to Uncle Sam and at the same time putting one + over on the old gentleman had a novel appeal. + </p> + <p> + He stood up and wiped a tickling cobweb from his cheek. As the window from + which he had descended came into range he stared, loose-jawed. Then be + chuckled, as thoroughbred adventurers generally chuckle when they find + themselves at the bottom of the sack, the mouth of which has + simultaneously and automatically closed. Wasn't he the brainy old top? + Wasn't he Sherlock Holmes plus? Old fool, how the devil was he going to + get back through that window? + </p> + <p> + The drums of jeopardy—even to think of them was unlucky! Not to have + planned a retreat; to have climbed down a well and cut the bucket rope! + For in effect that was precisely what he had done. Only wings could carry + him up to that window. With sardonic humour he felt of his shoulder + blades. Not a feather in sight. Then he touched his ears. Ah, here was + something definite; they had grown several inches during the past few + hours. Monumental ass! + </p> + <p> + Of course there would be the drain. He could escape; but, dear Lord! with + enough noise to wake the dead. And that would write “Finis” to this + particular adventure. The quarry and the emeralds would be gone before he + could return with help. When everything had gone so smoothly—a jolt + like this! + </p> + <p> + A crowded day, and no mistake, as full of individual acts as a bill at a + vaudeville, trained-animal act last. Was it possible that he had gone + fiddle hunting that morning, netting an Amati worth ten thousand dollars? + Hawksley—no, he couldn't blame Hawksley. Still, if this young + Humpty-Dumpty hadn't been pushed off his wall he, Cutty, would not now be + marooned upon this roof 'twixt the devil and the deep blue sea. To remain + here until sunrise would be impossible; to slide down the drain was + equally impossible—that is, if he ever wanted to see Boris Karlov + again. The way of the transgressor was hard. + </p> + <p> + He sat on his heels and let his gaze rove four-square, permitting no + object to escape. He saw a clothes pole leaning against the chimney. + Evidently the former tenants had hung up their laundry here. There was no + clothesline, however. Caught, jolly well, blooming well caught! If ever + this got abroad he would be laughed out of the game. He wasn't going to + put one over on Uncle Sam after all. There might be some kind of a fire + escape on the front of the house. No harm in taking a look; it would serve + to pass the time. + </p> + <p> + There was the usual frontal parapet about three feet in height. Upturned + in the shadow lay a gift from the gods-a battered kitchen chair, probably + used to reach the clothesline in the happy days when the word “Bolshevism” + was known to only a select few dark angels. + </p> + <p> + Cutty waved a hand cheerfully if vaguely toward his guiding star, picked + up the chair, commandeered the clothes pole, and silently manoeuvred to + the wall of the warehouse. Standing on the chair he placed the tip of the + pole against the top of the upper frame and pushed the frame halfway up. + He repeated this act upon the obdurate lower half. He heaved slowly but + with all his force. Glory be, the lower half went up far enough to afford + ingress! He would eat his breakfast in the apartment as usual. To-morrow + night he would establish his line of retreat by fetching a light rope + ladder. There was sweat at the roots of his hair, however, when he finally + gained the street. He was very tired. He observed mournfully that the + vigour which had always recharged itself, no matter how recklessly he had + drawn upon it, was beginning to protest. Fifty-two. + </p> + <p> + Well, his troubles were over for the night. So he believed. Arriving home, + dirty and spent, he had to find Kitty asleep on the divan! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII + </h2> + <p> + “Kitty,” he said, breaking the tableau, “what are you doing here?” + </p> + <p> + “You've been hurt! There is blood on you!” + </p> + <p> + “A trifling cut. But I'm hurt, nevertheless, that you should be so + thoughtless as to come here against my orders. It doesn't matter that + Karlov has given up the idea of having you followed. But for the sake of + us all you must be made to understand that we are dealing with high + explosives and poison gas. It's not what might happen to me or to Uncle + Sam's business. It's you. Any moment they may take it into their heads to + get at me and Hawksley through you. That's why we watch over you. You + don't want to see Hawksley done in, do you? It's real tragedy, Kitty, and + nobody can guess what the end is going to be.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty's lip quivered. “Cutty, if you talk like that to me I shall cry.” + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord, what about?”—bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “About everything. I've been on the verge of hysterics all day.” + </p> + <p> + “Kitty, you poor child, what's happened?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing—everything. Lonesome. When I saw all those mothers and + wives and sisters and sweethearts on the curb to-day, watching their boys + march by, it hit me hard. I was alone. Nobody. So please don't be cross + with me. I'm on the ragged edge. Silly, I know. But we women often go to + pieces over nothing, without any logical reason. Ready to face murder and + battle and sudden death; and then to blow up, as you men say it, over + nothing. I had to move, go somewhere, do something; so I came here. But I + came on—what do you call it?—official business. Here!” She + offered him the wallet. + </p> + <p> + “What's this?” + </p> + <p> + “Belongs to Johnny Two-Hawks. He hid it that night behind my flatirons on + the range. Why, Cutty, he's rich!” + </p> + <p> + “Did he show the contents?” + </p> + <p> + “Only the money and the bonds. He said if he had died the money and bonds + would have been mine. + </p> + <p> + “Providing Gregor was also dead.” Cutty looked into the wallet, but + disturbed nothing. “I imagine these funds are actually Gregor's.” + </p> + <p> + “He told me to give the wallet to you. And so I waited. I fell asleep. So + please don't scold me.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm a brute! But it's because you've become so much to me that I was + angry. You're Tommy and Molly's girl, and I've got to watch out for you + until you reach some kind of a port.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for the flowers. You'll never know just what they did for me. + There was somebody who gave me a thought.” + </p> + <p> + “Kitty, I honestly don't get you. A beauty like you, lonesome!” + </p> + <p> + “That's it. I am pretty. Why should I deny it? If I'd been homely I + shouldn't have been ashamed to invite my friends to my shabby home. I + shouldn't have cold shouldered everybody through false pride. But where + have you been, and what have you been doing?” + </p> + <p> + “Official business. But I just missed being a fine jackass. I'll look into + the wallet after I've cleaned up. I'm a mess of gore and dust. Is it + interesting stuff?” dreading her answer. + </p> + <p> + “The wallet? I did not look into it. I had no right.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Well, I'll be back in two jigs.” + </p> + <p> + He hurried off, relieved to learn that the secret was still beyond Kitty's + knowledge. Of course Hawksley wouldn't carry anything in the wallet by + which his true identity might be made known. Still, there would be stuff + to excite her interest and suspicion. Hawksley had shown her some of that + three hundred thousand probably. What a game! + </p> + <p> + He would say nothing about his own adventures and discoveries. He worked + on the theory that the best time to tell about something was after it had + become a fact. But no theory is perfect; and in this instance his + reticence was going to cost him intolerable agony in the near future. + </p> + <p> + Within a quarter of an hour he was back in the living room. Kitty was out + of sight; probably had curled up on the divan again. He would not disturb + her. Hawksley's wallet! He drew a chair under the reading lamp and + explored the wallet. Money and bonds he rather expected, but the customs + appraiser's receipt was like a buffet. The emeralds belonged honorably to + his guest! All his own plans were knocked galley-west by this discovery. + </p> + <p> + An odd sense of indignation blazed up in him, as though someone had + imposed upon him. The sport was gone, the fun of the thing; it became + merely official business. To appropriate a pair of smuggled emeralds was a + first-class sporting proposition, with a humorous twist. As it stood now, + he would be picking Hawksley's pocket; and he wasn't rogue enough for + that. Hang the luck! + </p> + <p> + Emeralds, rubies, sapphires, pearls, and diamonds! No doubt many of them + with histories—in a bag hung to his neck—and all these + thousands of miles! Not since the advent of the Gaekwar of Baroda into San + Francisco, in 1910, had so many fine stones passed through that port of + entry. + </p> + <p> + But why hadn't Hawksley inquired about them? Stoic indifference? A good + loser? How had he got through the customs without a lot of publicity? The + Russian consul of the old regime probably; and an appraiser who was a good + sport. To have come safely to his destination, and then to have lost out! + The magnificent careless generosity of putting the wallet behind Kitty's + flatirons, to be hers if he didn't pull through! Why, this fiddling + derelict was a man! Stood up and fought Karlov with his bare fists; wasn't + ashamed to weep over his mother's photograph; and fiddled like Heifetz. + All right. This Johnny Two-Hawks, as Kitty persisted in calling him, was + going to reach his Montana ranch. His friend Cutty would take it upon + himself to see to that. + </p> + <p> + It struck him that after all he would have to play the game as he had + planned it. Those gems falling into the hands of the Federal agents would + surely bring to light Hawksley's identity; and Hawksley should have his + chance. + </p> + <p> + Cutty then came upon the will. Somehow the pathos of it went deep into his + heart. The poor devil!—a will that hadn't been witnessed, the + handwriting the same as that on the passport. If he had fallen into the + hands of the police they would have justifiably locked him up as a murder + suspect. Two-Hawks! It was a small world. He returned the contents to the + wallet, leaving out the will, however. This he thrust into a drawer. + </p> + <p> + “Coffee?” said Kitty at his elbow. + </p> + <p> + “Kitty? I'd forgotten you! I thought I smelt coffee. Just what I wanted, + too, only I hadn't brains enough left to think of it. Smells better than + anything Kuroki makes.... Tastes better, too. You're going to make some + lucky duffer a fine wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there anything you can tell me, Cutty?” + </p> + <p> + “A whole lot, Kitty; only I'm twenty years too old.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean the wallet. Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + Cutty drained the cup slowly. A good coherent lie, to appease Kitty's + curiosity; half a truth, something hard to nail. He set down the empty + cup, building. By the time he had filled his pipe and lit it he was ready. + </p> + <p> + Something bored up through the subconscious, however—a query. Why + hadn't he told her the plain truth at the start? Wasn't on account of the + drums. He hadn't kept her in the dark because of the drums. He could have + trusted her with that part of it—his tentative piracy. That to + divulge Hawksley's identity would be a menace to her peace of mind now + appeared ridiculous; and yet he had worked forward from this assumption. + No answer to the query. Generally he thought clearly enough; but somewhere + along this route he had made a muddle of things and couldn't find the + spot. The only point clearly defined was that he should wish to keep her + out of the affair because there were elements of positive danger. But + somewhere inside of him was a question asking for recognition, and it + eluded him. Nothing could be solved until this question got out of the + fog. Even now he might risk the whole truth; but the lie he had woven + appeared too good to waste. + </p> + <p> + Human frailty. The most accomplished human being is the finished liar. + Never to forget a detail, to remember step by step the windings, over a + ticklish road. And Cutty, for all his wide newspaper experience, was a + poor liar because he had been brought up on facts. Perhaps his lie might + have passed had he not been so fagged. The physical labours of the night + had dulled his perceptions. + </p> + <p> + “Ab, but that tastes good!”—as he blew forth a wavering ring of + smoke. + </p> + <p> + “It ought to have at least one merit,” replied Kitty, wrinkling her nose. + What a fine profile Cutty had! “Now, who and what is he? I'm dying to + know.” + </p> + <p> + “An odd story; probably hundreds like it. You see, the Bolsheviki have + driven out of the country or killed all the nobles and bourgeoisie. Some + of them have escaped—into China, Sweden, India, wherever they could + find an open route. To his story there are many loose ends, and Hawksley + is not the talking kind. You mustn't repeat what I tell you. Hawksley, + with all that money and a forged English passport, would have a good deal + of trouble explaining if he ran afoul the police. There is no real proof + that the money is his or Gregor's. As a matter of fact, it is Gregor's, + and Hawksley was bringing it to him. Hawksley is Gregor's protege.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty nodded. This dovetailed with what Johnny Two-Hawks had told her that + night. + </p> + <p> + “How the two came together originally I don't know. Gregor was in his + younger days a great violinist, but unknown to the American public. Early + in his career he speculated with his concert earnings and turned a pot of + money. He dropped the professional career for that of a country gentleman. + He had a handsome estate, and lived sensibly. He sent Hawksley to England + to school and spent a good deal of time there with him, teaching him how + to play the fiddle, for which it seems Hawksley had a natural bent. He had + to Anglicize his name; for Two-Hawks would have made people laugh. To be a + gentleman, Kitty, one does not have to be a prince or a grand duke. Gregor + was a polished gentleman, and he turned Hawksley into one.” + </p> + <p> + Again Kitty nodded, her eyes sparkling. + </p> + <p> + “The Russ—the educated Russ—is a queer biscuit. Got to have a + finger in some political pie, and political pies in Russia before the war + were lese-majesty. The result—Gregor got in wrong with his secret + society and the political police and was forced to fly to save his life. + But before he fled he had all his convertible funds transferred. Only his + estate was confiscated. Hawksley was in London when the war broke out. + There was a lot of red tape, naturally, regarding the funds. I shan't + bother you with that, Hawksley, hoping to better his protector's future, + returned to Russia and joined his regiment and fought until the Czar + abdicated. Foretasting the trend of events, he tried to get back to + England, but that was impossible. He was permitted to retire to the Gregor + estate, where he remained until the uprising of the Bolsheviki. Then he + started across the world to join Gregor.” + </p> + <p> + “That was brave.” + </p> + <p> + “It certainly was. I imagine that Hawksley's journey has that of Ulysses + laid away on the shelf. Karlov was the head of the society which had voted + Gregor's death. So he had agents watching Hawksley. And Karlov himself + undertook the chase across Russia, China, and the Pacific.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad I gave him something to eat. But Gregor, a valet in a hotel, + with all that money!” + </p> + <p> + “The red tape.” + </p> + <p> + “What a dizzy world we live in, Cutty!” + </p> + <p> + “Dizzy is the word.” Cutty sighed. His yarn had passed a very shrewd + censor. “Karlov feels it his duty to kill off all his countryman who do + not agree with his theories. He wanted these funds here, but Hawksley was + too clever for him. Remember, now, not a word of this to Hawksley. I tell + you this in confidence.” + </p> + <p> + “I promise.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to spend the night here. It's round four, and the power has + been shut off. There's the stairs, but it would be dawn before you reach + the street.” + </p> + <p> + “Who cares?” + </p> + <p> + “I do. I don't believe you're in a good mood to send back to that garlicky + warren. I wish to the Lord you'd leave it!” + </p> + <p> + “It's difficult to find anything desirable within my means. Rents are + terrifying. I'll sleep on the divan. A rug or a blanket. I'm a silly fool, + I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “You can have a guest room.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd rather the divan; less scandalous. Cutty, I forgot. He played for + me.” + </p> + <p> + “What? He did?” + </p> + <p> + “I had to run out of the room because some things he said choked me up. + Didn't care whether he died or not. He was even lonelier than I. I lay + down on the divan, and then I heard music. Funny, but somehow I fancied he + was calling me back; and I had to hang on to the divan. Cutty, he is a + great violinist.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you fond of music?” + </p> + <p> + “I am mad about it! I'm always running round to concerts; and I'd walk + from Battery to Bronx to hear a good violinist.” + </p> + <p> + Fiddles and Irish hearts. Swiftly came the vision of Hawksley fiddling the + heart out of this lonely girl—if he had the chance. And he, Cutty, + was going to fascinate her—with what? He rose and took her by the + shoulders, bringing her round so that the light was full in her face. + Slate-blue eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Kitty, what would you say if I kissed you?” Inwardly he asked: “Now, what + the devil made me say that?” + </p> + <p> + The sinister and cynical idea leaped from its ambush. “Why, Cutty, I—I + don't believe I should mind. It's—it's you!” Vile wretch that she + was! + </p> + <p> + Cutty, noting the lily succeeding the rose, did not kiss her. Fate has a + way of reversing the illogical and giving it logical semblance. It was + perfectly logical that he should not kiss her; and yet that was exactly + what he should have done. The fatherliness of the salute—and he + couldn't have made it anything else—would have shamed Kitty's + peculiar state of mind out of existence and probably sent back to its + eternal sleep that which was strangely reawaking in his lonely heart. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, Kitty. That wasn't exactly nice of me, even if I was trying + to be funny.” + </p> + <p> + She tore away from him, flung herself upon the divan, her face in the + pillows, and let down the dam. + </p> + <p> + This wild sobbing—apparently without any reason terrified Cutty. He + put both hands into his hair, but he drew them out immediately without + retaining any of the thinning gray locks. Done up, both of them; that was + the matter. He longed to console her, but knew not what to say or how to + act. He had not seen a woman weep like this in so many years that he had + forgotten the remedies. + </p> + <p> + Should he call the nurse? But that would only add to Kitty's + embarrassment, and the nurse would naturally misinterpret the situation. + He couldn't kneel and put his arms round her; and yet it was a situation + that called for arms and endearments. He had sense enough to recognize + that. Molly's girl crying like that, and he able to do nothing! It was + intolerable. But what was she weeping about? + </p> + <p> + Covering the divan was a fine piece of Bokhara embroidery. He drew this + down over Kitty and tucked her in, turned off the light, and proceeded to + his bedroom. + </p> + <p> + Kitty's sobs died eventually. There was an occasional hiccup. That, too, + disappeared. To play—or even think of playing—a game like + that! She was despicable. A silly little fool, too, to suppose that so + keen a mind as Cutty's would not see through the artifice! What was + happening to her that she could let such a thought into her head? + </p> + <p> + By and by she was able to pick up Cutty's narrative and review it. Not a + word about the drums of jeopardy, the mark of the thong round Hawksley's + neck. Hadn't she let him know that she knew the author of that + advertisement offering to buy the drums, no questions asked? Very well, + then; if he would not tell her the truth she would have to find it out + herself. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Cutty sat on the edge of his bed staring blankly at the rug, + trying to find a pick-up to the emotions that beset him. One thing issued + clearly: He had wanted to kiss the child. He still wanted to kiss her. Why + hadn't he? Unanswerable. It was still unanswerable even when the pallor of + dawn began slowly to absorb the artificial light of his bed lamp. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII + </h2> + <p> + When Cutty awoke—having had about two hours' sleep—he was + instantly conscious that the zest had gone from the adventure. It had + resolved itself into official business into which he had projected himself + gratuitously; and having assumed the offices of chief factor, he would + have to see the affair through, victim of his own greediness. It did not + serve to marshal excuses. He had frankly entered the affair in the role of + buccaneer; and here he was, high and dry on the reef. + </p> + <p> + The drums of jeopardy, so far as he was concerned, had been shot into the + moon two hundred thousand miles out of reach. He found himself resenting + Hawksley's honesty in the matter of the customs. + </p> + <p> + But immediately this sense of resentment caused him to chuckle. Certainly + some ancestor of his had been a Black Bart or a Galloping Dick. + </p> + <p> + He would put a few straight questions to Hawksley, however. To have lost + all those precious stones and not to have inquired about them was a bit + foggy, wasn't normal, human. Unless—bang on the plexus came the + thought!—the beggar had hidden them himself. He had been exceedingly + clever in hiding the wallet. Come to think of it, he hadn't mentioned + that, either. Of course he had hidden the stones—either in Gregor's + apartment or in Kitty's. Blind as a bat. Now he understood why Karlov had + made a prisoner of Coles. The old buzzard had sensed a trap and had + countered it. The way of the transgressor was hard. His punishment for + entertaining a looter's idea would be work when he wanted to loaf and + enjoy himself. + </p> + <p> + Arriving at Hawksley's door he was confronted by a spectacle not without + its humorous touch: The nurse extending a bowl and Hawksley staring at the + sky beyond the window, stonily. + </p> + <p> + “But you must!” insisted Miss Frances. + </p> + <p> + “Chops or beefsteak!” + </p> + <p> + “It will give you nausea.” + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to find out. Dash it, I'm hungry!” Hawksley declared. “I'm no + fever patient. A smart rap on the head; nothing more than that. Healthy + food will draw the blood down from there. Haven't lost anything but a few + hours of consciousness, and you treat me as though I'd been jolly well + peppered with shrapnel and gassed. Touch that stuff? Rather not! Chops or + beefsteak!” + </p> + <p> + “Let him have it, Miss Frances,” advised Cutty from the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “But it's unusual,” replied the nurse as a final protest. + </p> + <p> + “Give it a try. Is he strong enough to sit up through breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + “He's really not fit. But if he insists on doing the one he might as well + do the other.” + </p> + <p> + “Righto!”—from the patient. + </p> + <p> + “Will you tell Kuroki to make it a beefsteak breakfast for four? I know + how Mr. Hawksley feels. Been through the same bout.” Cutty wanted Miss + Frances out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Only, I've warned him.” Miss Frances left, somewhat miffed. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” said Hawksley, smiling. “She thinks I'm a canary.” + </p> + <p> + “Whereas you're an eagle.” + </p> + <p> + “Or a vulture.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty chew up a chair. “Frankly, I believe a good breakfast will put you a + peg up.” + </p> + <p> + “A beefsteak!” Hawksley stared ecstatically at the ceiling. “You see, I'm + naturally tough. Always went in for rough sports—football, rowing, + boxing. Poor old Stefani's idea; and not so bad, either. Of course he was + always worrying about my hands; but I always took great care to keep them + soft and pliant. Which sounds rummy, considering the pounding I used to + give and take. My word, I used to go to bed with my hands done up in + ointments like a professional beauty! Of course I'm dizzy yet, and the + bally spot is sore; but solid food and some exercise will have me off your + hands in no time. I don't fancy being coddled, y'know. I've been trouble + enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't let that worry you. I'll bring some togs in; flannels and soft + shirts. We're about the same height. Anyhow, the difference won't be + noticeable in flannels. I've had to tell Miss Conover a bit of fiction. + I'll tell you, so if need arises you can back me up.” + </p> + <p> + When Cutty finished his romance Hawksley frowned. “All said and done, if + I'm not that splendid old chap's protege, what am I? But for his patience + and kindness I'd have run true to the blood. He was with me at the + balancing age, when a chap becomes a man or a rotter. He actually gave up + a brilliant career because of me. He is a great musician, with that + strange faculty of taking souls out of people and untwisting them. I have + the gift, too, in a way; but there's always a bit of the devil in me when + I play. Natural bent, I fancy. And they've killed him!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Cutty, slowly. “But this is for your ear alone: He's alive; and + one of these days I'll bring him to you. So buck up.” + </p> + <p> + “Alive! Stefani alive!” whispered Hawksley. He stretched out his hand + rather blindly, and Cutty was surprised at the strength of the grip. + “Makes me feel choky. I say, are all Americans good Samaritans?” + </p> + <p> + Cutty put this aside because he did not care to disillusion Hawksley. “I + found an appraiser's receipt in your wallet. You carried some fine jewels. + Did you hide them or did Karlov get them? It struck me as odd that you + haven't inquired about them.” The change that came into Hawksley's face + alarmed Cutty. The rich olive skin became chalky and the eyes closed. + “What is it? Shall I call Miss Frances?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” Hawksley opened his eyes, but looked dully straight ahead. “The + stones! I was trying to forget! My God, I was trying to forget!” + </p> + <p> + “But they were yours?” Cutty was mystified beyond expression. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mine, mine, mine!”—panting. “Damn them! Some day I'll tell + you. But just now I can't toe the mark. I was trying to forget them! + Against my heart, gnawing into my soul like the beetle of the Spanish + Inquisition!” Silence. “But they were future bread and butter—for + Gregor as well as for myself. They got them, and may they damn Karlov as + they have damned me! I had no chance when I returned to Gregor's. They + were on me instantly. I put up a fight, but I'd come from a lighted room + and was practically blind. Let them go. Most of those stones came out of + hell, anyhow. Let them go. There is an unknown grave between those stones + and me.” + </p> + <p> + The level despair of the tone appalled Cutty. A crime somewhere? There was + still a bottom to this affair he had not plumbed? He rose, deeply + agitated. + </p> + <p> + “I'll fetch those togs for you. Miss Conover will breakfast with us, and + the sight of her will give you a brace. I'm sorry. I had to ask you.” + </p> + <p> + “Beefsteak and a pretty girl! That's something. I suppose she was trapped + by the lift not running.” Hawksley was trying to meet Cutty halfway to + cover up the tragedy. “I say, why the deuce do you let her live where she + does?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I'm not legally her guardian. She is the daughter of the man and + woman I loved best. All I can do is to watch over her. She lives on her + earnings as a newspaper writer. I'd give her half of all I have if I had + the least idea she would accept it.” + </p> + <p> + “Fond of her?” + </p> + <p> + “Fond of her!” repeated Cutty. “Why, of course I'm fond of her!” There was + a touch of indignation in his tone. + </p> + <p> + “Is she fond of you?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so.” What was the chap driving at? + </p> + <p> + “Then marry her,” suggested Hawksley with a cynical smile; “make a + settlement and give her her freedom. Simple enough. What?” + </p> + <p> + Cutty stepped back, stunned and terrified. “She would laugh at me!” + </p> + <p> + “You never can tell,” replied Hawksley, maintaining the crooked smile. The + devil was blazing in his eyes now. “Try it. It's being done every day; + even here in this big America of yours. From the European point of view + you have compromised her—or she has compromised herself, by spending + the night here. Convention has been disregarded. A ripping good chance, I + call it. You tell me she wouldn't accept benefits, and you want to help + her. If she's the kind I believe her to be, even if she refuses you she + will not be angry. You never can tell what woman will or won't do.” + </p> + <p> + An old and forgotten bit of mental machinery began to set up a + ditter-datter in Cutty's brain. Marry Kitty? Make a settlement, and then + give her her freedom? Rot! Girls of Kitty's calibre were above such + expediencies. He tried to resurrect his interest in the drums of jeopardy, + which he might now appropriate without having to shanghai his conscience. + The clitter-clatter smothered it; indeed, this new racket upset and + demoralized the well-ordered machinery of his thinking apparatus as + applied daily. Marry Kitty! + </p> + <p> + “I'm old enough to be her father.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that to do with it so long as convention is satisfied?” + </p> + <p> + Cutty was so shaken and confused that he missed the tragic irony of the + voice. All the receptive avenues to his brain seemed to have shut down + suddenly. He was conscious only of the clitter-clatter. Marry Kitty! + </p> + <p> + “You can't settle money on her,” went on Hawksley, “without scandal. You + can't offer her anything without offending her. And you can't let her go + to rust without having her bit of good times.” + </p> + <p> + “Utterly impossible,” said Cutty, to the idea rather than to his + tormentor. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course, if you have an affair—No, God forgive me, I don't + mean that! I'm a damned ingrate! But your bringing up those stones and + knocking off the top of all the misery piling up in my heart! I was only + trying to hurt you, hurt myself, everybody. Please have a little patience + with me, for I've come out of hell!” Hawksley turned aside his head. + </p> + <p> + “Buck up,” said Cutty, his blazing wrath dropping to a smoulder. “I'll + fetch those togs.” + </p> + <p> + What had the boy done to fill him with such tragic bitterness? Was he + Two-Hawks? Cutty dismissed this doubt instantly. He recalled the episode + of the boy's conduct when confronted by the photograph of his mother. No + human being could be a play actor in such a moment. The boy's emotion had + been deep and real. Cutty recognized the fact that he had become as a + block in the middle of a Chinese puzzle; only Fate could move him to his + appointed place. + </p> + <p> + But offer marriage to Kitty so that he could provide for her! Mechanically + he rummaged his clothes press for the suit he was to take to Hawksley. + Well, why not? He could settle five thousand a year on her. His departure + for the Balkans—he might be gone a year or more—could be + legally construed as desertion. And with pretty clothes and freedom she + would soon find some young chap to her liking. But would a girl like Kitty + see it from his point of view? The marriage could take place an hour or + two before he went aboard his ship. Hang it, Hawksley wasn't so far off. + Kitty couldn't possibly be offended if he laid the business squarely on + the table. To provide for Molly's girl! + </p> + <p> + When Kuroki announced that breakfast was ready, Cutty went into the living + room for Kitty, whom he had not yet seen. He found her by a window + fascinated by the splendour of the panorama as seen in the morning light. + Not a vestige of the tears and disorder in which he had left her. What had + been behind those tears? Dainty and refreshing; to the eye as though she + had stepped out of a bandbox. Compromised? That was utter rot! Wasn't Miss + Frances here? Clitter-clatter, clitter-clatter. But Cutty was not aware + that it was no longer in his head but in his heart. + </p> + <p> + “Breakfast is served, Your Highness,” he announced with a grave salaam. + </p> + <p> + Kitty pirouetted. For some reason she could not explain to herself she + wanted to laugh, sing, dance. Perhaps it was because she was only + twenty-four. Or it might have had its origin in the tonicky awakening + among all these beautiful furnishings. + </p> + <p> + She assumed a haughty expression—such as the Duchess of Gerolstein + assumes when she appoints the private to the office of generalissimo—and + with a careless wave of the hand said: “Summon His Highness!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV + </h2> + <p> + Between Cutty's heart and his throat there was very little space at that + moment for the propelment of sound. Kitty Conover had innocently—he + understood that almost immediately and recovered his mental balance—Kitty + had innocently thrown a bomb at his feet. It did not matter that it was a + dud. The result was the same. For a second, then, all the terror, all the + astounding suspension of thought and action attending the arrival of a + shell on the battlefield were his. As an aftermath he would have liked + very much to sit down. Instead, maintaining the mock gravity of his + expression, he offered his arm, which Kitty accepted, still the Grand + Duchess of Gerolstein. Pompously they marched into the dining room. But as + Kitty saw Hawksley she dropped the air confusedly, and hesitated. “Good + gracious!” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” Cutty whispered in turn. + </p> + <p> + “My clothes!” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with 'em?” + </p> + <p> + “I slept in them!” + </p> + <p> + If that wasn't like a woman! It did not matter how she might look to an + old codger, aetat. fifty-two; he didn't count. But a handsome young chap, + now, in white flannels and sport shirt, his head bound picturesquely— + </p> + <p> + “Don't let that bother you,” he said. “Those duds of his are mine.” + </p> + <p> + Still, Cutty was grateful for this little diversion. As he drew back + Kitty's chair he was wholly himself again. At once he dictated the trend + of the conversation, moved it whither he willed, into strange channels, + gave them all a glimpse of his amazing versatility, with vivid shafts of + humour to light up corners. + </p> + <p> + Kuroki, who had travelled far with his master these ten years, sometimes + paused in his rounds to nod affirmatively. + </p> + <p> + Hawksley listened intently, wondering a bit. What was the dear old + beggar's idea, throwing such fireworks round at breakfast? He stole a + glance at Kitty to see how she was taking it—and caught her stealing + a glance at him. Instantly both switched back to Cutty. Shortly the little + comedy was repeated because neither could resist the invisible force of + some half-conscious inquiry. Third time, they smiled unembarrassedly. Mind + you, they were both hanging upon Cutty's words; only their eyes were like + little children at church, restless. It was spring. + </p> + <p> + Without being exactly conscious of what he was doing, Hawksley began to + dress Kitty—that is, he visualized her in ball gowns, in sports, in + furs. He put her on horses, in opera boxes, in limousines. But in none of + these pictures could he hold her; she insisted upon returning to her + kitchen to fry bacon and eggs. + </p> + <p> + Then came a twisted thought, rejected only to return; a surprising + thought, so alluring that the sense of shame, of chivalry, could not press + it back. Cutty's words began to flow into one ear and out of the other, + without sense. There was in his heart—put there by the recollection + of the jewels—an indescribable bitterness, a desperate cynicism that + urged him to strike out, careless of friend or foe. Who could say what + would happen to him when he left here? A flash of spring madness, then to + go forth devil-may-care. + </p> + <p> + She was really beautiful, full of unsuspected fire. To fan it into white + flame. The whole affair would depend upon whether she cared for music. If + she did he would pluck the soul out of her. She had saved his life. Well, + what of that? He had broken yonder man's bread and eaten his salt. Still, + what of that? Hadn't he come from a race of scoundrels? The blood—he + had smothered and repressed it all his life—to unleash it once, + happen what might. If she were really fond of music! + </p> + <p> + Once again Kitty's glance roved back to Hawksley. This time she + encountered a concentration in his unwavering stare. She did not quite + like it. Perhaps he was only thinking about something and wasn't actually + seeing her. Still, it quieted down the fluttering gayety of her mood. + There was a sun spot of her own that became visible whenever her interest + in Cutty's monologue lagged. Perhaps Hawksley had his sun spot. + </p> + <p> + “And so,” she heard Cutty say. “Mr. Hawksley is going to become an + American citizen. Kitty, what are some of the principles of good + citizenship?” + </p> + <p> + “To be nice to policemen. Not to meddle with politics, because it is + vulgar. To vote perfunctorily. To 'let George do it' when there are + reforms to be brought about. To keep your hat on when the flag goes by + because otherwise you will attract attention. To find fault without being + able to offer remedies. To keep in debt because life here in America would + be monotonous without bill collectors.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty interrupted with a laugh. “Kitty, you'll 'scare Hawksley off the + map!” + </p> + <p> + “Let him know the worst at once,” retorted Kitty, flashing a smile at the + victim. + </p> + <p> + “Spoofing me—what?” said Hawksley, appealing to his host. + </p> + <p> + This quality of light irony in a woman was a distinct novelty to Hawksley. + She had humour, then? So much the better. An added zest to the game he was + planning. He recalled now that she was not of the clinging kind either. A + woman with a humorous turn of mind was ten times more elusive than a + purely sentimental one. Give him an hour or two with that old Amati—if + she really cared for music! She would be coming to the apartment again—some + afternoon, when his host was out of the way. Better still, he would call + her by telephone; the plea of loneliness. Scoundrel? Of course he was. He + was not denying that. He would embark upon this affair without the smug + varnish of self-lies. Fire—to play with it! + </p> + <p> + He ate his portion of beefsteak, potatoes, and toast, and emptied his + coffee cup. It was really the first substantial meal he had had in many + hours. A feeling of satisfaction began to permeate him. He smiled at Miss + Frances, who shook her head dubiously. She could not quite make him out + pathologically. Perhaps she had been treating him as shell-shocked when + there was nothing at all the matter with his nerves. + </p> + <p> + Presently Kuroki came in with a yellow envelope, which he laid at the side + of Cutty's plate. + </p> + <p> + “Telegrams!” exploded Cutty. “Hang it, I don't want any telegrams!” + </p> + <p> + “Open it and have it over with,” suggested Kitty. + </p> + <p> + “If you don't mind.” + </p> + <p> + It was the worst kind of news—a summons to Washington for + conference. Which signified that the Government's plans were completed and + that shortly he would be on his way to Piraeus. + </p> + <p> + A fine muddle! Hawksley in no condition to send upon his way; Kitty's + affair unsettled; the emeralds still in camera obscura; Karlov at liberty + with his infernal schemes, and Stefani Gregor his prisoner. Wild horses, + pulling him two ways. A word, and Karlov would come to the end of his rope + suddenly. But if he issued that word the whole fabric he had erected so + painstakingly would blow away like cardboard. If those emeralds turned up + in the possession of any man but himself the ensuing complications would + be appalling. For he himself would be forced to tell what he knew about + the stones: Hawksley would be thrust conspicuously into the limelight, and + sooner or later some wild anarch would kill him. Known, Hawksley would not + have one chance in a thousand. Kitty would be dragged into the light and + harassed and his own attitude toward her misunderstood. All these things, + if he acted upon his oath. Nevertheless, he determined to risk suspension + of operations until he returned from Washington. There was one sound plank + to cling to. He had first-hand information that anarchistic elements would + remain in their noisome cellars until May first. If he were not ordered + abroad until after that, no harm would follow his suspension of + operations. + </p> + <p> + “Bad news?” asked Kitty, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Aggravating rather than bad. I am called to Washington. May be gone four + or five days. Official business. Leaves things here a bit in the air.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll stay as long as you need me,” said Miss Frances. + </p> + <p> + “I'd rather a man now. You've been a brick. You need rest. I've a chap in + mind. He'll make our friend here toe the mark. A physical instructor, + ex-pugilist; knows all about broken heads.” + </p> + <p> + “I say, that's ripping!” cried Hawksley. “Give me your man, and I'll be + off your hands within a week. The sooner you stop fussing over me the + sooner the crack in my head will cease to bother me. + </p> + <p> + “Kuroki will cook for you and Ryan will put you through the necessary + stunts. The roof, when the weather permits, makes a good exercising + ground. If you'll excuse me I'll do some telephoning. Kuroki, pack my bag + for a five-day trip to Washington. I'll take you down to the office, + Kitty.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't fancy I ever will quite understand you,” said Hawksley, leaning + back in his chair, listlessly. “Honestly, now, you'd be perfectly + justified in bundling me off to some hotel. I have funds. Why all this + pother about me?” + </p> + <p> + Cutty smiled. “When I tackle anything I like to carry it through. I want + to put you on your train.” + </p> + <p> + “To be reasonably sure that I shan't come back?” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely”—but without smiling. With a vague yet inclusive nod + Cutty hurried off. + </p> + <p> + “It is because he is such a thorough sportsman. Mr. Hawksley,” Kitty + explained. “Having accepted certain obligations he cannot abrogate them + off hand.” + </p> + <p> + “Did I bother you last night? I mean, did my fiddling?” + </p> + <p> + “Mercy, no! From the hurdy-gurdy of my childhood, down to Kubelik and his + successors, I have been more or less music-mad. You play—wonderfully!” + Sudden, inexplicable shyness. + </p> + <p> + Hawksley smiled. An hour or two with that old Amati. + </p> + <p> + “I am only an unconventional amateur. You should hear Stefani Gregor when + the mood is on. He puts something into your soul that makes you wish to go + forth at once to do some fine, unselfish act.” + </p> + <p> + Stefani Gregor! He thought of the clear white soul of the man who had + surrendered imperishable fame to stand between him and the curse of his + blood; who had for ten years stood between his mother and the dissolute + man whom irony had selected for the part of father. Ten years of + diplomacy, tact, patience. Stefani Gregor! There was the blood, predatory + and untamed; and there was the spirit which the old musician had moulded. + He could not harm this girl. Dead or alive, Stefani Gregor would not + permit it. + </p> + <p> + Hawksley rose slowly and without further speech walked to the corridor + door. He leaned against the jamb for a moment, then went on to his + bedroom. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid that breakfast was too much for him,” the nurse ventured. “An + odd young man.” + </p> + <p> + “Very,” replied Kitty, rather absently. She was trying to analyze that + flash of shyness. + </p> + <p> + Meantime, Cutty sat down before the telephone. He wanted Kitty out of town + during his absence. In her present excitable mood he was afraid to trust + her. She might surrender to any mad impulse that stirred her fancy. So he + called up Burlingame. Kitty's chief, and together they manufactured an + assignment that was always a pleasant recollection to Kitty. + </p> + <p> + Next, Cutty summoned Professor Billy Ryan to the wire, argued and cajoled + for ten minutes, and won his point. He was always dealing in futures—banking + his favours here and there and drawing checks against them when needed. + </p> + <p> + Then he tackled his men and issued orders suspending operations + temporarily. He was asked what they should do in case Karlov came out into + the open. He answered in such an event not to molest him but to watch and + take note of those with whom he associated. There were big things in the + air, and only he himself had hold of all the threads. He relayed this + information to the actual chief of the local service, from whom he had + borrowed his men. There was no protest. Green spectacles. + </p> + <p> + Quarter to nine he and Kitty entered a subway car and found a corner to + themselves, while Karlov's agent was content with a strap in the crowded + end of the car. + </p> + <p> + Karlov for once had outthought Cutty. He had withdrawn his watchers, + confident that after a day or so his unknown opponent would withdraw his. + During the lull Karlov matured his plans, then resumed operations, + calculating that he would have some forty-odd hours' leeway. + </p> + <p> + His agent was clever. He had followed Kitty from Eightieth Street to the + Knickerbocker Hotel. There he had lost her. He had loitered on the + sidewalk until midnight, and was then convinced that the girl had slipped + by. So he had returned to Eightieth Street; but as late as five in the + morning she had not returned. + </p> + <p> + This agent had followed the banker after his visit to Kitty. He had + watched the banker's house, seen Cutty arrive and depart. Taking a chance + shot in the dark, he had followed Cutty to the office building, learned + that Cutty was the owner and lived in the loft. As Kitty had not returned + home by five he proceeded to take a second chance shot in the dark, + stationing himself across the street from the entrance to the office + building, thereby solving the riddle uppermost in Karlov's mind. He had + found the man in the dress suit. + </p> + <p> + “Cutty, I'm sorry I was such a booby last night. But it was the best thing + that could have happened. The pentupness of it was simply killing me. I + hadn't any one to come to but you—any one who would understand. I + don't know of any man who has a better right to kiss me. I know. You were + just trying to buck me up.” + </p> + <p> + Clitter-clatter! Clitter-clatter! Cutty stared hard at the cement floor. + Marry her, settle a sum on her, and give her her freedom. Molly's girl. + Give her a chance to play. He turned. + </p> + <p> + “Kitty, do you trust me?” + </p> + <p> + “Of all the foolish questions!” She pressed his arm. “Why shouldn't I + trust you?” + </p> + <p> + “Will you marry me? Wait! Let me make clear to you what I have in mind. + I'm all alone. I loved your mother. It breaks my heart that while I have + everything in the way of luxuries you have nothing. I can't settle a sum + on you—an income. The world wouldn't understand. Your friends would + be asking questions among themselves. This telegram from Washington means + but one thing: that in a few weeks I shall be on my way to the East. I + shall be mighty unhappy if I have to go leaving you in the rut. This is my + idea: marry me an hour or so before the ship sails. I will leave you a + comfortable income. Lord knows how long I shall be gone. Well, I won't + write. After a year you can regain your freedom on the grounds of + desertion. Simple as falling off a log. It's the one logical way I can + help you. Will you?” + </p> + <p> + Station after station flashed by. Kitty continued stare through the window + across the way, by and by she turned her face toward him, her eyes shining + with tears. + </p> + <p> + “Cutty, there is going to be a nice place in heaven for you some day. I + understand. I believe Mother understands, too. Am I selfish? I can't say + No to you and I can't say Yes. Yet I should be a liar if I did not say + that everything in me leaps toward the idea. It is both hateful and + fascinating. Common sense says Yes; and something else in me says No. I + like dainty things, dainty surroundings. I want to travel, to see + something of the world. I once thought I had creative genius, but I might + as well face the fact that I haven't. Only by accident will I ever earn + more than I'm earning now. In a few years I'll grow old suddenly. You know + what the newspaper game does to women. The rush and hurry of it, the + excitements, the ceaseless change. It is a furnace, and women shrivel up + in it quicker than men.” + </p> + <p> + “There won't be any nonsense, Kitty. An hour before I go aboard my ship. + I'll go back to the job the happiest of men. Molly's girl taken care of! + Just before your father died I promised him I'd keep an eye on you. I + never forgot, but conditions made it impossible. The apartment will be + yours as long as you need it. Kuroki, of course, goes with me. It's merely + going by convention on the blind side. To leave you something in my will + wouldn't serve at all, I'm a tough old codger and may be marked down for a + hale old ninety. All I want is to make you happy and carefree.” + </p> + <p> + “Cutty, I'd like to curl up in some corner and cry, gratefully. I didn't + know there were such men. I just don't know what to do. It isn't as if you + were asking me to be your wife. And as you say, I can't accept money. + There is a pride in me that rejects the whole thing; but it may be the + same fool pride that has cut away my friends. I ought to fall on your neck + with joy: and here I am trying to look round corners! You are my father's + friend, my mother's, mine. Why shouldn't I accept the proposition? You are + alone, too. You have a perfect right to do as you please with your money, + and I have an equally perfect right to accept your gifts. We are all + afraid of the world, aren't we? That's probably at the bottom of my + doddering. Cutty, what is love?” she broke off, whimsically. + </p> + <p> + “Looking into mirrors and hunting for specks,” he answered, readily. + </p> + <p> + “I mean seriously.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I. Before I went round to the stage entrance to take your mother + out to supper I used to preen an hour before the mirror. My collar, my + cravat, my hair, the nap on my stovepipe, my gloves—terrible things! + And what happened? Your dad, dressed in his office clothes, came along + like a cyclone, walked all over my toes, and swooped up your mother right + from under my nose. Now just look the proposition over from all angles. + Think of yourself; let the old world go hang. They'll call it alimony. In + a year or so you'll be free; and some chap like Tommy Conover will come + along, and bang! You'll know all about love. Here's old Brooklyn Bridge. + I'll see you to the elevator. All nonsense that you should have the least + hesitance.” + </p> + <p> + Fifteen minutes later he was striding along Park Row. By the swing of his + stride any onlooker would have believed that Cutty was in a hurry to + arrive somewhere. Instead, one was only walking. Suddenly he stopped in + the middle of the sidewalk with the two currents of pedestrians flowing on + each side of him, as a man might stop who saw some wonderful cloud effect. + But there was nothing ecstatical in his expression; on the contrary, there + was a species of bewildered terror. The psychology of all his recent + actions had in a flash become vividly clear. + </p> + <p> + An unbelievable catastrophe had overtaken him. He loved Kitty, loved her + with an intense, shielding passion, quite unlike that which he had given + her mother. Such a thing could happen! He offered not the least combat; + the revelation was too smashing to admit of any doubt. It was not a + recrudescence of his love for Molly, stirred into action by the + association with Molly's daughter. He wanted Kitty for himself, wanted her + with every fibre in his body, fiercely. And never could he tell her—now. + </p> + <p> + The tragic irony of it all numbed him. Fate hadn't played the game fairly. + He was fifty-two, on the far side of the plateau, near sunset. It wasn't a + square deal. + </p> + <p> + Still he stood there on the sidewalk, like a rock in the middle of a + turbulent stream, rejecting selfish thoughts. Marry Kitty, and tell her + the truth afterward. He knew the blood of her—loyalest of the loyal. + He could if he chose play that sort of game—cheat her. He could not + withdraw his proposition. If she accepted it he would have to carry it + through. Cheat her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV + </h2> + <p> + Kitty hung up her hat and coat. She did not pat her hair or tuck in the + loose ends before the mirror—a custom as invariable as sunrise. The + coat tree stood at the right of the single window, and out of this window + Kitty stared solemnly, at everything and at nothing. + </p> + <p> + Burlingame eyed her seriously. Cutty had given him a glimmer of the tale—enough + to make known to him that this pretty, sensible girl, though no fault of + her own, was in the shadow of some actual if unknown danger. And Cutty + wanted her out of town for a few days. Burlingame had intended sending + Kitty out of town on an assignment during Easter week. An exchange of + telegrams that morning had closed the gap in time. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you might say 'Good morning.'” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, Burly!” In newspaper offices you belong at once or you + never belong; and to belong is to have your name sheared to as few + syllables as possible. You are formal only to the city editor, the + managing editor, and the auditor. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “I've been set in the middle of a fairy story,” said Kitty, “and I'm + wondering if it's worth the trouble to try to find a way out. A Knight of + the Round Table, a prince of chivalry. What would you say if you saw one + in spats and a black derby?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” answered Burlingame, “I suppose I'd consider July first as the best + thing that could happen to me.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty laughed; and that was what he wanted. + </p> + <p> + What had that old rogue been doing now—offering Kitty his + eighteen-story office building? + </p> + <p> + “It's odd, isn't it, that I shouldn't possess a little histrionic ability. + You'd think it would be in my blood to act.” + </p> + <p> + “It is, Kitty; only not to mimic. You're an actress, but the Big Dramatist + writes your business for you. Now, I've got some fairly good news for you. + An assignment.” + </p> + <p> + “Work! What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to send you on a visit to the most charming movie queen in the + business. She is going to return to Broadway this autumn, and she has a + trunkful of plays to read. I have found your judgment ace-high. Mornings + you will read with her; afternoons you will visit. She remembers your + mother, who was the best comedienne of her day. So she will be quite as + interested in you as you are in her. I want you to note her ways, how she + amuses herself, eats, exercises. I want you to note the contents of her + beautiful home; if she likes dogs or cats or horses. You will take a + camera and get half a dozen good pictures, and a page yarn for Easter + Sunday. Stay as long as she wants you to.” + </p> + <p> + “But who?” + </p> + <p> + Burlingame jerked his thumb toward a photograph on the wall. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! This will be the most scrumptious event in my life. I'm wild about + her! But I haven't any clothes!” + </p> + <p> + Burlingame waved his hands. “I knew I'd hear that yodel. Eve didn't have + anything to speak of, but she travelled a lot. Truth is, Kitty, you'd + better dress in monotones. She might wake up to the fact that you're a + mighty pretty young woman and suddenly become temperamental. She has a + husband round the lot somewhere. Make him think his wife is a lucky woman. + Here's all the dope—introduction, expenses, and tickets. Train + leaves at two-fifty. Run along home and pack. Remember, I want a page + yarn. No flapdoodle or mush; straight stuff. She doesn't need any + advertising. If you go at it right you two will react upon each other as a + tonic.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty realized that this little junket was the very thing she needed—open + spaces, long walks in which to think out her problem. She hurried home and + spent the morning packing. When this heartrending business was over she + summoned Tony Bernini. + </p> + <p> + “I am going out of town, Mr. Bernini. I may be gone a week.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Miss Conover.” Bernini hid a smile. He knew all about this + trip, having been advised by Cutty over the wire. + </p> + <p> + “Am I being followed any more?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that we know of. Still, you never can tell. What's your destination?” + Kitty told him. “Better not go by train. I can get a fast roadster and run + you out in a couple of hours. Right after lunch you go to the boss's + garage and wait for me. I'll take care of your grips and camera. I'll + follow on your heels.” + </p> + <p> + “Anybody would consider that Karlov was after me instead of Hawksley.” + </p> + <p> + Bernini smiled. “Miss Conover, the moment Karlov puts his hands on you the + whole game goes blooey. That's the plain fact. There is death in this + game. These madmen expect to blow up the United States on May first. We + are easing them along because we want the top men in our net. But if + Karlov takes it into his head to get you, and succeeds, he'll have a + stranglehold on the whole local service; because we'd have to make great + concessions to free you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why wasn't I told this at the start?” + </p> + <p> + “You were told, indirectly. We did not care to frighten you.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not frightened,” said Kitty. + </p> + <p> + “Nope. But we wish to the Lord you were, Miss Conover. When you want to + come home, wire me and I'll motor out for you.” + </p> + <p> + Another fragment. Karlov's agent sought his chief and found him in the + cellar of the old house, sinisterly engaged. The wall bench was littered + with paraphernalia well known to certain chemists. Had the New York bomb + squad known of the existence of this den, the short hair on their necks + would have risen. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” greeted Karlov, moodily. + </p> + <p> + “I have found the man in the dress suit.” + </p> + <p> + “He and the Conover girl left that office building together this morning, + and I followed them to Park Row. This man uses the loft of the building + for his home. No elevator goes up unless you have credentials. Our man is + hiding there, Boris.” + </p> + <p> + Karlov dry-washed his hands. “We'll send him one of the samples if we fail + in regard to the girl. You say she arrives daily at the newspaper office + about nine and leaves between five and six?” + </p> + <p> + “Every day but Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + “Good news. Two bolts; one or the other will go home.” + </p> + <p> + About the same time in Cutty's apartment rather an amusing comedy took + place. Professor Ryan, late physical instructor at one of the aviation + camps, stood Hawksley in front of him and ran his hard hands over the + young man's body. Miss Frances stood at one side, her arms folded, her + expression skeptical. + </p> + <p> + “Nothin' the matter with you, Bo, but the crack on the conk.” + </p> + <p> + “Right-o!” agreed Hawksley. + </p> + <p> + “Lemme see your hands. Humph. Soft. Now stand on that threshold. That's + it. Walk t' the' end o' the hall an' back. Step lively.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” began Miss Frances in protest. This was cruelty. + </p> + <p> + “I'm the doctor, miss,” interrupted Ryan, crisply. “If he falls down he + goes t' bed, an' you stay. If he makes it, he follows my instructions.” + </p> + <p> + When Hawksley returned to the starting line the walls rocked, there were + two or three blinding stabs of pain; but he faced this unusual Irishman + with never a hint of the torture. A wild longing to be gone from this + kindly prison—to get away from the thought of the girl. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Ryan. “Now toddle back t' bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Bed?” + </p> + <p> + “Yep. Goin' t' give you a rub that'll start all your machinery workin'.” + </p> + <p> + Docilely Hawksley obeyed. He wasn't going to let them know, but that bed + was going to be tolerably welcome. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” said Miss Frances. “I don't see how he did it.” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” said the ex-pugilist. “I told him to. Either he was a false alarm, + or he'd attempt the job even if he fell down. The hull thing is this: Make + a guy wanta get well an' he'll get well. If he's got any pride, dig it up. + Go after 'em. He hasn't lost any blood. No serious body wound. A crack on + the conk. It mighta killed him. It didn't. He didn't wabble an' fall down. + So my dope is right. Drop in in a few days an' I'll show yuh.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Frances held out her hand. “You've handled men,” she said, with + reluctant admiration. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, boy!—millions of 'em, an' each guy different. Believe me! Make + 'em wanta.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty attended his conferences. He learned immediately that he was booked + to sail the first week in May. His itinerary began at Piraeus, in Greece, + and might end in Vladivostok. But they detained him in Washington overtime + because he was a fount of information the departments found it necessary + to draw upon constantly. The political and commercial aspects of the + polyglot peoples, what they wanted, what they expected, what they needed; + racial enmities. The bugaboo of the undesirable alien was no longer + bothering official heads in Washington. Stringent immigration laws were in + the making. What they wanted to know was an American's point of view, + based upon long and intimate associations. + </p> + <p> + Washington reminded him of nothing so much as a big sheep dog. The + hazardous day was over; the wolves had been driven off and the sheep into + the fold; and now the valiant guardian was turning round and round and + round preparatory to lying down to sleep. For Washington would go to sleep + again, naturally. + </p> + <p> + Often it occurred to him what a remarkable piece of machinery the human + brain was. He could dig up all this dry information with the precise + accuracy of an economist, all the while his actual thoughts upon Kitty. + His nights were nightmares. And all this unhappiness because he had been + touched with the lust for loot. Fundamentally, this catastrophe could be + laid to the drums of jeopardy. + </p> + <p> + The alluring possibility of finding those damnable green stones—the + unsuspected kink in his moral rectitude—had tumbled him into this + pit. Had not Kitty pronounced the name Stefani Gregor—in his mind + always linked with the emeralds—he would have summoned an ambulance + and had Hawksley carried off, despite Kitty's protests; and perhaps he + would have seen her but two or three times before sailing, seen her in + conventional and unemotional parts. At any rate, there would have been + none of this peculiar intimacy—Kitty coming to him in tears, opening + her young heart to him and discovering all its loneliness. If she loved + some chap it would not be so hard, the temptation would not be so keen—to + cheat her. Marry her, and then tell her. This dogged his thoughts like a + murderer's deed, terrible in the watches of the night. Marry her, and then + tell her. Cheat her. Break her heart and break his own. + </p> + <p> + Fifty-two. Never before had he thought old. His splendid health and + vigorous mentality were the results of thinking young. But now he heard + the avalanche stirring, the whispering slither of the first pebbles. He + would grow old swiftly, thunderously. Kitty's youth would shore up the + debacle, suspend it indefinitely. Marry her, cheat her, and stay young. + Green stones, accursed. + </p> + <p> + Kitty's days were pleasant enough, but her nights were sieges. One evening + someone put Elman's rendition of Schubert's “Ave Maria” on the phonograph. + Long after it was over she sat motionless in her chair. Echoes. The + Tschaikowsky waltz. She got up suddenly, excused herself, and went to her + room. + </p> + <p> + Six days, and her problem was still unsolved. Something in her—she + could not define it, she could not reach it, it defied analysis—something, + then, revolted at the idea of marrying Cutty, divorcing him, and living on + his money. There was a touch of horror in the suggestion. It was tearing + her to pieces, this hidden repellence. And yet this occult objection was + so utterly absurd. If he died and left her a legacy she would accept it + gratefully enough. Cutty's plan was only a method of circumventing this + indefinite wait. + </p> + <p> + Comforts, the good things of life, amusements—simply by nodding her + head. Why not? It wasn't as if Cutty was asking her to be his wife; he + wasn't. Just wanted to dodge convention, and give her freedom and + happiness. He was only giving her a mite out of his income. Because he had + loved her mother; because, but for an accident of chance, she, Kitty, + might have been his daughter. Why, then, this persistent and unaccountable + revulsion? Why should she hesitate? The ancient female fear of the trap? + That could not be it. For a more honourable, a more lovable man did not + walk the earth. Brave, strong, handsome, whimsical—why, Cutty was a + catch! + </p> + <p> + Comfy. Never any of that inherent doubt of man when she was with him. + Absolute trust. An evil thought had entered her head; fate had made it + honourably possible. And still this mysterious repellence. + </p> + <p> + Romance? She was not surrendering her right to that. What was a year out + of her life if afterward she would be in comfortable circumstances, free + to love where she willed? She wasn't cheating herself or Cutty: she was + cheating convention, a flimsy thing at best. + </p> + <p> + Windows. We carry our troubles to our windows; through windows we see the + stars. We cannot visualize God, but we can see His stars pinned to the + immeasurable spaces. So Kitty sought her window and added her question to + the countless millions forlornly wandering about up there, and finding no + answer. + </p> + <p> + But she would return to New York on the morrow. She would not summon + Bernini as she had promised. She would go back by train, alone, + unhampered. + </p> + <p> + And in his cellar Boris Karlov spun his web for her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI + </h2> + <p> + Hawksley heard the lift door close, and he knew that at last he was alone. + He flung out his arms, ecstatically. Free! He would see no more of that + nagging beggar Ryan until tomorrow. Free to put into execution the idea + that had been bubbling all day long in his head, like a fine champagne, + firing his blood with reckless whimsicality. + </p> + <p> + Quietly he stole down the corridor. Through a crack in the kitchen door he + saw Kuroki's back, the attitude of which was satisfying. It signified that + the Jap was pegging away at his endless studies and that only the banging + of the gong would rouse him. The way was as broad and clear as a street at + dawn. Not that Kuroki mattered; only so long as he did not know, so much + the better. + </p> + <p> + With careful step Hawksley manoeuvred his retreat so that it brought him + to Cutty's bedroom door. The door was unlocked. He entered the room. What + a lark! They would hide his own clothes; so much the worse for the old + beggar's wardrobe. Street clothes. Presently he found a dark suit, + commendable not so much for its style as for the fact that it was the + nearest fit he could find. He had to roll up the trouser hems. + </p> + <p> + Hats. Chuckling like a boy rummaging a jam closet, he rifled the shelves + and pulled down a black derby of an unknown vintage. Large; but a runner + of folded paper reduced the size. As he pressed the relic firmly down on + his head he winced. A stab over his eyes. He waited doubtfully; but there + was no recurrence. Fit as a fiddle. Of course he could not stoop without a + flash of vertigo; but on his feet he was top-hole. He was gaining every + day. + </p> + <p> + Luck. He might have come out of it with the blank mind of a newborn babe; + and here he was, keen to resume his adventures. Luck. They had not stopped + to see if he was actually dead. Some passer-by in the hall had probably + alarmed them. That handkerchief had carried him round the brink. Perhaps + Fate intended letting him get through—written on his pass an + extension of his leave of absence. Or she had some new torture in reserve. + </p> + <p> + Now for a stout walking stick. He selected a blackthorn, twirled it, + saluted, and posed before the mirror. Not so bally rotten. He would pass. + Next, he remembered that there were some flowers in the dining room—window + boxes with scarlet geraniums. He broke off a sprig and drew it through his + buttonhole. + </p> + <p> + Outside there was a cold, pale April sky, presaging wind and rain. + Unimportant. He was going down into the streets for an hour or so. The + colour and action of a crowded street; the lure was irresistible. Who + would dare touch him in the crowd? These rooms had suddenly become + intolerable. + </p> + <p> + He leaned against the side of the window. Roofs, thousands of them, flat, + domed, pinnacled; and somewhere under one of these roofs Stefani Gregor + was eating his heart out. It did not matter that this queer old eagle whom + everybody called Cutty had promised to bring Stefani home. It might be too + late. Stefani was old, highly strung. Who knew what infernal lies Karlov + had told him? Stefani could stand up under physical torture; but to tear + at his soul, to twist and rend his spirit! + </p> + <p> + The bubble in the champagne died down—as it always will if one + permits it to stand. He felt the old mood seep through the dikes of his + gayety. Alone. A familiar face—he would have dropped on his knees + and thanked God for the sight of a familiar face. These people, kindly as + they were—what were they but strangers? Yesterday he had not known + them; to-morrow he would leave them behind forever. All at once the + mystery of this bubbling idea was bared: he was going to risk his life in + the streets in the vague hope of seeing some face he had known in the days + before the world had gone drunk on blood. One familiar face. + </p> + <p> + Of course he would never forget—at any rate, not the girl whose + courage had made possible this hour. Those chaps, scared off temporarily, + might have returned. What had become of her? He was always seeing her + lovely face in the shadows, now tender, now resolute, now mocking. + Doubtless he thought of her constantly because his freedom of action was + limited. He hadn't diversion enough. Books and fiddling, these carried him + but halfway through the boredom. Where was she? Daily he had called her by + telephone; no answer. The Jap shook his head; the slangy boy in the lift + shook his. + </p> + <p> + She was a thoroughbred, even if she had been born of middle-class + parentage. He laughed bitterly. Middle class. A homeless, countryless + derelict, and he had the impudence to revert to comparisons that no longer + existed in this topsy-turvy old world. He was an upstart. The final + curtain had dropped between him and his world, and he was still thinking + in the ancient make-up. Middle class! He was no better than a troglodyte, + set down in a new wilderness. + </p> + <p> + He heard the curtain rings slither on the pole. Believing the intruder to + be Kuroki he turned belligerently. And there she stood—the girl + herself! The poise of her reminded him of the Winged Victory in the + Louvre. Where there had been a cup of champagne in his veins circumstance + now poured a magnum. + </p> + <p> + “You!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “What has happened? Where are you going in those clothes?” demanded Kitty. + </p> + <p> + “I am running away—for an hour or so.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must not! The risks—after all the trouble we've had to help + you!” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be perfectly safe, for you are going with me. Aren't you my + guardian angel? Well, rather! The two of us—people, lights, shop + windows! Perfectly splendiferous! Honestly, now, where's the harm?” He + approached her rapidly as he spoke, and before the spell of him could be + shaken off Kitty found her hands imprisoned in his. “Please! I've been so + damnably bored. The two of us in the streets, among the crowds! No one + will dare touch us. Can't you see? And then—I say, this is ripping!—we'll + have dinner together here. I will play for you on the old Amati. Please!” + </p> + <p> + The fire of him communicated to the combustibles in Kitty's soul. A wild, + reckless irony besieged her. This adventure would be exactly what she + needed; it would sweep clear the fog separating one side of her brain from + the other. For it was plain enough that part of her brain refused to + cooperate with the other. A break in the trend of thought: she might + succeed in getting hold of the puzzle if she could drop it absolutely for + a little while and then pick it up again. + </p> + <p> + She had not gone home. She had not notified Bernini. She had checked her + luggage in the station parcel room and come directly here. For what? To + let the sense of luxury overcome the hidden repugnance of the idea of + marrying Cutty, divorcing him, and living on his money. To put herself in + the way of visible temptation. What fretted her so, what was wearing her + down to the point of fatigue, was the patent imbecility of her reluctance. + There would have been some sense of it if Cutty had proposed a real + marriage. All she had to do was mumble a few words, sign her name to a + document, live out West for a few months, and be in comfortable + circumstances all the rest of her life. And she doddered! + </p> + <p> + She would run the streets with Johnny Two-Hawks, return, and dine with + him. Who cared? Proper or improper, whose business was it but Kitty + Conover's? Danger? That was the peculiar attraction. She wanted to rush + into danger, some tense excitement the strain of which would lift her out + of her mood. A recurrent touch of the wild impulsiveness of her childhood. + Hadn't she sometimes flown out into thunderstorms, after merited + punishment, to punish the mother whom thunder terrorized? And now she was + going to rush into unknown danger to punish Fate—like a silly child! + Nevertheless, she would go into the streets with Johnny Two-Hawks. + </p> + <p> + “But are you strong enough to venture on the streets?” + </p> + <p> + “Rot! Dash it all, I'm no mollycoddle! All nonsense to keep me pinned in + like this. Will you go with me—be my guide?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” She shot out the word and crossed the Rubicon before reason could + begin to lecture. Besides, wasn't reason treating her shabbily in + withholding the key to the riddle? “Johnny Two-Hawks, I will go as far as + Harlem if you want me to.” + </p> + <p> + “Johnny Two-Hawks!” He laughed joyously, then kissed her hands. But he had + to pay for this bending—a stab that filled his eyes with flying + sparks. He must remember, once out of doors, not to stoop quickly. “I say, + you're the jolliest girl I ever met! Just the two of us, what?” + </p> + <p> + “The way you speak English is wonderful!” + </p> + <p> + “Simple enough to explain. Had an English nurse from the beginning. Spoke + English and Italian before I spoke Russian.” + </p> + <p> + He seized the wooden mallet and beat the Burmese gong—a flat piece + of brass cut in the shape of a bell. The clear, whirring vibrations filled + the room. Long before these spent themselves Kuroki appeared on the + threshold. He bobbed. + </p> + <p> + “Kuroki, Miss Conover is dining here with me to-night. Seven o'clock + sharp. The best you have in the larder.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sair. You are going out, sair?” + </p> + <p> + “For a bit of fresh air.” + </p> + <p> + “And I am going with him, Kuroki,” said Kitty. Kuroki bobbed again. + “Dinner at seven, sair.” Another bob, and he returned to the kitchen, + smiling. The girl was free to come and go, of course, but the ancient + enemy of Nippon would not pass the elevator door. Let him find that out + for himself. + </p> + <p> + When the elevator arrived the boy did not open the door. He noted the + derby on Hawksley's head. + </p> + <p> + “I can take you down, Miss Conover, but I cannot take Mr. Hawksley. When + the boss gives me an order I obey it—if I possibly can. On the day + the boss tells me you can go strolling, I'll give you the key to the city. + Until then, nix! No use arguing, Mr. Hawksley.” + </p> + <p> + “I shan't argue,” replied Hawksley, meekly. “I am really a prisoner, + then?” + </p> + <p> + “For your own good, sir. Do you wish to go down, Miss Conover?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + The boy swung the lever, and the car dropped from sight. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry,” said Kitty. + </p> + <p> + Hawksley smiled and laid a finger on his lips. “I wanted to know,” he + whispered. “There's another way down from this Matterhorn. Come with me. + Off the living room is a storeroom. I found the key in the lock the other + day and investigated. I still have the key. Now, then, there's a door that + gives to the main loft. At the other end is the stairhead. There is a door + at the foot of the first flight down. We can jolly well leave this way, + but we shall have to return by the lift. That bally young ruffian can't + refuse to carry us up, y' know!” + </p> + <p> + Kitty laughed. “This is going to be fun!” + </p> + <p> + “Rather!” + </p> + <p> + They groped their way through the dim loft—for it was growing dark + outside—and made the stairhead. The door to the seventeenth floor + opened, and they stepped forth into the lighted hallway. + </p> + <p> + “Now what?” asked Kitty, bubbling. + </p> + <p> + “The floor below, and one of the other lifts, what?” Twenty minutes later + the two of them, arm in arm, turned into Broadway. + </p> + <p> + “This, sir,” began Kitty with a gesture, “is Broadway—America's + backyard in the daytime and Ali Baba's cave at night. The way of the + gilded youth; the funnel for papa's money; the chorus lady; the starting + point of the high cost of living. We New Yorkers despise it because we + can't afford it.” + </p> + <p> + “The lights!” gasped Hawksley. + </p> + <p> + “Wreckers' lights. Behold! Yonder is a highly nutritious whisky blinking + its bloomin' farewell. Do you chew gum? Even if you don't, in a few + minutes I'll give you a cud for thought. Chewing gum was invented by a man + with a talkative wife. He missed the physiological point, however, that a + body can chew and talk at the same time. Come on!” + </p> + <p> + They went on uptown, Hawksley highly amused, exhilarated, but frequently + puzzled. The pungent irony of her observations conveyed to him that under + this gayety was a current of extreme bitterness. “I say, are all American + girls like you?” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens, no! Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I never met one like you before. Rather stilted—on their + good behaviour, I fancy.” + </p> + <p> + “And I interest you because I'm not on my good behaviour?” Kitty whipped + back. + </p> + <p> + “Because you are as God made you—without camouflage.” + </p> + <p> + “The poor innocent young man! I'm nothing but camouflage to-night. Why are + you risking your life in the street? Why am I sharing that risk? Because + we both feel bound and are blindly trying to break through. What do you + know about me? Nothing. What do I know about you? Nothing. But what do we + care? Come on, come on!” + </p> + <p> + Tumpitum—tump! tumpitum—tump! drummed the Elevated. Kitty + laughed. The tocsin! Always something happened when she heard it. + </p> + <p> + “Pearls!” she cried, dragging him toward a jeweller's window. + </p> + <p> + “No!” he said, holding back. “I hate—jewels! How I hate them!” He + broke away from her and hurried on. + </p> + <p> + She had to run after him. Had she hesitated they might have become + separated. Hated jewels? No, no! There should be no questions, verbal or + mental, this night. She presently forced him to slow down. “Not so fast! + We must never become separated,” she warned. “Our safety—such as it + is—lies in being together.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm an ass. Perhaps my head is ratty without my realizing it. I fancy I'm + like a dog that's been kicked; I'm trying to run away from the pain. + What's this tomb?” + </p> + <p> + “The Metropolitan Opera House.” + </p> + <p> + As they were passing a thin, wailing sound came to the ears of both. + Seated with his back to the wall was a blind fiddler with a tin cup + strapped to a knee. He was out of bounds; he had no right on Broadway; but + he possessed a singular advantage over the law. He could not be forced to + move on without his guide—if he were honestly blind. Hundreds of + people were passing; but the fiddler's “Last Rose of Summer” wasn't worth + a cent. His cup was empty. + </p> + <p> + “The poor thing!” said Kitty. + </p> + <p> + “Wait!” Hawksley approached the fiddler, exchanged a few words with him, + and the blind man surrendered his fiddle. + </p> + <p> + “Give me your hat!” cried Kitty, delighted. + </p> + <p> + Carefully Hawksley pried loose his derby and handed it to Kitty. No stab + of pain; something to find that out. He turned the instrument, tucked it + under his chin and began “Traumerei.” Kitty, smiling, extended the hat. + Just the sort of interlude to make the adventure memorable. She knew this + thoroughfare. Shortly there would be a crowd, and the fiddler's cup would + overflow—that is, if the police did not interfere too soon. + </p> + <p> + As for the owner of the wretched fiddle, he raised his head, his mouth + opened. Up there, somewhere, a door to heaven had opened. + </p> + <p> + True to her expectations a crowd slowly gathered. The beauty of the girl + and the dark, handsome face of the musician, his picturesque bare head, + were sufficient for these cynical passers-by. They understood. Operatic + celebrities, having a little fun on their own. So quarters and dimes and + nickels began to patter into Cutty's ancient derby hat. Broadway will + always contribute generously toward a novelty of this order. Famous names + were tossed about in undertones. + </p> + <p> + Entered then the enemy of the proletariat. Kitty, being a New Yorker born, + had had her weather eye roving. The brass-buttoned minion of the law was + always around when a bit of innocent fun was going on. As the policeman + reached the inner rim of the audience the last notes of Handel's “Largo” + were fading on the ear. + </p> + <p> + “What's this?” demanded the policeman. + </p> + <p> + “It's all over, sir,” answered Kitty, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Can't have this on Broadway, miss. Obstruction.” He could not speak + gruffly in the face of such beauty—especially with a Broadway crowd + at his back. + </p> + <p> + “It's all over. Just let me put this money in the blind man's cup.” Kitty + poured her coins into the receptacle. At the same time Hawksley laid the + fiddle in the blind man's lap. Then he turned to Kitty and boomed a long + Russian phrase at her. Her quick wit caught the intent. “You see, he + doesn't understand that this cannot be done in New York. I couldn't + explain.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, miss; but don't do it again.” The policeman grinned. + </p> + <p> + “And please don't be harsh with the blind man. Just tell him he mustn't + play on Broadway again. Thank you!” + </p> + <p> + She linked her arm in Hawksley's, and they went on; and the crowd + dissolved; only the policeman and the blind man remained, the one + contemplating his duty and the other his vision of heaven. + </p> + <p> + “What a lark!” exclaimed Hawksley. + </p> + <p> + “Were you asking me for your hat?” + </p> + <p> + “I was telling the bobby to go to the devil!” + </p> + <p> + They laughed like children. + </p> + <p> + “March hares!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No. April fools! Good heavens, the time! Twenty minutes to seven. Our + dinner!” + </p> + <p> + “We'll take a taxi.... Dash it!” + </p> + <p> + “What's wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bally copper in my pockets!” + </p> + <p> + “And I left my handbag on the sideboard! We'll have to walk. If we hurry + we can just about make it.” + </p> + <p> + Meantime, there lay in wait for them—this pair of April fools—a + taxicab. It stood snugly against the curb opposite the entrance to Cutty's + apartment. The door was slightly ajar. + </p> + <p> + The driver watched the south corner; the three men inside never took their + gaze off the north corner. + </p> + <p> + “But, I say, hasn't this been a jolly lark?” + </p> + <p> + “If we had known we could have borrowed a dollar from the blind man; he'd + never have missed it.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII + </h2> + <p> + Champagne in the glass is a beautiful thing to see. So is water, the + morning after. That is the fault with frolic; there is always an + inescapable rebound. The most violent love drops into humdrum tolerance. A + pessimist is only a poor devil who has anticipated the inevitable; he has + his headache at the start. Mental champagnes have their aftermaths even as + the juice of the grape. + </p> + <p> + Hawksley and Kitty, hurrying back, began to taste lees. They began to see + things, too—menace in every loiterer, threat in every alley. They + had had a glorious lark; somewhere beyond would be the piper with an + appalling bill. They exaggerated the dangers, multiplied them; perhaps + wisely. There would be no let-down in their vigilance until they reached + haven. But this state of mind they covered with smiling masks, banter, + bursts of laughter, and flashes of wit. + </p> + <p> + They were both genuinely frightened, but with unselfish fear. Kitty's fear + was not for herself but for Johnny Two-Hawks. If anything happened the + blame would rightly be hers. With that head he wasn't strictly accountable + for what he did; she was. A firm negative on her part and he would never + have left the apartment. And his fear was wholly for this astonishing + girl. He had recklessly thrust her into grave danger. Who knew, better + than he, the implacable hate of the men who sought to kill him? + </p> + <p> + Moreover, his strength was leaving him. There was an alarming weakness in + his legs, purely physical. He had overdone, and if need rose he would not + be able to protect her. Damnable fool! But she had known. That was the odd + phase of it. She hadn't come blindly. What mood had urged her to share the + danger along with the lark? Somehow, she was always just beyond his reach, + this girl. He would never forget that fan popping out of the pistol, the + egg burning in the pan. + </p> + <p> + The apartment was only three blocks away when Kitty decided to drop her + mask. “I'd give a good deal to see a policeman. They are never around when + you really want them. Johnny Two-Hawks, I'm a little fool! You wouldn't + have left the apartment but for me. Will you forgive me?” + </p> + <p> + “It is I who should ask forgiveness. I say, how much farther is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Only about two blocks; but they may be long ones. Let's step into this + doorway for a moment. I see a taxicab. It looks to be standing opposite + the building. Don't like it. Suppose we watch it for a few minutes?” + </p> + <p> + Hawksley was grateful for the respite; and together they stared at the + unwinking red eye of the tail light. But no man approached the cab or left + it. + </p> + <p> + “I believe I've hit upon a plan,” said Kitty. “Certainly we have not been + followed. In that event they would have had a dozen chances. If someone + saw us leave together, naturally they will expect us to return together. + We'll walk to the corner of our block, then turn east; but I shall remain + just out of sight while you will go round the block. Fifteen minutes + should carry you to the south corner. I'll be on watch for you. The moment + you turn I'll walk toward you. It will give us a bit of a handicap in case + that taxi is a menace. If any one appears, run for it. Where's the cane + you had?” + </p> + <p> + “What a jolly ass I am! I remember now. I left the stick against the wall + of the opera house. Blockhead! With a stick, now!... I'm hopeless!” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. Let's start. That taxi may be perfectly honest. It's our + guilty consciences that are peopling the shadows with goblins. What really + bothers us is that we have broken our word to the kindliest man in all + this world.” + </p> + <p> + Hawksley wondered if he could walk round the block without falling down. + He saw that he was facing a physical collapse, hastened by the knowledge + that the safety of the girl depended largely upon himself. What he had + accepted at the beginning as strength had been nothing more than + exhilaration and nerve energy. There was now nothing but the latter, and + only feeble straws at that. Oh, he would manage somehow; he jolly well had + to; and there was a bare chance of falling in with a bobby. But run? + Honestly, now, how the devil was a chap to run on a pair of spools? + </p> + <p> + Arriving at the appointed spot they separated. He waved his hand airily + and marched off. If he fell it would be out of sight, where the girl could + not see him. Clever chap—what? Damned rotter! For himself he did not + care. He was weary of this game of hide and seek. But to have lured the + girl into it! When he turned the first corner of his journey he paused and + leaned against the wall, his eyes shut. When he opened them the sidewalk + and the street lamps were normal again. + </p> + <p> + As soon as he disappeared a new plan came to Kitty. She put it into + execution at once, on the basis that yonder taxicab was an enemy machine. + She left her retreat and walked boldly down the street, her eyes alert for + the least suspicious sign. If she could make the entrance before they + suspected the trick, she could obtain help before Johnny Two-Hawks made + the south turn. She reached her objective, pushed through the revolving + doors, and turned. Dimly she could see the taxi driver; but he appeared to + be dozing on the seat. + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact, one of the three men in the taxi recognized Kitty, + but too late to intercept her. Her manoeuvre had confused him temporarily. + And while he and his companions were debating, Kitty had time to summon + Cutty's man from Elevator Four. + </p> + <p> + “Step into the car!” he roughly ordered, after she had given him a gist of + her suspicions. He turned off the lights, stepped out, and shut the gates + with a furious bang. “And stick to the corner! I'll attend to the other fool.” + </p> + <p> + He rushed into the street, his automatic ready, eyed the taxicab + speculatively, wheeled suddenly, and ran south at a dog-trot. He rounded + the south corner, but he did not see Hawksley anywhere. The dog-trot + became a dead run. As he wheeled round the corner of the parallel street + he almost bumped into Hawksley, who had a policeman in tow. + </p> + <p> + “Officer,” said the man with the boy's face, “this is Federal business. + Aliens. Come along. There may be trouble. If there should be any shooting + don't bother with the atmosphere. Pick out a real target.” + </p> + <p> + “Anarchists?” + </p> + <p> + “About the size of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Conover?” asked Hawksley. + </p> + <p> + “Safe. No thanks to you, though. I'd like to knock your block off, if you + want to know!” + </p> + <p> + “Do it! Damned little use to me,” declared Hawksley, sagging. + </p> + <p> + “Here, what's the matter with you?” cried the policeman, throwing his arm + round Hawksley. + </p> + <p> + “They nearly killed him a few days gone. A crack on the bean; but he + wasn't satisfied. Help him along. I'll be hiking back.” + </p> + <p> + But the taxicab was gone. + </p> + <p> + Before Cutty's lieutenant opened the gate to the apartment he spoke to + Hawksley. “The boss is doing everything he can to put you through, sir. + Miss Conover's wit saved you. For if you hadn't separated they'd have + nailed you. I've been running round like a chicken with its head cut off. + I forgot that door on the seventeenth floor. I tell you honestly, you've + been playing with death. It wasn't fair to Miss Conover.” + </p> + <p> + “It was my fault,” volunteered Kitty. + </p> + <p> + “Mine,” protested Hawksley. + </p> + <p> + “Well, they know where you roost now, for a fact. You've spilled the + beans. I'm sorry I lost my temper. The devil fly away with you both!” The + boy laughed. “You're game, anyhow. But darn it all, if anything had + happened to you the boss would never have forgiven me. He's the whitest + old scout God ever put the breath of life into. He's always doing + something for somebody. He'd give you the block if you had the gall to ask + for it. Play the game fifty-fifty with him and you'll land on both feet. + And you, Miss Conover, must not come here again.” + </p> + <p> + “I promise.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you a little secret. It was the boss who sent you out of town. + He was afraid you'd do something like this. When you are ready to go home + you'll find Tony Bernini downstairs. Sore as a crab, too, I'll bet.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be glad to go home with him,” said Kitty, thoroughly chastened in + spirit. + </p> + <p> + “That's all for to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty and Hawksley stepped out into the corridor, the problem they had + sought to shake off reestablished in their thoughts, added too, if + anything. + </p> + <p> + “How do you feel?” + </p> + <p> + “Top-hole,” lied Hawksley. “My word, though, I wobbled a bit going round + that block. I almost kissed the bobby. I say, he thought I'd been tilting + a few. But it was a lark!” + </p> + <p> + “Dinner is served,” announced Kuroki at their elbows. His expression was + coldly bland. + </p> + <p> + “Dinner!” cried Hawksley, brightening. “What does the American soldier + say?” + </p> + <p> + “Eats!” answered Kitty. + </p> + <p> + All tension vanished in the double laughter that followed. They approached + dinner with something of the spirit that had induced Hawksley to fiddle + and Kitty to pass the hat in front of the Metropolitan Opera House. + Hawksley's recuperative powers promised well for his future. By the time + coffee was served his head had cleared and his legs had resumed their + normal functions of support. + </p> + <p> + “I was so infernally bored!” + </p> + <p> + “And now?” asked Kitty, recklessly. + </p> + <p> + “Fancy asking me that!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you realize that all this is dreadfully improper?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say, now! Where's the harm? If ever there was a young woman capable + of taking care of herself—” + </p> + <p> + “That isn't it. It's just being here alone with you.” + </p> + <p> + “But you are not alone with me!” + </p> + <p> + “Kuroki?” Kitty shrugged. + </p> + <p> + “No. At my side of the table is Stefani Gregor; at yours the man who has + befriended me.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for that. I don't know of anything nicer you could say. But the + outside world would see neither of our friends. I did not come here to see + you.” + </p> + <p> + “No need of telling me that.” + </p> + <p> + “I had a problem—a very difficult one—to solve; and I believed + that I might solve it if I came to these rooms. I had quite forgotten + you.” + </p> + <p> + Instantly, upon receiving this blunt explanation, he determined that she + should never cease to remember him after this night. His vanity was not + touched; it was something far more elusive. It was perhaps a recurrence of + that inexplicable desire to hurt. Somehow he sensed the flexible steel + behind which lay the soul of this baffling girl. He would presently find a + chink in the armour with that old Amati. + </p> + <p> + Blows on the head have few surgical comparisons. That which kills one man + only temporarily stuns another. One man loses his identity; another + escapes with all his faculties and suffers but trifling inconvenience. In + Hawksley's case the blow had probably restricted some current of thought, + and that which would have flowed normally now shot out obliquely, + perversely. It might be that the natural perverseness of his blood, + unchecked by the noble influence of Stefani Gregor and liberated by the + blow, governed his thoughts in relation to Kitty. The subjugation of + women, the old cynical warfare of sex—the dominant business of his + rich and idle forbears, the business that had made Boris Karlov a deadly + and implacable enemy—became paramount in his disordered brain. + </p> + <p> + She had forgotten him! Very well. He would stir the soul of her, play with + it, lift it to the stars and dash it down—if she had a soul. + Beautiful, natural, alone. He became all Latin under the pressure of this + idea. + </p> + <p> + “I will play for you,” he said, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Please! And then I'll go home where I belong. I'll be in the living + room.” + </p> + <p> + When he returned he found her before a window, staring at the myriad + lights. + </p> + <p> + “Sit here,” he said, indicating the divan. “I shall stand and walk about + as I play.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty sat down, touching the pillows, reflectively. She thought of the + tears she had wept upon them. That sinister and cynical thought! Suddenly + she saw light. Her problem would have been none at all if Cutty had said + he loved her. There would have been something sublime in making him happy + in his twilight. He had loved and lost her mother. To pay him for that! He + was right. Those twenty-odd years—his seniority—had mellowed + him, filled him with deep and tender understanding. To be with him was + restful; the very thought of him now was resting. No matter how much she + might love a younger man he would frequently torture her by unconscious + egoism; and by the time he had mellowed, the mulled wine would be cold. If + only Cutty had said he loved her! + </p> + <p> + “What shall I play?” + </p> + <p> + Kitty raised her eyes in frank astonishment. There was a fiercely proud + expression on Hawksley's face. It was not the man, it was the artist who + was angry. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me! I was dreaming a little,” she apologized with quick + understanding. “I am not quite—myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither am I. I will play something to fit your dream. But wait! When I + play I am articulate. I can express myself—all emotions. I am what I + play—happy, sad, gay, full of the devil. I warn you. I can speak all + things. I can laugh at you, weep with you, despise you, love you! All in + the touch of these strings. I warn you there is magic in this Amati. Will + you risk it?” + </p> + <p> + Ordinarily—had this florid outburst come from another man—Kitty + would have laughed. It had the air of piqued vanity; but she knew that + this was not the interpretation. On the streets he had been the most + amusing and surprising comrade she had ever known, as merry and whimsical + as Cutty—young and handsome—the real man. He had been real + that night when he entered through her kitchen window, with the drums of + jeopardy about his neck. He had been real that night she had brought him + his wallet. + </p> + <p> + Electric antagonism—the room seemed charged with it. The man had + stepped aside for a moment and the great noble had taken his place. It was + not because she had been reared in rather a theatrical atmosphere that she + transcribed his attitude thus. She knew that he was noble. That she did + not know his rank was of no consequence. Cutty's narrative, which she had + pretended to believe, had set this man in the middle class. Never in this + world. There was only one middle class out of which such a personality + might, and often did, emerge—the American middle class. In Europe, + never. No peasant blood, no middle-class corpuscle, stirred in this man's + veins. The ancient boyar looked down at her. + </p> + <p> + “Play!” said Kitty. There was a smile on her lips, but there was fiery + challenge in her slate-blue eyes. The blood of Irish kings—and what + Irishman dares deny it?—surged into her throat. + </p> + <p> + We wear masks, we inherit generations of masks; and a trivial incident + reveals the primordial which lurks in each one of us. Savages—Kitty + with her stone hatchet and Hawksley swinging the curved blade of Hunk. + </p> + <p> + He began one of those tempestuous compositions, brilliant and bewildering, + that submerge the most appreciative lay mentality—because he was + angry, a double anger that he should be angry over he knew not what—and + broke off in the middle of the composition because Kitty sat upright, + stonily unimpressed. + </p> + <p> + Tschaikowsky's “Serenade Melancolique.” Kitty, after a few measures, laid + aside her stone hatchet, and her body relaxed. Music! She began to absorb + it as parched earth absorbs the tardy rain. Then came the waltz which had + haunted her. Her face grew tenderly beautiful; and Hawksley, a true + artist, saw that he had discovered the fifth string; and he played upon it + with all the artistry which was naturally his and which had been given + form by the master who had taught him. + </p> + <p> + For the physical exertions he relied upon nerve energy again. Nature is + generous when we are young. No matter how much we draw against the account + she always has a little more for us. He forgot that only an hour gone he + had been dizzy with pain, forgot everything but the glory of the sounds he + was evoking and their visible reaction upon this girl. The devil was not + only in his heart, but in his hand. + </p> + <p> + Never had Kitty heard such music. To be played to in this manner—directly, + with embracing tenderness, with undivided fire—would have melted the + soul of Gobseck the money lender; and Kitty was warm-blooded, Irish, + emotional. The fiddle called poignantly to the Irish in her. She wanted to + go roving with this man; with her hand on his shoulder to walk in the thin + air of high places. Through it all, however, she felt vaguely troubled; + the instinct of the trap. The sinister and cynical idea which had + clandestinely taken up quarters in her mind awoke and assailed her from a + new angle, that of youth. Something in her cried out: “Stop! Stop!” But + her lips were mute, her body enchained. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Hawksley laid aside the fiddle and advanced. He reached down and + drew her up. Kitty did not resist him; she was numb with enchantment. He + held her close for a second, then kissed her—her hair, eyes, mouth—released + her and stepped back, a bantering smile on his lips and cold terror in his + heart. The devil who had inspired this phase of the drama now deserted his + victim, as he generally does in the face of superior forces. + </p> + <p> + Kitty stood perfectly still for a full minute, stunned. It was that smile—frozen + on his lips—that brought her back to intimacy with cold realities. + Had he asked her pardon, had he shown the least repentance, she might have + forgiven, forgotten. But knowing mankind as she did she could give but one + interpretation to that smile—of which he was no longer conscious. + </p> + <p> + Without anger, in quiet, level tones she said: “I had foolishly thought + that we two might be friends. You have made it impossible. You have also + abused the kindly hospitality of the man who has protected you from your + enemies. A few days ago he did me the honour to ask me to marry him. I am + going to. I wish you no evil.” She turned and walked from the room. + </p> + <p> + Even then there was time. But he did not move. It was not until he heard + the elevator gate crash that he was physically released from the thraldom + of the inner revelation. Love—in the blinding flash of a + thunderbolt! He had kissed her not because he was the son of his father, + but because he loved her! And now he never could tell her. He must let her + go, believing that the man she had saved from death had repaid her with + insult. On top of all his misfortunes, his tragedies—love! There was + a God, yes, but his name was Irony. Love! He stepped toward the divan, + stumbled, and fell against it, his arms spread over the pillows; and in + this position he remained. + </p> + <p> + For a while his thoughts were broken, inconclusive; he was like a man in + the dark, groping for a door. Principally, his poor head was trying to + solve the riddle of his never-ending misfortunes. Why? What had he done + that these calamities should be piled upon his head? He had lived + decently; his youth had been normal; he had played fair with men and + women. Why make him pay for what his forbears had done? He wasn't fair + game. + </p> + <p> + He! A singular revelation cleared one corner. Kitty had spoken of a + problem; and he, by those devil-urged kisses, had solved it for her. She + had been doddering, and his own act had thrust her into the arms of that + old thoroughbred. That cynical suggestion of his the other morning had + been acted upon. God had long ago deserted him, and now the devil himself + had taken leave. Hawksley buried his face in the pillow once made wet with + Kitty's tears. + </p> + <p> + The great tragedy in life lies in being too late. Hawksley had learned + this once before; it was now being driven home again. Cutty was to find it + out on the morrow, for he missed his train that night. + </p> + <p> + The shuttles of the Weaver in this pattern of life were two green stones + called the drums of jeopardy, inanimate objects, but perfect tools in the + hands of Destiny. But for these stones Hawksley would not have tarried too + long on a certain red night; Cutty would not now be stumbling about the + labyrinths into which his looting instincts had thrust him; and Kitty + Conover would have jogged along in the humdrum rut, if not happy at least + philosophically content with her lot. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII + </h2> + <p> + Decision is always a mental relief, hesitance a curse. Kitty, having + shifted her burdens to the broad shoulders of Cutty, felt as she reached + the lobby as if she had left storm and stress behind and entered calm. She + would marry Cutty; she had published the fact, burned her bridges. + </p> + <p> + She had stepped into the car, her heart full of cold fury. Now she began + to find excuses for Hawksley's conduct. A sick brain; he was not really + accountable for his acts. Her own folly had opened the way. Of course she + would never see him again. Why should she? Their lives were as far apart + as the Volga and the Hudson. + </p> + <p> + Bernini met her in the lobby. “I've got a cab for you, Miss Conover,” he + said as if nothing at all had happened. + </p> + <p> + “Have you Cutty's address?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then take me at once to a telegraph office. I have a very important + message to send him.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Miss Conover.” + </p> + <p> + “Say: 'Decision made. It is yes.' And sign it just Kitty.” + </p> + <p> + Without being conscious of it her soul was still in the clouds, where it + had been driven by the music of the fiddle; thus, what she assumed to be a + normal sequence of a train of thought was only a sublime impulse. She + would marry Cutty. More, she would be his wife, his true wife. For his + tenderness, his generosity, his chivalry, she would pay him in kind. There + would be no nonsense; love would not enter into the bargain; but there + would be the fragrance of perfect understanding. That he was fifty-two and + she was twenty-four no longer mattered. No more loneliness, no more + genteel poverty; for such benefits she was ready to pay the score in full. + A man she was genuinely fond of, a man she could look up to, always depend + upon. + </p> + <p> + Was there such a thing as perfect love? She had her doubts. She reasoned + that love was what a body decided was love, the psychological moment when + the physical attraction became irresistible. Who could tell before the + fact which was the true and which the false? Lived there a woman, herself + excepted, who had not hesitated between two men—a man who had not + doddered between two women—for better or for worse? What did the + average woman know of the man, the average man know of the woman—until + afterward? To stake all upon a guess! + </p> + <p> + She knew Cutty. Under her own eyes he had passed through certain proving + fires. There would be no guessing the manner of man he was. He was + fifty-two; that is to say, the grand passion had come and gone. There + would be mutual affection and comradeship. + </p> + <p> + True, she had her dreams; but she could lay them away without any + particular regret. She had never been touched by the fire of passion. Let + it go. But she did know what perfect comradeship was, and she would grasp + it and never loose her hold. Something out of life. + </p> + <p> + “A narrow squeak, Miss Conover,” said Berumi, breaking the long silence. + </p> + <p> + “A miss is as good as a mile,” replied Kitty, not at all grateful for the + interruption. + </p> + <p> + “We've done everything we could to protect you. If you can't see now—why, + the jig is up. A chain is as strong as its weakest link. And in a game + like this a woman is always the weakest link.” + </p> + <p> + “You're quite a philosopher.” + </p> + <p> + “I have reason to be. I'm married.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I expected to laugh?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Conover, you're a wonder. You come through these affairs with a + smile, when you ought to have hysterics. I'll bet a doughnut that when you + see a mouse you go and get it a piece of cheese.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you want the truth? Well, I'll tell it to you. You have all kept me on + the outer edge of this affair, and I've been trying to find out why. I + have the reportorial instinct, as they say. I inherited it from my father. + You put a strange weapon in my hands, you tell me it is deadly, but you + don't tell me which end is deadly. Do you know who this Russian is?” + </p> + <p> + “Honestly, I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “Does Cutty?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that, either.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever hear of a pair of emeralds called the drums of jeopardy?” + </p> + <p> + “Nope. But I do know if you continue these stunts you'll head the whole + game into the ditch.” + </p> + <p> + “You may set your mind at ease. I'm going to marry Cutty. I shall not go + to the apartment again until Hawksley, as he is called, is gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well; that's good news! But let me put you wise to one fact, Miss + Conover: you have picked some man! I'm not much of a scholar, but knowing + him as I do I'm always wondering why they made Faith, Hope, and Charity in + female form. But this night's work was bad business. They know where the + Russian is now; and if the game lasts long enough they'll reach the chief, + find out who he is; and that'll put the kibosh on his usefulness here and + abroad. Well, here's home, and no more lecture from me.” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry I've been so much trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps we ought to have shown you which end shoots.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + If Kitty had any doubt as to the wisdom of her decision, the cold, gloomy + rooms of her apartment dissipated them. She wandered through the rooms, + musing, calling back animated scenes. What would the spirit of her mother + say? Had she doddered between Conover and Cutty? Perhaps. But she had been + one of the happy few who had guessed right. Singular thought: her mother + would have been happy with Cutty, too. + </p> + <p> + Oh, the relief of knowing what the future was going to be! She took off + her hat and tossed it upon the table. The good things of life, and a good + comrade. + </p> + <p> + Food. The larder would be empty and there was her breakfast to consider. + She passed out into the kitchen, wrote out a list of necessities, and put + it on the dumb waiter. Now for the dishes she had so hurriedly left. She + rolled up her sleeves, put on the apron, and fell to the task. After such + a night—dish-washing! She laughed. It was a funny old world. + </p> + <p> + Pauses. Perhaps she should have gone to a hotel, away from all familiar + objects. Those flatirons intermittently pulled her eyes round. Her fancy + played tricks with her whenever her glance touched the window. Faces + peering in. In a burst of impatience she dropped the dish towel, hurried + to the window, and threw it up. Black emptiness!... Cutty, crossing the + platform with Hawksley on his shoulders. She saw that, and it comforted + her. + </p> + <p> + She finished her work and started for bed. But first she entered the guest + room and turned on the lights. Olga. She had intended to ask him who Olga + was. + </p> + <p> + A great pity. They might have been friends. The back of her hand went to + her lips but did not touch them. She could not rub away those burning + kisses—that is, not with the back of her hand. Vividly she saw him + fiddling bareheaded in front of the Metropolitan Opera House. It seemed, + though, that it had happened years ago. A great pity. The charm of that + frolic would abide with her as long as she lived. A brave man, too. Hadn't + he left her with a gay wave of the hand, not knowing, for want of + strength, if he could make the detour of the block? That took courage. His + journey halfway across the world had taken courage. Yet he could so basely + disillusion her. It was not the kiss; it was the smile. She had seen that + smile before, born of evil. If only he had spoken! + </p> + <p> + The heavenly magic of that fiddle! It made her sad. Genius, the ability to + play with souls, soothe, tantalize, lift up; and then to smile at her like + that! + </p> + <p> + She shut down the curtain upon these cogitations and summoned Cutty, + visualized his handsome head, shot with gray, the humour of his smile. She + did care for him; no doubt of that. She couldn't have sent that telegram + else. Cutty—name of a pipe, as the Frenchmen said! All at once she + rocked with laughter. She was going to marry a man whose given name she + could not recall! Henry, George, John, William? For the life of her she + could not remember. + </p> + <p> + And with this laughter still bubbling in a softer note she got into bed, + twisted about from side to side, from this pillow to that, the tired body + seeking perfect relaxation. + </p> + <p> + A broken melody entered her head. Sleepily she sought one channel of + thought after another to escape; still the melody persisted. As her + consciousness dodged hither and thither the bars and measures joined.... + She sat up, chilled, bewildered. That Tschaikowsky waltz! She could hear + it as clearly as if Johnny Two-Hawks and the Amati were in the very room. + She grew afraid. Of what? She did not know. + </p> + <p> + And while she sat there in bed threshing out this fear to find the grain, + Cutty was tramping the streets of Washington, her telegram crumpled in his + hand. From time to time he would open it and reread it under a street + lamp. + </p> + <p> + To marry her and then to cheat her. It wasn't humanly possible to marry + her and then to let her go. He thought of those warm, soft arms round his + neck, the absolute trust of that embrace. Molly's girl. No, he could not + do it. He would have to back down, tell her he could not put the bargain + through, invent some other scheme. + </p> + <p> + The idea had been repugnant to her. It had taken her a week to fight it + out. It was a little beyond his reach, however, why the idea should have + been repugnant to her. It entailed nothing beyond a bit of mummery. The + repugnance was not due to religious training. The Conover household, as he + recalled it, had been rather lax in that respect. Why, then, should Kitty + have hesitated? + </p> + <p> + He thought of Hawksley, and swore. But for Hawksley's suggestion no muddle + like this would have occurred. Devil take him and his infernal green + stones! + </p> + <p> + Cutty suddenly remembered his train. He looked at his watch and saw that + his lower berth was well on the way to Baltimore. Always and eternally he + was missing something. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX + </h2> + <p> + Not unusually, when we burn our bridges, we have in the back of our minds + the dim hope that there may be a shallow ford somewhere. Thus, bridges + should not be burned impulsively; there may be no ford. + </p> + <p> + The idea of retreat pushed forward in Kitty's mind the moment she awoke; + but she pressed it back in shame. She had given her word, and she would + stand by it. + </p> + <p> + The night had been a series of wild impulses. She had not sent that + telegram to Cutty as the result of her deliberations in the country. + Impulse; a flash, and the thing was done, her bridges burned. To crush + Johnny Two-Hawks, fill his cup with chagrin, she had told him she was + going to marry Cutty. That was the milk in the cocoanut. Morning has a way + of showing up night-gold for what it is—tinsel. Kitty saw the stage + of last night's drama dismantled. If there was a shallow ford, she would + never lower her pride to seek it. She had told Two-Hawks, sent that wire + to Cutty, broke the news to Bernini. + </p> + <p> + But did she really want to go back? Not to know her own mind, to swing + back and forth like a pendulum! Was it because she feared that, having + married Cutty, she might actually fall in love with some other man later? + She could still go through the mummery as Cutty had planned; but what + about all the sublime generosity of the preceding night? + </p> + <p> + A queer feeling pervaded her: She was a marionette, a human manikin, and + some invisible hand was pulling the wires that made her do all these + absurd things. Her own mind no longer controlled her actions. The + persistence of that waltz! It had haunted her, broken into her dreams, + awakened her out of them. Why should she be afraid? What was there to be + afraid of in a recurring melody? She had heard a dozen famed violinists + play it. It had never before affected her beyond a flash of emotionalism. + Perhaps it was the romantic misfortune of the man, the mystery surrounding + him, the menace which walled him in. + </p> + <p> + Breakfast. Human manikins had appetites. So she made her breakfast. Before + leaving the kitchen she stopped at the window. The sun filled the court + with brilliant light. The patches of rust on the fire-escape ladder, which + was on the Gregor side of the platform, had the semblance of powdered + gold. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later she was speeding downtown to the office. All through + the day she walked, worked, talked as one in the state of trance. There + were periods of stupefaction which at length roused Burlingame's + curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Kitty, what's the matter with you? You look dazed about something.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you clean a pipe?” she countered, irrelevantly. + </p> + <p> + “Clean a pipe?” he repeated, nearly overbalancing his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You see, I may make up my mind to marry a man who smokes a pipe,” + said Kitty, desperately, eager to steer Burlingame into another channel; + “and certainly I ought to know how to clean one.” + </p> + <p> + “Kitty, I'm an old-timer. You can't sidetrack me like this. Something has + happened. You say you had a great time in the country, and you come in as + pale as the moon, like someone suffering from shell shock. Ever since + Cutty came in here that day you've been acting oddly. You may not know it, + but Cutty asked me to send you out of town. You've been in some kind of + danger. What's the yarn?” + </p> + <p> + “So big that no newspaper will ever publish it, Burly. If Cutty wants to + tell you some day he can. I haven't the right to.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he drag you into it or did you fall into it?” + </p> + <p> + “I walked into it, as presently I shall walk out of it—all on my + own. + </p> + <p> + “Better keep your eyes open. Cutty's a stormy petrel; when he flies + there's rough weather.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about him?” + </p> + <p> + “Probably what he has already told you—that he is a foreign agent of + the Government. What do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything but one thing, and that's a problem particularly my own.” + </p> + <p> + “Alien stuff, I suppose. Cutty's strong on that. Well, mind your step. The + boys are bringing in queer scraps about something big going to happen May + Day—no facts, just rumours. Better shoot for home the shortest route + each night and stick round there.” + </p> + <p> + There are certain spiritual exhilarants that nullify caution, warning the + presence of danger. The boy with his first pay envelope, the lover who has + just been accepted, the debutante on the way to her first ball; the + impetus that urges us to rush in where angels fear to tread. + </p> + <p> + At a quarter after five Kitty left the office for home, unaware that the + attribute designated as caution had evaporated from her system. She + proceeded toward the Subway mechanically, the result of habit. Casually + she noted two taxicabs standing near the Subway entrance. That she noted + them at all was due to the fact that Subway entrances were not fortuitous + hunting grounds for taxicabs. Only the unusual would have attracted her in + her present condition of mind. It takes time and patience to weave a good + web—observe any spider—time in finding a suitable place for + it; patience in the spinning. All that worried Karlov was the possibility + of her not observing him. If he could place his taxicabs where they would + attract her, even casually, the main difficulty would be out of the way. + The moment she turned her head toward the cabs he would step out into + plain view. The girl was susceptible and adventuresome. + </p> + <p> + Kitty saw a man step out of the foremost taxicab, give some instructions + to the chauffeur, and get back into the cab, immediately to be driven off + at moderate speed. She recognized the man at once. Never would she forget + that squat, gorilla-like body. Karlov! Yonder, in that cab! She ran to the + remaining cab; wherein she differed from angels. + </p> + <p> + “Are you free?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, miss.” + </p> + <p> + “See that taxi going across town? Follow it and I will give you ten extra + fare.” + </p> + <p> + “You're on, miss.” + </p> + <p> + Karlov peered through the rear window of his cab. If she had in tow a + Federal agent the manoeuvre would fail, at a great risk to himself. But he + would soon be able to tell whether or not she was being followed. + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact, she was not. She had returned to New York a day + before she was expected. Her unknown downtown guardian would not turn up + for duty until ordered by Cutty to do so. She entered the second cab with + no definite plan in her head. Karlov, the man who wanted to kill Johnny + Two-Hawks, the man who held Stefani Gregor a prisoner! For the present + these facts were sufficient. “Don't get too near,” said Kitty through the + speaking tube. “Just keep the cab in sight.” + </p> + <p> + A perfectly logical compensation. She herself had set in motion the + machinery of this amazing adventure; it was logically right that she + should end it. Poor dear old Cutty—to fancy he could pull the wool + over Kitty Conover's eyes! Cutty, the most honest man alive, had set his + foot upon an unethical bypath and now found himself among nettles. To keep + Johnny Two-Hawks prisoner in that lofty apartment while he hunted for the + drums of jeopardy! Hadn't he said he had seen emeralds he would steal with + half a chance? Cutty, playing at this sort of game, his conscience biting + whichever way he turned! He had been hunting unsuccessfully for the stones + that night he had come in with his face and hands bloody. Why hadn't he + kissed her? + </p> + <p> + Johnny Two-Hawks—bourgeois? Utter nonsense! Of course it did not + matter now what he was; he had dug a bridgeless chasm with that smile. + Sometime to-morrow he and Stefani Gregor would be on their way to Montana; + and that would be the last of them both. To-morrow would mark the fork in + the road. But life would never again be humdrum for Kitty Conover. + </p> + <p> + The taxicabs were bumping over cobbles, through empty streets. It was six + by now; at that hour this locality, which she recognized as the warehouse + district, was always dead. The deserted streets, how ever, set in motion a + slight perturbation. Supposing Karlov grew suspicious and turned aside + from his objective? Even as this disturbing thought took form Karlov's + taxicab stopped. Kitty's stopped also, but without instructions from her. + She had intended to drive on and from the rear window observe if Karlov + entered that old red-brick house. + </p> + <p> + “Go on!” she called through the tube. + </p> + <p> + The chauffeur obeyed, but he stopped again directly behind Karlov's + taxicab. He slid off his seat and opened the door. His face was grim. + </p> + <p> + Tumpitum-tump! Tumpitum-tump! She did not hear the tocsin this time; she + felt it on her spine—the drums of fear. If they touched her! + </p> + <p> + “Come with me, miss. If you are sensible you will not be harmed. If you + cut up a racket I'll have to carry you.” + </p> + <p> + “What does this mean?” faltered Kitty. + </p> + <p> + “That we have finally got you, miss. You can see for yourself that there + isn't any help in sight. Better take it sensibly. We don't intend to hurt + you. It's somebody else we want. There's a heavy score against you, but + we'll overlook it if you act sensibly. You were very clever last night; + but the game depends upon the last trick.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go sensibly,” Kitty agreed. They must not touch her! + </p> + <p> + Karlov did not speak as he opened the door of the house for her. His + expression was Buddha-like. + </p> + <p> + “This way, miss,” said the chauffeur, affably. + </p> + <p> + “You are an American?” + </p> + <p> + “Whenever it pays.” + </p> + <p> + Presently Kitty found herself in the attic, alone. They hadn't touched + her; so much was gained. Poor little fool that she was! It was fairly dark + now, but overhead she could see the dim outlines of the scuttle or trap. + The attic was empty except for a few pieces of lumber and some soap boxes. + She determined to investigate the trap at once, before they came again. + </p> + <p> + She placed two soap boxes on end and laid a plank across. After testing + its stability she mounted. She could reach the trap easily, with plenty of + leverage to spare. She was confident that she could draw herself up to the + roof. She sought for the hooks and liberated them, then she placed her + palms against the trap and heaved. Not even a creak answered her. She + pressed upward again and again. The trap was immovable. + </p> + <p> + Light. She turned, to behold Karlov in the doorway, a candlestick in his + hand. “The scuttle is covered with cement, Miss Conover. Nobody can get in + or out.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty got down, her knees uncertain. If he touched her! Oh, the fool she + had been! + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do with me?” she asked through dry lips. + </p> + <p> + “You are to me a bill of exchange, payable in something more precious to + me than gold. I am going to keep you here until you are ransomed. The + ransom is the man you have been shielding. If he isn't here by midnight + you vanish. Oh, we shan't harm you. Merely you will disappear until my + affairs in America are terminated. You are clever and resourceful for so + young a woman. You will understand that we are not going to turn aside. + You are not a woman to me; you are a valuable pawn. You are something to + bargain for.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said Kitty, her heart trying to burst through. It seemed + impossible that Karlov should not hear the thunder. To placate him, to + answer his questions, to keep him from growing angry! + </p> + <p> + “I thought you would.” Karlov set the candle on Kitty's impromptu + stepladder. “We saw your interest in the affair, and attacked you on that + side. You had seen me once. Being a newspaper writer—the New York + kind—you would not rest until you learned who I was. You would not + forget me. You were too well guarded uptown. You have been out of the city + for a week. We could not find where. You were reported seen entering your + office this morning; and here you are. My one fear was that you might not + see me. Personally you will have no cause to worry. No hand shall touch + you. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't misunderstand. There is no sentiment behind this promise. I imagine + your protector will sacrifice much for your sake. Simply it is unnecessary + to offer you any violence. Do you know who the man is your protector is + shielding?” + </p> + <p> + Kitty shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Has he played the fiddle for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Karlov smiled. “Did you dance?” + </p> + <p> + “Dance? I don't understand.” + </p> + <p> + “No matter. He can play the fiddle nearly as well as his master. The two + of them have gone across the world fiddling the souls of women out of + their bodies.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty sat down weakly on the plank. Terror from all points. Karlov's + unexcited tones—his lack of dramatic gesture—convinced her + that this was deadly business. Terror that for all the promise of immunity + they might lay hands on her. Terror for Johnny Two-Hawks, for Cutty. + </p> + <p> + “Has he injured you?” she asked, to gain time. + </p> + <p> + “He is an error in chronology. He represents an idea which no longer + exists.” He spoke English fluently, but with a rumbling accent. + </p> + <p> + “But to kill him for that!” + </p> + <p> + “Kill him? My dear young lady, I merely want him to fiddle for me,” said + Karlov with another smile. + </p> + <p> + “You tried to kill him,” insisted Kitty, the dryness beginning to leave + her throat. + </p> + <p> + “Bungling agents. Do know what became of them—the two who invaded + your bedroom?” + </p> + <p> + “They were taken away the police.” + </p> + <p> + “So I thought. What became of the wallet?” + </p> + <p> + “I found it hidden on the back of my stove.” + </p> + <p> + “I never thought to look there,” said Karlov, musingly. “Who has the + drums?” + </p> + <p> + “The emeralds? You haven't them!” cried Kitty, becoming her mother's + daughter, though her heart never beat so thunderously as now. “We thought + you had them!” + </p> + <p> + Karlov stared at her, moodily. “What is that button for, at the side of + your bed?” + </p> + <p> + Kitty comprehended the working of the mind that formulated this question. + If she answered truthfully he would accept her statements. “It rings an + alarm in the basement.” + </p> + <p> + Karlov nodded. “You are truthful and sensible I haven't the emeralds.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps one of your men betrayed you.” + </p> + <p> + “I have thought of that. But if he had betrayed me the drums would have + been discovered by the police.... Damn them to hell!” Kitty wondered + whether he meant the police or the emeralds. + </p> + <p> + “Later, food and a blanket will be brought to you. If your ransom does not + appear by midnight you will be taken away. If you struggle we may have to + handle you roughly. That is as you please.” + </p> + <p> + Karlov went out, locking the door. + </p> + <p> + Oh, the blind little fool she had been! All those constant warnings, and + she had not heeded! Cutty had warned her repeatedly, so had Bernini; and + she had deliberately walked into this trap. As if this cold, murderous + madman would risk showing himself without some grim and terrible purpose. + She had written either Cutty's or Johnny Two-Hawks' death warrant. She + covered her eyes. It was horrible. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps not Cutty, but assuredly Two-hawks. His life for her liberty. + </p> + <p> + “And he will come!” she whispered. She knew it. How, was not to be + analyzed. She just knew that he would come. What if he had smiled like + that! The European point of view and her own monumental folly. He would + come quietly, without protest, and give himself up. + </p> + <p> + “God forgive me! What can I do? What can I do?” + </p> + <p> + She slid to the floor and rocked her body. Her fault! He would come—even + as Cutty would have come had he been the man demanded. And Karlov would + kill him—because he was an error in chronology! She sensed also that + the anarchist would not look upon his act as murder. He would be removing + an obstacle from the path of his sick dreams. + </p> + <p> + Comparisons! She saw how much alike the two were. Cutty was only Johnny + Two-Hawks at fifty-two—fearless and whimsical. Had Cutty gone + through life without looking at some woman as, last night, Two-Hawks had + looked at her? All the rest of her life she would see Two-Hawks' eyes. + </p> + <p> + Abysmal fool, to pit her wits against such men as Karlov! Because she had + been successful to a certain extent, she had overrated her cleverness, + with this tragic result... He had fiddled the soul out of her. But death! + </p> + <p> + She sprang up. It was maddening to sit still, to feel the approach of the + tragedy without being able to prevent it. She investigated the windows. No + hope in this direction. It was rapidly growing dark outside. What time was + it? + </p> + <p> + The door opened. A man she had not seen before came in with a blanket, a + pitcher of water, and some graham crackers. His fingers were stained a + brilliant yellow and a peculiar odour emanated from his clothes. He did + not speak to her, but set the articles on the floor and departed. + </p> + <p> + Kitty did not stir. An hour passed; she sat as one in a trance. The tallow + dip was sinking. By and by she became conscious of a faint sound, a + tapping. Whence it came she could not tell. She moved about cautiously, + endeavouring to locate it. When she finally did the blood drummed in her + ears. The trap! Someone was trying to get in through the trap! + </p> + <p> + Cutty! Thus soon! Who else could it be? She hunted for a piece of lumber + light enough to raise to the trap. She tapped three times, and waited. + Silence. She repeated the signal. This time it was answered. Cutty! In a + little while she would be free, and Two-Hawks would not have to pay for + her folly with his life. Terror and remorse departed forthwith. + </p> + <p> + She took the plank to the door and pushed one end under the door knob. + Then she piled the other planks against the butt. The moment she heard + steps on the stairs she would stand on the planks. It would be difficult + to open that door. She sat down on the planks to wait. From time to time + she built up the falling tallow. Cutty must have light. The tapping on the + trap went on. They were breaking away the cement. Perhaps an hour passed. + At least it seemed a very long time. + </p> + <p> + Steps on the stairs! She stood up, facing the door, the roots of her hair + tingling. She heard the key turn in the lock; and then as in a nightmare + she felt the planks under her feet stir slightly but with sinister + persistence. She presently saw the toe of a boot insert, itself between + the door and the jamb. The pressure increased; the space between the door + and the jamb widened. Suddenly the boot vanished, the door closed, and the + plank fell. Immediately thereafter Karlov stood inside the room, scowling + suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX + </h2> + <p> + Cutty arrived at the apartment in time to share dinner with Hawksley. He + had wisely decided to say nothing about the escapade of Hawksley and Kitty + Conover, since it had terminated fortunately. Bernini had telegraphed the + gist of the adventure. He could readily understand Hawksley's part; but + Kitty's wasn't reducible to ordinary terms of expression. The young chap + had run wild because his head still wobbled on his shoulders and because + his isolation was beginning to scratch his nerves. But for Kitty to run + wild with him offered a blank wall to speculation. (As if he could solve + the riddle when Kitty herself could not!) So he determined to shut himself + up in his study and shuffle the chrysoprase. Something might come of it. + Looking backward, he recognized the salient, at no time had he been quite + sure of Kitty. She seemed to be a combination of shallows and unfathomable + deeps. + </p> + <p> + From the Pennsylvania Station he had called up the office. Kitty had gone. + Bernini informed him that Kitty was dining at a cafe on the way home. + Cutty was thorough. He telephoned the restaurant and was advised that Miss + Conover had reserved a table. He had forgotten to send down the operative + who guarded Kitty at that end. But the distance from the office to the + Subway was so insignificant! + </p> + <p> + “You are looking fit,” he said across the table. + </p> + <p> + “Ought to be off your hands by Monday. But what about Stefani Gregor? I + can't stir, leaving him hanging on a peg.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going into the study shortly to decide that. Head bother you?” + </p> + <p> + “Occasionally.” + </p> + <p> + “Ryan easy to get along with?” + </p> + <p> + “Rather a good sort. I say, you know, you've seen a good deal of life. + Which do you consider the stronger, the inherited traits or environment?” + </p> + <p> + “Environment. That is the true mould. There is good and bad in all of us. + It is brought into prominence by the way we live. An angel cannot touch + pitch without becoming defiled. On the other hand, the worst gutter rats + in the world saved France. Do you suppose that thought will not always be + tugging at and uplifting those who returned from the first Marne?” + </p> + <p> + “There is hope, then, for me!” + </p> + <p> + “Hope?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You know that my father, my uncle, and my grandfather were fine + scoundrels.” + </p> + <p> + “Under their influence you would have been one, too. But no man could live + with Stefani Gregor and not absorb his qualities. Your environment has + been Anglo-Saxon, where the first block in the picture is fair play. You + have been constantly under the tutelage of a fine and lofty personality, + Gregor's. Whatever evil traits you may have inherited, they have become + subject to the influences that have surrounded you. Take me, for instance. + I was born in a rather puritanical atmosphere. My environments have always + been good. Yet there lurks in me the taint of Macaire. Given the wrong + environment, I should now have my picture in the Rogues' Gallery.” + </p> + <p> + “You?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Hawksley played with his fork. “If you had a daughter would you trust me + with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Any man who can weep unashamed over the portrait of his mother may + be trusted. Once you are out there in Montana you'll forget all about your + paternal forbears.” + </p> + <p> + Handsome beggar, thought Cutty; but evidently born under the opal. An + inexplicable resentment against his guest stirred his heart. He resented + his youth, his ease of manner, his fluency in the common tongue. He was + theoretically a Britisher; he thought British; approached subjects from a + British point of view. A Britisher—except when he had that fiddle + tucked under his chin. Then Cutty admitted he did not know what he was. + Devil take him! + </p> + <p> + There must have been something electrical in Cutty's resentment, for the + object of it felt it subtly, and it fired his own. He resented the freedom + of action that had always been denied him, resented his host's mental and + physical superiority. Did Cutty care for the girl, or was he playing the + game as it had been suggested to him? Money and freedom. But then, it was + in no sense a barter; she would be giving nothing, and the old beggar + would be asking nothing. His suggestion! He laughed. + </p> + <p> + “What's the joke?” asked Cutty, looking up from his coffee, which he was + stirring with unnecessary vigour. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't a joke. I'm bally well twisted. I laugh now when I think of + something tragic. I am sorry about last night. I was mad, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about it.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty listened intently and smiled occasionally. Mad as hatters, both of + them. He and Kitty couldn't have gone on a romp like this, but Kitty and + Hawksley could. Thereupon his resentment boiled up again. + </p> + <p> + “Have you any idea why she took such a risk? Why she came here, knowing me + to be absent?” + </p> + <p> + “She spoke of a problem. I fancy it related to your approaching marriage. + She told me.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty laid down his spoon. “I'd like to dump Your Highness into the middle + of East River for putting that idea into my head. She has consented to it; + and now, damn it, I've got to back out of it!” Cutty rose and flung down + his napkin. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked the bewildered Hawksley. + </p> + <p> + “Because there is in me the making of a first-rate scoundrel, and I never + should have known it if you and your affairs hadn't turned up.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty entered his study and slammed the door, leaving Hawksley prey to so + many conflicting emotions that his head began to bother him. Back out of + it! Why? Why should Kitty have a problem to solve over such a marriage of + convenience, and why should the old thoroughbred want to back out? + </p> + <p> + Kitty would be free, then? A flash of fire, which subsided quickly under + the smothering truth. What if she were free? He could not ask her to be + his wife. Not because of last night's madness. That no longer troubled + him. She was the sort who would understand, if he told her. She had a soul + big with understanding. It was that he walked in the shadow of death, and + would so long as Karlov was free; and he could not ask any woman to share + that. + </p> + <p> + He pushed back his chair slowly. In the living room he took the Amati from + its case and began improvising. What the chrysoprase did for Cutty the + fiddle did for this derelict—solved problems. + </p> + <p> + He reviewed all the phases as he played. That dish of bacon and eggs, the + resolute air of her, that popping fan! [Allegretto.] She had found him + senseless on the floor. She had had the courage to come to his assistance. + [Andante con espressione.] What had been in her mind that night she had + taken flight from his bedroom, after having given him the wallet? + Something like tears. What about? An American girl, natural, humorous, and + fanciful. Somehow he felt assured that it had not been his kisses; she had + looked into his eyes and seen the taint. Always there, the beast that old + Stefani had chained and subdued. He knew now that this beast would never + again lift its head. And he had let her go without a sign. + [Dolorosomente.] To have gone through life with a woman who would have + understood his nature. The test of her had been last night in the streets. + His mood had been hers. [Allegretto con amore.] + </p> + <p> + “Love,” he said, lowering the bow. + </p> + <p> + “Love,” said Cutty, shifting his chrysoprase. There was no fool like an + old fool. It did not serve to recall Molly in all her glory, to reach + hither and yon for a handhold to pull him out of this morass. Molly had + become an invisible ghost. He loved her daughter. Double sunset; the + phenomenon of the Indian Ocean was now being enacted upon his own horizon. + Double sunset. + </p> + <p> + But why should Kitty have any problem to solve? Why should she dodder over + such a trifle as this prospective official marriage? It was only a joke + which would legalize his generosity. She had sent that telegram after + leaving this apartment. What had happened here to decide her? Had Hawksley + fiddled? There was something the matter with the green stones to-night; + they evoked nothing. + </p> + <p> + He leaned back in his chair, listening, the bowl of his pipe touching the + lapel of his coat. Music. Queer, what you could do with a fiddle if you + knew how. + </p> + <p> + After all there was no sense in venting his anger on Hawksley. He was + hoist by his own petard. Why not admit the truth? He had had a crack on + the head the same night as Hawksley; only, he had been struck by an idea, + often more deadly than the butt of a pistol. He would apologize for that + roaring exit from the dining room. The poor friendless devil! He bent + toward the green stones again. In the living room Hawksley sat in a chair, + the fiddle across his knees. He understood now. The old chap was in love + with the girl, and was afraid of himself; couldn't risk having her and + letting her go.... A curse on the drums of jeopardy! Misfortune followed + their wake always. The world would have been different this hour if he—The + break in the trend of thought was caused by the entrance of Kuroki, who + was followed by a man. This man dropped into a chair without apparently + noticing that the room was already tenanted, for he never glanced toward + Hawksley. A haggard face, dull of eye. Kuroki bobbed and vanished, but + returned shortly, beckoning the stranger to follow him into the study. + </p> + <p> + “Coles?” cried Cutty delightedly. Here was the man he had sent to + negotiate for the emeralds, free. “How did you escape? We've combed the + town for you.” + </p> + <p> + “They had me in a room on Fifteenth Street. Once in a while I got + something to eat. But I haven't escaped. I'm still a prisoner.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by that?” + </p> + <p> + “I am here as an emissary. There was nothing for me to do but accept the + job.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he have the stones?” asked Cutty, without the least suspicion of what + was coming. + </p> + <p> + “That I don't know. He pretended to have them in order to get me where he + wanted me. I've been hungry a good deal because I wouldn't talk. I'm here + as a negotiator. A rotten business. I agreed because I've hopes you'll be + able to put one over on Karlov. It's the girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Kitty?” + </p> + <p> + “Karlov has her. The girl wasn't to blame. Any one in the game would have + done as she did. Karlov is bugs on politics; but he's shrewd enough at + this sort of game. He trapped the girl because he'd studied her enough to + learn what she would or would not do. Now they are not going to hurt her. + They merely propose exchanging her for the man you've been hiding up here. + There's a taxi downstairs. It will carry me back to Fifteenth; then it + will return and wait. If the man is not at the appointed place by midnight—he + must go in this taxi—the girl will be carried off elsewhere, and + you'll never lay eyes on her again. Karlov and his gang are potential + assassins; all they want is excuse. Until midnight they will not touch the + girl; but after midnight, God knows! What message am I to take back?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where she is?” + </p> + <p> + Cutty spoke without much outward emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Not the least idea. Whenever Karlov wanted to quiz me, he appeared late + at night from some other part of the town. But he never got much.” + </p> + <p> + “You saw him this evening?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It probably struck him as a fine joke to send me.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you don't go back?” + </p> + <p> + “The girl will be taken away. I'm honestly afraid of the man. He's too + quiet spoken. That kind of a man always goes the limit.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. Wait here.” + </p> + <p> + At Cutty's approach Hawksley looked up apathetically. + </p> + <p> + “Want me?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “You are pale. Anything serious?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Karlov has got Kitty.” + </p> + <p> + For a minute Hawksley did not stir. Then he got up, put away the Amati, + and came back. He was pale, too. + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” he said. “They will exchange her for me. Am I right?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But you are not obliged to do anything like that, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I am ready.” + </p> + <p> + “You give yourself up?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “You're a man!” Cutty burst out. + </p> + <p> + “I was brought up by one. Honestly, now, could I ever look a white man in + the face again if I didn't give myself up? I did begin to believe that I + might get through. But Fate was only playing with me. May I use your desk + to write a line?” + </p> + <p> + “Come with me,” said Cutty, unsteadily. This was not the result of + environment. Quiet courage of this order was race. No questions demanding + if there wasn't some way round the inevitable. Cutty's heart glowed; the + boy had walked into it, never to leave it. “I'm ready.” It took a man to + say that when the sequence was death. + </p> + <p> + “Coles,” said Cutty upon reentering the study, “tell Karlov that His + Highness will give himself up. He will be there before midnight.” + </p> + <p> + “That's enough for me. But if there's the least sign that you're not + playing straight it will be all off. Two men will be watching the taxi and + the entrance. If you appear, it's good-night. They told me to warn you.” + </p> + <p> + “I promise not to appear.” + </p> + <p> + Coles smiled enigmatically and reached for his hat. He held his hand out + to Hawksley. “You're a white man, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” said Hawksley, absently. To have it all over with! + </p> + <p> + As soon as the captive Federal agent withdrew Hawksley sat down at the + desk and wrote. + </p> + <p> + “Will this hold legally?” he asked, extending the written sheet to Cutty. + </p> + <p> + Cutty saw that it was a simple will. In it Hawksley gave half of his + possessions to Kitty and half to Stefani Gregor. In case the latter was + dead the sum total was to go to Kitty. + </p> + <p> + “I got you into a muddle; this will take you out of it. Karlov will kill + me. I don't know how. I am his obsession. He will sleep better with me off + his mind. Will this hold legally?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But why Kitty Conover, a stranger?” + </p> + <p> + “Is a woman who saves your life a stranger?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not exactly. This is what we might call zero hour. I gave you a + haven here not particularly because I was sorry for you, but because I + wanted those emeralds. Once upon a time Gregor showed them to me. Until I + examined your wallet I supposed you had smuggled in the stones; and that + would have been fair game. But you had paid your way in honestly. Now, + what did you do to Kitty Conover last night that decided her to accept + that fool proposition? She sent her acceptance after she left you. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know that. I played for her. She became music-struck, and I + took advantage of it—kissed her. Then she told me she was going to + marry you.” + </p> + <p> + “And that is why you asked me if I would trust you with a daughter of + mine?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Conscience. That explains this will.” + </p> + <p> + “No. Why did you accept my suggestion to marry her?” + </p> + <p> + “To make her comfortable without sidestepping the rules of convention.” + </p> + <p> + “No. Because you love her—the way I do.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty's pipe slipped from his teeth. It did not often do that. He stamped + out the embers and laid the pipe on the tray. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think I love her?” + </p> + <p> + “What makes me tell you that I do?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, death may be at the end of to-night's work; so I'll admit that I + love her. She is like a forest stream, wild at certain turns, but always + sweet and clear. I'm an old fool, old enough to be her father. I loved her + mother. Can a man love two women with all his heart, one years after the + other?” + </p> + <p> + “It is the avatar; she is the reincarnation of the mother. I understand + now. What was a beautiful memory takes living form again. You still love + the mother; the daughter has revived that love.” + </p> + <p> + “By the Lord Harry, I believe you've struck it! Walked into the fog and + couldn't find the way out. Of course. What an old ass I've been! Simple as + daylight. I've simply fallen in love with Molly all over again, thinking + it was Kitty. Plain as the nose on my face. And I might have made a fine + mess of it if you hadn't waked me up.” + </p> + <p> + All this gentle irony went over Hawksley's head. “When do you wish me to + go down to the taxi?” + </p> + <p> + “Son, I'm beginning to like you. You shall have your chance. In fact, + we'll take it together. There'll be a taxi but I'll hire it. I'm quite + positive I know where Kitty is. If I'm correct you'll have your chance. If + I'm wrong you'll have to pay the score. We'll get her out or we'll stay + where she is. In any event, Karlov will pay the price. Wouldn't you prefer + to go out—if you must—in a glorious scrap?” + </p> + <p> + “Fighting?” Hawksley was on his feet instantly. “Do you mean that? I can + die with free hands?” + </p> + <p> + “With a chance of coming out top-hole.” + </p> + <p> + “I say, what a ripping thing hope is—always springing back!” + </p> + <p> + Cutty nodded. But he knew there was one hope that would never warm his + heart again. Molly!... Well, he'd let the young chap believe that. Kitty + must never know. Poor little chick, fighting with her soul in the dark and + not knowing what the matter was! Such things happened. He had loved Molly + on sight. He had loved Kitty on sight. In neither case had he known it + until too late to turn about. Mother and daughter; a kind of sacrilege, as + if he had betrayed Molly! But what a clear vision acknowledged love lent + to the mind! He understood Kitty, who did not understand herself. Well, + this night's adventure would decide things. + </p> + <p> + He smiled. Neither Kitty nor the drums of jeopardy; nothing. The gates of + paradise again—for somebody else! Whoever heard of a prompter + receiving press notices? + </p> + <p> + “Let's look alive! We haven't any time to waste. We'll have to change to + dungarees—engineer togs. There'll be some tools to carry. We go + straight down to the boiler room. We come up the ash exit on the street + side. Remember, no suspicious haste. Two engineers off for their evening + swig of beer at the corner groggery. Through the side door there, and into + my taxi. Obey every order I give. Now run along to Kuroki and say night + work for both of us. He'll understand what's wanted. I'll set the + machinery in motion for a raid. How do you feel? I want the truth. I don't + want to turn to you for help and not get it.” + </p> + <p> + Hawksley laughed. “Don't worry about me. I'll carry on. Don't you + understand? To have an end of it, one way or the other! To come free or to + die there!” + </p> + <p> + “And if Kitty is not where I believe her to be?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll return to the taxi outside.” + </p> + <p> + To be young like that! thought Cutty, feeling strangely sad and old. “To + come free or to die there!” That was good Anglo-Saxon. He would make a + good American citizen—if he were in luck. + </p> + <p> + At half after nine the two of them knelt on the roof before the cemented + trap. Nothing but raging heat disintegrates cement. So the liberation of + this trap, considering the time, was a Herculean task, because it had to + be accomplished with little or no noise. Cold chisels, fulcrums, prying, + heaving, boring. To free the under edge; the top did not matter. Not + knowing if Kitty were below—that was the worst part of the job. + </p> + <p> + The sweat of agony ran down Hawksley's face; but he never faltered. He was + going to die to-night, somehow, somewhere, but with free hands, the way + Stefani would have him die, the way the girl would have him die. All these + thousands of miles—to die in a house he had never seen before, just + when life was really worth something! + </p> + <p> + An hour went by. Then they heard Kitty's signal. Instinctively the two of + them knew that the taps came from her. They were absolutely certain when + her signal was repeated. She was below, alone. + </p> + <p> + “Faster!” whispered Cutty. + </p> + <p> + Hawksley smiled. To say that to a chap when he was digging into his tomb! + </p> + <p> + When the sides of the trap were free Cutty tapped to Kitty again. There + was a long, agonizing wait. Then three taps came from below. Cutty flashed + a signal to the warehouse windows. In five minutes the raid would be in + full swing—from the roof, from the street, from the cellar. + </p> + <p> + With their short crowbars braced by stout fulcrums the two men heaved. + Noise did not matter now. Presently the trap went over. + </p> + <p> + “Look out for your hands; there's lots of loose glass. And together when + we drop.” + </p> + <p> + “Right-o!” whispered Hawksley, assured that when he dropped through the + trap the result would be oblivion. Done in. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI + </h2> + <p> + Karlov, upon forcing his way past Kitty's barricade, stared at her + doubtfully. This was a clever girl; she had proved her cleverness + frequently. She might have some reason other than fear in keeping him out. + So he put a fresh candle in the sconce and began to prowl. He pierced the + attic windows with a ranging glance; no one was in the yard or on the + Street. The dust on the windows had not been disturbed. + </p> + <p> + To Kitty the suspense was intolerable. At any moment Cutty might tap a + query to her. How to warn him that all was not well? A scream would do it; + but in that event when Cutty arrived there would be no Kitty Conover. + Something that would sound unusual to Cutty and accidental to Karlov. She + hit upon it. She seized a plank from her barricade, raised it to a + perpendicular position, then flung it down violently. Would Cutty hear and + comprehend that she was warning him? As a matter of fact, Cutty never + heard the crash, for at that particular minute he was standing up to get + the kinks out of his knees. + </p> + <p> + Karlov whirled on his heels, ran to Kitty, and snatched her wrist. “Why + did you do that?” + </p> + <p> + Kitty remained mute. “Answer!”—with a cruel twist. + </p> + <p> + “You hurt!” she gasped. Anything to gain time. She tried to break away. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you do that?” + </p> + <p> + “I was going to thrust it through a window to attract attention. It was + too heavy.” + </p> + <p> + This explanation was within bounds of reason. It is possible that Karlov—who + had merely come up with a fresh candle—would have departed but for a + peculiarly grim burst of humour on the part of Fate. + </p> + <p> + Tap—tap—tap? inquired the unsuspecting man on the roof—exactly + to Kitty like some innocent, inquisitive child embarrassing the family + before company. + </p> + <p> + Karlov flung her aside roughly, stepped under the trap, and cupped an ear. + He required no explanations from Kitty, who shrank to the wall and + remained pinned there by terror. Karlov's intuition was keen. Men on the + roof held but one significance. The house was surrounded by Federal + agents. For a space he wavered between two desires, the political and the + private vengeance. + </p> + <p> + A call down the stairs, and five minutes afterward there would be nothing + on the spot but a jumble of smoking wood and brick. But not to see them + die! + </p> + <p> + His subsequent acts, cold and methodical, fascinated Kitty. He took a step + toward her. The scream died in her throat. But he did not go beyond that + step. The picture of her terror decided his future actions. He would see + them die, here, with the girl looking on. A full measure. Well enough he + knew who were digging away the cement of the trap. What gave lodgment to + this conviction he did not bother to analyze. The man he had not yet seen, + who had balked him, now here, now there, from that first night; and who + but the last of that branch of the hated house should be with him? To + rend, batter, crush, kill! If he were bound for hell, to go there with the + satisfaction of knowing that his private vengeance had been cancelled. The + full reckoning for Anna's degradation: Stefani Gregor, broken and dying, + and all the others dead! + </p> + <p> + He would shoot them as they dropped through the trap. Not to kill, but to + maim, render helpless; then he would taunt them and grind his heels in + their faces. Up there, the two he most hated of all living men! + </p> + <p> + First he restored Kitty's barricade—to keep assistance from entering + before his work was completed. The butt of the first plank he pushed under + the door knob. The other planks he laid flat, end to end, with the butt of + the last snug against the brick chimney. The door would never give as a + whole; it would have to be smashed in by axes. He then set the candle on + the floor, backed by an up-ended soapbox. His enemies would drop into a + pool of light, while they would not be able to see him at once. The girl + would not matter. Her terror would hold her for some time. These + manoeuvres completed, he answered the signal, sat down on another box and + waited, reminding Kitty of some grotesque Mongolian idol. + </p> + <p> + Kitty saw the inevitable. Thereupon her terror ceased to bind her. As + Cutty flung back the trap she would cry out a warning. Karlov might—and + probably would—kill her. Her share in this night's work—her + incredible folly—required full payment. Having decided to die with + Cutty, all her courage returned. This is the normal result of any sublime + resolve. But with the return of her courage she evolved another plan. She + measured the distance between herself and Karlov, calculating there would + be three strides. As Cutty dropped she would fling herself upon the + madman. The act would at least give Cutty something like equal terms. What + became of Kitty Conover thereafter was of no importance to the world. + </p> + <p> + Sounds. She became conscious of noises elsewhere in the house. The floor + trembled. There came a creaking and snapping of wood, and she heard the + trap fall. Karlov stood up, menacing, terrible. She saw where Cutty would + drop, and now understood the cunning of the manoeuvre of placing the + candle in front of the soapbox. Cutty would be an absolute mark for + Karlov, protected by the shadow. She set herself, as a runner at the tape. + </p> + <p> + Karlov was not the type criminal, which when cornered, thinks only of + personal safety. He was a political fanatic. All who opposed his beliefs + must not be permitted to survive. There was a touch of Torquemada of the + Inquisition in his cosmos. He could not kill directly; he had to torture + first. + </p> + <p> + He knew by the ascending sounds that there would be no way out of this for + him. To the American, Russia was an outlaw. He would be treated as a + dangerous alien enemy and locked up. Boris Karlov should never live to eat + his heart out behind bars. + </p> + <p> + Unique angle of thought, he mused. He wanted mud to trample them in, + Russian mud. The same mud that had filled the mouth of Anna's destroyer. + </p> + <p> + He was, then, a formidable antagonist for any two strong men; let alone + two one of whom was rather spent, the other dizzy with pain, holding + himself together by the last shreds of his will. They dropped through the + trap, Cutty in front of the candle, Hawksley a little to one side. The + elder man landed squarely, but Hawksley fell backward. He crawled to his + feet, swaying drunkenly. For a space he was not sure of the reality of the + scene.... Torches and hobnailed boots! + </p> + <p> + “So!” said Karlov. + </p> + <p> + The torturer must talk; he must explain the immediate future to double the + agony. He could have maimed them both, then trampled them to death, but he + had to inform them of the fact. He pointed the automatic at Cutty because + he considered this man the more dangerous of the two. He at once saw that + the other was a negligible factor. He spoke slowly. + </p> + <p> + “And the girl shall witness your agonies,” he concluded. + </p> + <p> + Cutty, bereft of invention, could only stare. Death! He had faced it many + times, but always with a chance. There was none here, and the absolute + knowledge paralyzed him. + </p> + <p> + Had Cutty been alone Kitty would have rushed at the madman; but the sight + of Hawksley robbed her of all mobility. His unexpected appearance was to + her the Book of Revelation. The blind alley she had entered and reentered + so many times and so futilely crumbled.... Johnny Two-Hawks! + </p> + <p> + As for Hawksley, he knew he had but little time. The floor was billowing; + he saw many candles where he knew there was only one. He was losing his + senses. There remained but a single idea—to do the old thoroughbred + one favour for the many. Scorning death—perhaps inviting it—he + lunged headlong at Karlov's knees. + </p> + <p> + This reckless challenge to death was so unexpected that Karlov had no time + to aim. He fired at chance. The bullet nipped the left shoulder of + Hawksley's coat and shattered the laths of the partition between the attic + and the servant's quarters. Under the impact of the human catapult Karlov + staggered back, desperately striving to maintain his balance. He succeeded + because Hawksley's senses left him in the instant he struck Karlov's + knees. Still, the episode was a respite for Cutty, who dashed at Karlov + before the latter could set himself or raise the smoking automatic. + </p> + <p> + Kitty then witnessed—dimly—a primordial, titanic conflict + which haunted her dreams for many nights to come. They were no longer men, + but animals; the tiger giving combat to the gorilla, one striking the + quick, terrible blows of the tiger, the other seeking always to come to + grips. + </p> + <p> + The floor answered under the step and rush. Rare athletes, these two; big + men who were light on their feet. Kitty could see their faces occasionally + and the flash of their bare hands, but of their bodies little or nothing. + Nor could she tell how the struggle was going. Indeed until the idea came + that they might be trampling Johnny Two-Hawks there was no coherent + thought in her head, only broken things. + </p> + <p> + She ran to the soapbox and kicked it aside. She saw Hawksley on his face, + motionless. At least they should not trample his dead body. She caught + hold of his arms and dragged him to the wall—to discover that she + was sobbing, sobs of rage and despair that tore at her breast horribly and + clogged her throat. She was a woman and could not help; she could not help + Cutty! She was a woman, and all she could do was to drag aside the + lifeless body of the man who had given Cutty his chance! + </p> + <p> + She knelt, turning Hawksley over on his back. There was a slight gash on + one grimy cheek, possibly caused by contact with the latchets of Karlov's + boots. She raised the handsome head, pressed it to her bosom, and began to + sway her body from side to side. Tumult. The Federal agents were throwing + their bodies against the door repeatedly. In the semi-darkness Cutty + fought for his life. But Kitty neither heard nor saw. The world had + suddenly contracted; there was only this beautiful head in her arms; + beyond and about, nothing. + </p> + <p> + Cutty felt his strength ebbing; soon he would not be able to wrench + himself loose from those terrible arms. He knew all the phases of the + fighting game. Chivalry and fair play had no part in this contest. Clear + light, to observe what his blows were accomplishing; a minute or two of + clear light! Half the time his blows glanced. The next time those arms + wound about him, that would be the end. He was growing tired, winded; he + had not gone into battle fresh. He knew that many of his blows had gone + home. Any ordinary man would have dropped; but Karlov came on again and + again. + </p> + <p> + And all the while Karlov was not fighting Cutty; he was endeavouring to + remove him. He was an obstacle. What Karlov wanted was that head the girl + was holding in her arms; to grind his heel into it. Had Cutty stepped + aside Karlov would have rushed for the other man. + </p> + <p> + “Kitty, the door, the door!” Cutty shouted in despair, taking a terrible + kick on the thigh. “The door!” + </p> + <p> + Kitty did not stir. + </p> + <p> + A panel in the door crushed in. The sole of a boot appeared and vanished. + Then an arm reached in, groping, touched the plank propped under the door + knob, wrenched and tugged until it fell. Immediately the attic became + filled with men. It was time. Karlov had Cutty in his arms. + </p> + <p> + This turn in the affair roused Kitty. Presently she saw men in a snarl, + heaving and billowing, with a sudden subsidence. The snarl untangled + itself; men began to step back and produce pocketlamps. Kitty saw Cutty's + face, battered and bloody, appear and disappear in a flash. She saw + Karlov's, too, as he was pulled to his feet, his hands manacled. Again she + saw Cutty. With shaking hand he was trying to attach the loose end of his + collar to the button. The absurdity of it! + </p> + <p> + “Take him away. But don't be rough with him. He's only a poor devil of a + madman,” said Cutty. + </p> + <p> + Karlov turned and calmly spat into Cutty's face. A dozen fists were + raised, but Cutty intervened. + </p> + <p> + “No! Let him be. Just take him away and lock him up. He's a rough road to + travel. And hustle a comfortable car for me to go home in. Not a word to + the newspapers. This isn't a popular raid.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as the attic was cleared Cutty limped over to Molly Conover's + daughter. The poor innocent! The way she was holding that head was an + illumination. With a reassuring smile—an effort, for his lips were + puffed and burning—he knelt and put his hand on Hawksley's heart. + </p> + <p> + “Done in, Kitty; that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “He isn't dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Lord, no! He had nine lives, this chap, and only one of 'em missing to + date. But I had no right to let him come. I thought he was fairly fit, but + he wasn't. Saved my life, though. Kitty, your Johnny Two-Hawks is a real + man; how real I did not know until to-night. He has earned his American + citizenship. Fights like he fiddles—on all four strings. All our + troubles are at an end; so buck up.” + </p> + <p> + “Alive? He is alive?” + </p> + <p> + The wild joy in her voice! “Yes, ma'am; and we two can regularly thank him + for being alive also. That lunge gave me my chance. He's only stunned. + Perhaps he'll need a nurse again. Anyhow, he'll be coming round in a + minute or two. I'll wager the first thing he does is to smile. I should.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Kitty grew strangely shy. She became conscious of her anomalous + position. She had promised to marry Cutty, promised herself that she would + be his true wife—and here she was, holding another man's head to her + heart as if it were the most precious head in all the world. She could not + put that head upon the floor at once; that would be a confession of her + embarrassment; and yet she could not continue to hold Hawksley while Cutty + eyed her with semi-humorous concern. Cutty was merciful, however. “Let me + hold him while you make a pillow out of your coat.” After he had laid + Hawksley's head on the coat he said: “He'll come about quicker this way. + We've had some excitement, haven't we?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want any more, Cutty; never any more. I've been a silly, romantic + fool!” + </p> + <p> + “Not silly, only glorious.” + </p> + <p> + “Your poor face!” + </p> + <p> + “Banged up? Well, honestly, it feels as it looks, Kitty, this chap was + going to give himself up in exchange for you. Not a word of protest, not a + question. All he said was: 'I am ready.' That's why I'm always going to be + on his side.” + </p> + <p> + “He did that—for me?” + </p> + <p> + “For you. Did it never occur to you that you're the sort folks always want + to do things for if you'll let them?” + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, Cutty!” + </p> + <p> + “He's always blessing me, Kitty. He blessed me with your mother's + friendship, now yours. Kitty, I'm going to jilt you.” + </p> + <p> + “Jilt me?”—her heart leaping. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am. We can't go through with that mummery. We aren't built that + way. I'll figure it out in some other fashion. But marriage is a sacred + contract; and this farce would have left a scar on your honest mind. You'd + have to tell some man. Your kind can't go through life without being + loved. Would he understand? I wonder. He'll be human or you wouldn't fall + in love with him; and always he'll be pondering and bedevilling himself + with queer ideas—because he'll be human. Of course there's a + loophole—you can sue me for breach of promise.” + </p> + <p> + “Please, Cutty; don't laugh! You're one of those men they call + Greathearts. And now I'm going to tell you something. It wasn't going to + be a farce. I intended to become your true wife, Cutty, make you as happy + as I could.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty patted her hand and got up. Lord, how bruised and sore his old body + was!... His true wife! She might have been his if he had not missed that + train. But for this hour, hot with life, she might never have discovered + that she loved Hawksley. His true wife! Ah, she would have been all of + that—Molly's girl! + </p> + <p> + “Will you mind waiting here until I see where old Stefani Gregor is?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Kitty, dreamily. + </p> + <p> + Cutty limped to the door. Outside he leaned against the partition. Done + in, body and soul. Always opening the gates of paradise for somebody + else... His true wife! Slowly he descended the stairs. + </p> + <p> + Alone, Kitty smoothed back the dank hair from Hawksley's brow, which she + kissed. Benediction and good-bye. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII + </h2> + <p> + Because it was assumed that some of Karlov's pack might be at large and + unsuspectingly return to the trap, Federal agents would remain on guard + all night. They explored the house, hunting for chemicals, documents, + letters, and addresses. They found enough high explosive to blow up the + district. And they found Stefani Gregor. They were standing by the cot as + Cutty came in. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. Just this minute went out.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he speak?” + </p> + <p> + “A woman's name.” + </p> + <p> + “Rosa?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. Looks to me as if he had been starved to death. Know who he + was?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Tell the coroner to be gentle. Once upon a time Stefani Gregor spoke + to kings by right of genius.” + </p> + <p> + The thought that he himself might have been the indirect cause of Gregor's + death shocked Cutty, who was above all things tender. + </p> + <p> + He had held back the raid for several days, to serve his own ends. He + could have ordered the raid from Washington, and it would have gone + through as smoothly as to-night. The drums of jeopardy. Well, that phase + of the game was done with. He had held up this raid so that he might be on + hand to search Karlov; and until now he had forgotten the drums. Accurst! + They were accurst. The death of Stefani Gregor would always be on his + conscience. + </p> + <p> + Cutty stared—not very clearly—at the cameo-like face so + beautifully calm. As in life, so it was in death; the calm that had + brooked and beaten down the turbulent instincts of the boy, the + imperturbable calm of a great soul. Rosa. The sublime unselfishness of the + man! He had sacrificed wealth and fame for the love of the boy's mother—unspoken, + unrequited love, the quality that passes understanding. And his reward: to + die on this cot, in horrid loneliness. Rosa. + </p> + <p> + All at once Cutty felt himself little, trivial, beside this forlorn bier. + What did he know about love? He had never made any sacrifices; he had + simply carried in his heart a bittersweet recollection. But here! + Twenty-odd years of unremitting devotion to the son of the woman he had + loved—Stefani Gregor. Creating environments that would develop the + noble qualities in the boy, interposing himself between the boy and the + evil pleasures of the uncle, teaching him the beautiful, cleansing his + soul of the inherited mud. Reverently Cutty drew the coverlet over the + fine old head. + </p> + <p> + “What's this?” asked one of the operatives. “Looks like the pieces of a + broken fiddle.” + </p> + <p> + Out of those dark red bits of wood—some of them bearing the imprints + of hobnails—Cutty constructed the scene. A wave of bitter rage + rolled over him. The beast! Karlov had done this thing, with poor old + Gregor looking on, too weak to intervene. Not so many years ago these bits + of wood, under the master's touch, had entranced the souls of thousands. + Cutty recalled a fairy tale he had read when a boy about a prince whose + soul had been transformed into a flower which, if plucked or broken, died. + Karlov had murdered Stefani Gregor, perhaps not legally but actually + nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + Rehabilitated in soul, Cutty left the room. He had read a compelling + lesson in self-sacrifice. He was going to pick up his cross and go on with + it, smiling. After all, Kitty was only an interlude; the big thing was the + game; and shortly he would be in the thick of great events again. But + Kitty should be happy. + </p> + <p> + His old analytical philosophy resumed its functions. The contempt and + jealousy of one race for another; what was God's idea in implanting that + in souls? Hawksley was at base Russian. The boy's English education, his + adopted outlook upon life, made it possible for Cutty to ignore the racial + antagonism of the Anglo-Saxon for all other races. Stefani Gregor at one + end of the world and he at the other, blindly working out the destinies of + Kitty Conover and Ivan Mikhail Feodorovich and so forth and so on, with + the blood of Catharine in his veins! Made a chap dizzy to think of it. + Traditions were piling up along with crowns and sceptres in the abyss. + </p> + <p> + When he returned to the attic he felt himself fortified against any + inevitability. Hawksley was sitting up, his back to the wall, staring + groggily but with reckless adoration into Kitty's lovely face. Youth will + be served. As if, watching these two, there could be any doubt of it! And + he had bent part of his energies toward keeping them separated. + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” he cried, cheerfully. “Back on top again, I see. How's the head?” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't any; no legs; I'm nothing at all but a bit of my own imagination. + How do you feel?” + </p> + <p> + “Like the aftermath of an Irish wake.” Then Cutty's battered face assumed + an expression that was meant to typify gravity. “John,” he aid, “I've bad + news for you.” + </p> + <p> + John. A glow went over the young man's aching body. John. What could that + signify except that he had passed into the eternal friendship of this old + thoroughbred? John. + </p> + <p> + “About Stefani?” + </p> + <p> + “Stefani is dead. He died speaking your mother's name.” + </p> + <p> + Hawksley's head sank; his chin touched his chest. He spoke without looking + up. “Something told me I would never see him alive again. Old Stefani! If + there is any good in me it will be his handiwork. I say,” he added, his + eyes now seeking Cutty's, “you called me John. Will you carry on?” + </p> + <p> + “Keep an eye on you? So long as you may need me.” + </p> + <p> + “I come from a lawless race. Stefani had to fight. Even now I'm afraid + sometimes. God knows I want to be all he tried to make me.” + </p> + <p> + “You're all right, John. You've reached haven; the storms hereafter will + be outside. Besides, Stefani will always be with you. You'll never pick up + that old Amati without feeling Stefani near. Can you stand?” + </p> + <p> + “Between the two of you, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + With Kitty on one side and Cutty on the other Hawksley managed the descent + tolerably well. Often a foot dragged. How strong she was, this girl! No + hysterics, no confusion, after all that racket, with death—or + something worse—reaching out toward her; calmly telling him that + there was another step, warning him not to bear too heavily on Cutty! + Holding him up physically and morally, these two, now all he had in life + to care for. Yesterday, unknown to him; this night, bound by hoops of + steel. The girl had forgiven him; he knew it by the touch of her arm.... + Old Stefani! A sob escaped him. Their arms tightened. + </p> + <p> + “No; I was thinking of Stefani. Rather hard—to die all alone—because + he loved me.” + </p> + <p> + Kitty longed to be alone. There were still many unshed tears—some + for Cutty, some for Stefani Gregor, some for Johnny Two-Hawks, and some + for herself. + </p> + <p> + In the limousine Cutty sat in the middle, Kitty on his left and Hawksley + on his right, his arms round them both. Presently Hawksley's head touched + his shoulder and rested there; a little later Kitty did likewise. His + children! Lord, he was going to have a tremendous interest in life, after + all! He smiled with kindly irony at the back of the chauffeur. His + children, these two; and he knew as he planned their future that they were + thinking over and round but not of him, which is the way of youth. + </p> + <p> + At the apartment Cutty decided to let Hawksley sit in an easy chair in the + living room until Captain Harrison arrived. Kuroki was ordered to prepare + a supper, which would be served on the tea cart, set at Hawksley's knees. + Kitty—because it was impossible for her to remain inactive—set + the linen and silver. She was in and out of the room, ill at ease, angry, + frightened, bitter, avoiding Hawksley's imploring eyes because she was not + sure of her own. + </p> + <p> + She was sure of one thing, however. All the nonsense was out of her head. + To-morrow she would be returning to the regular job. She would have a page + from the Arabian Nights to look upon in the days to come. She understood, + though it twisted her heart dreadfully: she was in the eyes of this man a + plaything, a pretty woman he had met in passing. If she had saved his life + he had in turn saved hers; they were quits. She did not blame him for his + point of view. He had come from the top of the world, where women were + either ornaments or playthings, while she and hers had always struggled to + maintain equilibrium in the middle stratum. Cutty could give him + friendship; but she could not because she was a woman, young and pretty. + </p> + <p> + Love him? Well, she would get over it. It might be only the glamour of the + adventure they had shared. Anyhow, she wouldn't die of it. Cutty hadn't. + Of course it hurt; she was a silly little fool, and all that. Once he was + in Montana he would be sending for his Olga. There wasn't the least doubt + in her mind that if ever autocracy returned to power, he'd be casting + aside his American citizenship, his chaps and sombrero, for the old + regalia. Well—truculently to the world at large—why not? + </p> + <p> + So she avoided Hawksley's gaze, sensing the sustained persistence of it. + But, oh, to be alone, alone, alone! + </p> + <p> + Cutty washed the patient's hands and face and patched up the cut on the + cheek, interlarding his chatter with trench idioms, banter, jokes. + Underneath, though, he was chuckling. He was the hero of this tale; he had + done all the thrilling stunts, carried limp bodies across fire escapes in + the rain, climbed roofs, eluded newspaper reporters, fought with his bare + fists, rescued the girl.... All with one foot in the grave! Fifty-two, + gray haired—with a prospect of rheumatism on the morrow—and + putting it over like a debonair movie idol! + </p> + <p> + Hawksley met these pleasantries halfway by grousing about being babied + when there was nothing the matter with him but his head, his body, and his + legs. + </p> + <p> + Why didn't she look at him? What was the meaning of this persistent + avoidance? She must have forgiven last night. She was too much of a + thoroughbred to harbour ill feeling over that. Why didn't she look at him? + </p> + <p> + The telephone called Cutty from the room. + </p> + <p> + Kitty went into the dining room for an extra pair of salt cellars and + delayed her return until she heard Cutty coming back. + </p> + <p> + “Karlov is dead,” he announced. “Started a fight in the taxi, got out, and + was making for safety when one of the boys shot him. He hadn't the jewels + on him, John. I'm afraid they are gone, unless he hid them somewhere in + that—What's the matter, Kitty?” + </p> + <p> + For Kitty had dropped the salt cellars and pressed her hands against her + bosom, her face colourless. + </p> + <p> + Hawksley, terrified, tried to get up. + </p> + <p> + “No, no! Nothing is the matter with me but my head.... To think I could + forget! Good—heavens!” She prolonged the words drolly. “Wait.” + </p> + <p> + She turned her back to them. When she faced them again she extended a palm + upon which lay a leather tobacco pouch, cracked and parched and blistered + by the reactions of rain and sun. + </p> + <p> + “Think of my forgetting them! I found them this morning. Where do you + suppose? On a step of the fire-escape ladder.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll be tinker-dammed!” said Cutty. + </p> + <p> + “I've reasoned it out,” went on Kitty, breathlessly, looking at Cutty, + “When the anarchist tore them from Mr. Hawksley's neck, he threw them out + of the window. The room was dark; his companion could not see. Later he + intended, no doubt, to go into the court and recover them and cheat his + master. I was looking out of the window, when I noticed a brilliant flash + of purple, then another of green. The pouch was open, the stones about to + trickle out. I dared not leave them in the apartment or tell anybody until + you came home. So I carried them with me to the office. The drums, Cutty! + The drums! Tumpitum-tump! Look!” + </p> + <p> + She poured the stones upon the white linen tablecloth. A thousand fires! + </p> + <p> + “The wonderful things!” she gasped. “Oh, the wonderful things! I don't + blame you, Cutty. They would tempt an angel. The drums of jeopardy; and + that I should find them!” + </p> + <p> + “Lord!” said Cutty, in an awed whisper. Green stones! The magnificent + rubies and sapphires and diamonds vanished; he could see nothing but the + exquisite emeralds. He picked up one—still warm with Kitty's pulsing + life—and toyed with it. Actually, the drums! And all this time they + had been inviting the first comer to appropriate them. Money, love, + tragedy, death; history, pageants, lovely women; murder and loot! All + these days on the step of the fire-escape ladder! He must have one of + them; positively he must. Could he prevail upon Hawksley to sell one? Had + he carried them through sentiment? + </p> + <p> + He turned to broach the suggestion of purchase, but remained mute. + </p> + <p> + Hawksley's head was sunk upon his chest; his arms hung limply at the sides + of his chair. + </p> + <p> + “He is fainting!” cried Kitty, her love outweighing her resolves. “Cutty!”—desperately, + fearing to touch Hawksley herself. + </p> + <p> + “No! The stones, the stones! Take them away—out of sight! I'm too + done in! I can't stand it! I can't—The Red Night! Torches and + hobnailed boots!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII + </h2> + <p> + Her fingers seemingly all thumbs, her heart swelling with misery and + loneliness, wanting to go to him but fearing she would be misunderstood, + Kitty scooped up the dazzling stones and poured them hastily into the + tobacco pouch, which she thrust into Cutty's hands. What she had heard was + not the cry of a disordered brain. There was some clear reason for the + horror in Hawksley's tones. What tragedy lay behind these wonderful prisms + of colour that the legitimate owner could not look upon them without being + stirred in this manner? + </p> + <p> + “Take them into the study,” urged Kitty. + </p> + <p> + “Wait!” interposed Hawksley. “I give one of the emeralds to you, Cutty. + They came out of hell—if you want to risk it! The other is for Miss + Conover, with Mister Hawksley's compliments.” He was looking at Kitty now, + his face drawn, his eyes bloodshot. “Don't be apprehensive. They bring + evil only to men. With one in your possession you will be happy ever + after, as the saying goes. Oh, they are mine to give; mine by right of + inheritance. God knows I paid for them!” + </p> + <p> + “If I said Mister—” began Kitty, her brain confused, her tongue + clumsy. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't forgiven!” he interrupted. “A thoroughbred like you, to hold + last night against me! Mister—after what we two have shared + together! Why didn't you leave me there to die?” + </p> + <p> + Cutty observed that the drama had resolved itself into two characters; he + had been relegated to the scenes. He tiptoed toward his study door, and as + he slipped inside he knew that Gethsemane was not an orchard but a + condition of the mind. He tossed the pouch on his desk, eyed it + ironically, and sat down. His, one of them—one of those marvellous + emeralds was his! He interlaced his fingers and rested his brow upon them. + He was very tired. + </p> + <p> + Kitty missed him only when she heard the latch snap. + </p> + <p> + She was alone with Hawksley; and all her terror returned. Not to touch + him, not to console him; to stand staring at him like a dumb thing! + </p> + <p> + “I do forgive—Johnny! But your world and my world—” + </p> + <p> + “Those stains! The wretches hurt you!” + </p> + <p> + “What? Where?”—bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “The blood on your waist!” + </p> + <p> + Kitty looked down. “That is not my blood, Johnny. It is yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Mine?” Johnny. Something in the way she said it. “Mine?”—trying to + solve the riddle. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It is where your cheek rested when—I thought you were dead.” + </p> + <p> + The sense of misery, of oppression, of terror, all fell away miraculously, + leaving only the flower of glory. She would be his plaything if he wanted + her. + </p> + <p> + Silence. + </p> + <p> + “Kitty, I came out of a dark world—to find you. I loved you the + moment I entered your kitchen that night. But I did not know it. I loved + you the night you brought the wallet. Still I did not understand. It was + when I heard the lift door and knew you had gone forever that I + understood. Loved you with all my heart, with all that poor old Stefani + had fashioned out of muck and clay. If you held my head to your heart, if + that is my blood there—Do you, can you care a little?” + </p> + <p> + “I can and do care very much, Johnny.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice to his ears was like the G string of the Amati. “Will you go + with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Anywhere. But you are a prince of some great Russian house, Johnny, and I + am nobody.” + </p> + <p> + “What am I, Kitty? Less than nobody—a homeless outcast, with only + you and Cutty. An American! Well, when I'm that it will be different; I'll + be somebody. God forgive me if I do not give it absolute loyalty, this new + country!... Never call me anything but Johnny.” + </p> + <p> + “Johnny.” Anywhere, whatever he willed her to be. + </p> + <p> + “I'm a child, Kitty. I want to grow up—if I can—to be an + American, something like that ripping old thoroughbred yonder.” + </p> + <p> + Cutty! Johnny wanted to be something like Cutty. Johnny would have to grow + up to be his own true self; for nobody could ever be like Cutty. He was as + high and far away from the average man as this apartment was from hers. + Would he understand her attitude? Could she say anything until it would be + too late for him to interfere? She was this man's woman. She would have + her span of happiness, come ill, come good, even if it hurt Cutty, whom + she loved in another fashion. But for Johnny dropping through that trap + she might never have really known, married Cutty, and been happy. Happy + until one or the other died; never gloriously, never furiously, but mildly + happy; perhaps understanding each other far better than Johnny and she + would understand each other. The average woman's lot. But to give her + heart, her mind, her body in a whirlwind of emotions, absolute surrender, + to know for once the highest state of exaltation—to love! + </p> + <p> + All this tender exchange with half a dozen feet between them. Kitty had + not stirred from the far side of the tea cart, and he had not opened his + arms. She had given herself with magnificent abandon; for the present that + satisfied her instincts. As for him, he was not quite sure this miracle + might not be a dream, and one false move might cause her to vanish. + </p> + <p> + “Johnny, who is Olga?” The question was irrepressible. Perhaps it was the + last shred of caution binding her. All of him or none of him. There must + be no other woman intervening. + </p> + <p> + Hawksley stiffened in his chair. His hands closed convulsively and his + eyes lost their brightness. “Johnny?” Kitty ran round the tea cart. “What + is it?” She knelt beside the chair, alarmed, for the horror had returned + to his face. “What did they do to you back there?” She clasped one of his + hands tensely in hers. + </p> + <p> + “In my dreams at night!” he said, staring into space. “I could run away + from my pursuers, but I could not run away from my dreams! Torches and + hobnailed boots!... They trampled on her; and I, up there in the gallery + with those damned emeralds in my hands! Ah, if I hadn't gone for them, if + I hadn't thought of the extra comforts their sale would bring! There would + have been time then, Kitty. I had all the other jewels in the pouch. + Horses were ready for us to flee on, loyal servants ready to help us; but + I thought of the drums. A few more worldly comforts—with hell + forcing in the doors! + </p> + <p> + “I didn't tell her where I was going. When I came back it was to see her + die! They saw me, and yelled. I ran away. I hadn't the courage to go down + there and die with her! She thought I was in that hell pit. She went down + there to die with me and died horribly, alone! Ah, if I could only shut it + out, forget! Olga, my tender young sister, Kitty, the last one of my race + I could love. And I ran away like a yellow dog, like a yellow dog! I don't + know where her grave is, and I could not seek it if I did! I dared not + write Stefani; tell him I had seen Olga go down under Karlov's heels, and + then ran away!... Day by day to feel those stones against my heart!” + </p> + <p> + Nothing is more terrible to a woman than the sight of a brave man weeping. + For she knew that he was brave. The sudden recollection of the emeralds; a + little more comfort for himself and sister if they were permitted to + escape. Not a cowardly instinct, not even a greedy one; a normal desire to + fortify them additionally against an unknown future, and he had + surrendered to it impulsively, without explaining to Olga where he was + going. + </p> + <p> + “Johnny, Johnny, you mustn't!” She sprang up, seizing his head and wildly + kissing him. “You mustn't! God understands, and Olga. Oh, you mustn't sob + like that! You are tearing my heart to pieces!” + </p> + <p> + “I ran away like a yellow dog! I didn't go down there and die with her!” + </p> + <p> + “You didn't run away to-night when you offered your life for my liberty. + Johnny, you mustn't!” + </p> + <p> + Under her tender ministrations the sobs began to die away and soon + resolved into little catching gasps. He was weak and spent from his + injuries; otherwise he would not have given way like this, discovered to + her what she had not known before, that in every man, however strong and + valiant he may be, there is a little child. + </p> + <p> + “It has been burning me up, Kitty.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, I know! It is because you have a soul full of beautiful things, + Johnny. God held you back from dying with Olga because He knew I needed + you.” + </p> + <p> + “You will marry me, knowing that I did this thing?” + </p> + <p> + Marry him! A door to some blinding radiance opened, and she could not see + for a little while. Marry him! What a miserable wretch she was to think + that he would want her otherwise! Johnny Two-Hawks, fiddling in front of + the Metropolitan Opera House, to fill a poor blind man's cup! + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Johnny. Now, yesterdays never were. For us there is nothing but + to-morrows. Out there, in the great country—where souls as well as + bodies may stretch themselves—we'll start all over again. You will + be the cowman and I'll be the kitchen wench. As in the beginning, so it + will always be hereafter, I'll cook your bacon and eggs.” + </p> + <p> + She pulled his chair round and pushed it toward a window, dropped beside + it and laid her cheek against his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Let us look at the stars, Johnny. They know.” Kuroki, having arrived with + coffee and sandwiches, paused on the threshold, gazed, wheeled right about + face, and returned to the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + By and by Kitty looked up into Hawksley's face. He was asleep. She got up + carefully, lightly kissed the top of his head—the old wound—and + crossed to Cutty's door. She must tell dear old Cutty of the wonderful + happiness that was going to be hers. She opened the study door, but did + not enter at once. Asleep on his arms. Why, he hadn't even opened that Ali + Baba's bag! Tired out—done in, as Johnny Two-Hawks called it in his + English fashion. She waited; but as he did not stir she approached with + noiseless step. The light poured full upon his head. How gray he was! A + boundless pity surged over her that this tender, valiant knight should + have missed what first her mother had known—now she herself—requited + love. To have everything in the world without that was to have nothing. + She would not wake him; she would let him sleep until Captain Harrison + came. Lightly she touched the gray head with her lips and stole from the + study. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Molly, Molly!” Cutty whispered into his rigid fingers. + </p> + <p> + And so they were married, in the apartment, at the top of the world, on a + May night thick with stars. It was not a wedding; it was a marriage. The + world never knew because it was none of the world's business. Who was + Kitty Conover? A nobody. Who was John Hawksley? Something to be. + </p> + <p> + Out of the storm into the calm; which is something of a reversal. + Generally in love affairs happiness is found in the approach to the + marriage contract; the disillusions come afterward. It was therefore + logical that Kitty and her lover should be happy, as they had run the + gamut of test and fire beforehand. + </p> + <p> + The young people were to leave for the West soon after the supper for + three. At midnight Cutty's ship would be boring down the bay. Did Kitty + regret, even a little, the rice and old shoes, the bridesmaids and cake, + so dear to the female of the species? She did not. Did she think + occasionally of the splendour of the title that was hers? She did. To her + mind Mrs. John Hawksley was incomparably above and beyond anything in that + Bible of autocracy—the Almanach de Gotha. + </p> + <p> + After supper Cutty brought in the old Amati. + </p> + <p> + “Play,” he said, lighting his pipe. + </p> + <p> + So Hawksley played—played as he never had played before and perhaps + as he would never play again. We reach zenith sometimes, but we never stay + there. But he was not playing to Cutty. Slate-blue eyes, two books with + endless pages, the soul of this wife of his. He had come through. The + miracle had been accomplished. Love. + </p> + <p> + Kitty smiled and smiled, the doors of her soul thrown wide to absorb this + magic message. Love. + </p> + <p> + Cutty smoked on, with his eyes closed. He heard it, too. Love. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, sighing, “I see innovations out there in Montana. The + round-up will be different. The Pied Fiddler of Bar-K will stand in the + corral and fiddle, and the bossies will come galloping in, two by two—and + a few jackrabbits!” He laughed. “John, the Amati is yours conditionally. + If after one year it is not reclaimed it becomes yours automatically. My + wedding present. Remember, next winter, if God wills, you'll come and + visit me.” + </p> + <p> + “As if we could forget!” cried Kitty, embracing Cutty, who accepted the + embrace stoically. “I'll be needing clothes, and Johnny will have to have + his hair cut. Oh, Cutty, I'm so foolishly happy!” + </p> + <p> + “Time we started for the choo-choo. Time-tables have no souls. But, Lord, + what a racket we've had!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, rather!”—from Hawksley. + </p> + <p> + “Bo, listen to me. Out there you must remember that 'bally' and 'ripping' + and 'rather' are premeditated insults. Gee-whiz! but I'd like a look-see + when you say to your rough-and-readies: 'Bally rotten weather. What?' + They'll shoot you up.” + </p> + <p> + More banter; which fooled none of the three, as each understood the other + perfectly. The hour of separation was at hand, and they were fortifying + their courage. + </p> + <p> + “Funny old top,” was Hawksley's comment as they stood before the train + gate. “Three months gone we were strangers.” + </p> + <p> + “And now—” began Cutty. + </p> + <p> + “With hoops of steel!” interrupted Kitty. “You must write, Cutty, and + Johnny and I will be prompt.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll get one from the Azores.” + </p> + <p> + “Train going west!” + </p> + <p> + “Good luck, children!” Cutty pressed Hawksley's hand and pecked at Kitty's + cheek. “Shan't go through with you to the car. Kuroki is waiting. + Good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + The redcaps seized the luggage, and Hawksley and his bride followed them + through the gate. Because he was tall Cutty could see them until they + reached the bumper. Funny old world, for a fact. Next time they met the + wounds would be healed—Hawksley's head and old Cutty's heart. Queer + how he felt his fifty-two. He began to recognize one of the truths that + had passed by: One did not sense age if one ran with the familiar pack. + But for an old-timer to jog along for a few weeks with youth! That was it—the + youth of these two had knocked his conceit into a cocked hat. + </p> + <p> + “Poor dear old Cutty!” said Kitty. + </p> + <p> + “Old thoroughbred!” said Hawksley. + </p> + <p> + And there you were, relegated to the bracket where the family kept the + kaleidoscope, the sea-shell, and the album. His children, though; from now + on he would have that interest in life. The blessed infant—Molly's + girl—taking a sunbonnet when she might have worn a tiara! And that + boy, stepping down from the pomp of palaces to the dusty ranges of Bar-K. + An American citizen. It was more than funny, this old top; it was stark + raving mad. + </p> + <p> + Well, he had one of the drums. It reposed in his wallet. Another queer + thing, he could not work up a bit of the old enthusiasm. It was only a + green stone. One of the finest examples of the emerald known, and he could + not conjure up the panorama of murder and loot behind it. Possibly because + he was no longer detached; the stone had entered his own life and touched + it with tragedy. For it was tragedy to be fifty-two and to realize it. + Thus whenever he took out the emerald he found his imagination walled in. + Besides, it was a kind of magic mirror; he saw always his own tentative + villainy. He was not quite the honest man he had once been. + </p> + <p> + But what was happening down the line there? The passengers were making way + for someone. Kitty, and racing back to the gate! She did not pause until + she stood in front of him, breathless. + </p> + <p> + “Forget something?” he asked, awkwardly. + </p> + <p> + “Uh-hm!” Suddenly she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him. “If + only the three of us could be always together! Take care of yourself. + Johnny and I need you.” Then she caught his hand, gave it a pressure, and + was off again. Cutty stood there, staring blindly in her direction. Old + Stefani Gregor; sacrifice. By and by he became conscious of something warm + and hard in his palm. He looked down. + </p> + <p> + A green stone, green as the turban of a Mecca pilgrim, green as the eye of + a black panther in the thicket. He dropped the emerald into a vest pocket + and fumbled round for his pipe—always his mental crutch. He lit it + and marched out of the station into the night—chuckling + sardonically. For the second time the thought occurred to him: Of all his + earthly possessions he would carry into the Beyond—a chuckle. + </p> + <p> + Molly, then Kitty; but the drums of jeopardy were his! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Drums Of Jeopardy, by Harold MacGrath + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DRUMS OF JEOPARDY *** + +***** This file should be named 1913-h.htm or 1913-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/1913/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Drums Of Jeopardy + +Author: Harold MacGrath + +Posting Date: October 10, 2008 [EBook #1913] +Release Date: October, 1999 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DRUMS OF JEOPARDY *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer + + + + + +THE DRUMS OF JEOPARDY + +By Harold MacGrath + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +A fast train drew into Albany, on the New York Central, from the West. +It was three-thirty of a chill March morning in the first year of peace. +A pall of fog lay over the world so heavy that it beaded the face and +hands and deposited a fairy diamond dust upon wool. The station +lights had the visibility of stars, and like the stars were without +refulgence--a pale golden aureola, perhaps three feet in diameter, and +beyond, nothing. The few passengers who alighted and the train itself +had the same nebulosity of drab fish in a dim aquarium. + +Among the passengers to detrain was a man in a long black coat. The high +collar was up. The man wore a derby hat, well down upon his head, after +the English mode. An English kitbag, battered and scarred, swung heavily +from his hand. He immediately strode for the station wall and stood with +his back to it. He was almost invisible. He remained motionless until +the other detrained passengers swam past, until the red tail lights of +the last coach vanished into the deeps; then he rushed for the exit to +the street. + +Away toward the far end of the platform there appeared a shadowy patch +in the fog. It grew and presently took upon itself the shape of a man. +For one so short and squat and thick his legs possessed remarkable +agility, for he reached the street just as the other man stopped at the +side of a taxicab. + +The fool! As if such a movement had not been anticipated. Sixteen +thousand miles, always eastward, on horses, camels, donkeys, trains, and +ships; down China to the sea, over that to San Francisco, thence across +this bewildering stretch of cities and plains called the United States, +always and ever toward New York--and the fool thought he could escape! +Thought he was flying, when in truth he was being driven toward a wall +in which there would be no breach! Behind and in front the net was +closing. Up to this hour he had been extremely clever in avoiding +contact. This was his first stupid act--thought the fog would serve as +an impenetrable cloak. + +Meantime, the other man reached into the taxicab and awoke the sleeping +chauffeur. + +"A hotel," he said. + +"Which one?" + +"Any one will do." + +"Yes, sir. Two dollars." + +"When we arrive. No; I'll take the bag inside with me." Inside the cab +the fare chuckled. For those who fished there would be no fish in the +net. This fog--like a kindly hand reaching down from heaven! + +Five minutes later the taxicab drew up in front of a hotel. The unknown +stepped out, took a leather purse from his pocket and carefully counted +out in silver two dollars and twenty cents, which he poured into the +chauffeur's palm. + +"Thank you, sir." + +"You are an American?" + +"Sure! I was born in this burg." + +"Like the idea?" + +"Huh?" + +"The idea of being an American?" + +"I should say yes! This is one grand little gob o' mud, believe me! It's +going to be dry in a little while, and then it will be some grand little +old brick. Say, let me give you a tip! The gas in this joint is extra if +you blow it out!" + +Grinning, the chauffeur threw on the power and wheeled away into the +fog. + +His late fare followed the vehicle with his gaze until it reached the +vanishing point, then he laughed. An American cockney! He turned and +entered the hotel. He marched resolutely up to the desk and roused +the sleeping clerk, who swung round the register. The unknown without +hesitance inscribed his name, which was John Hawksley. But he hesitated +the fraction of a second before adding his place of residence--London. + +"A room with a bath, if you please; second flight. Have the man call me +at seven." + +"Yes, sir. Here, boy!" + +Sleepily the bellboy lifted the battered kitbag and led the way to the +elevator. + +"Bawth!" said the night clerk, as the elevator door slithered to the +latch. "Bawth! The old dear!" + +He returned to his chair, hoping that he would not be disturbed again +until he was relieved. + +What do we care, so long as we don't know? What's the stranger to us but +a fleeting shadow? The Odysseys that pass us every day, and we none the +wiser! + +The clerk had not properly floated away into dreams when he was again +roused. Resentfully he opened his eyes. A huge fist covered with a +fell of black hair rose and fell. Attached to this fist was an arm, +and joined to that were enormous shoulders. The clerk's trailing, +sleep-befogged glance paused when it reached the newcomer's face. The +jaws and cheeks and upper lip were blue-black with a beard that required +extra-tempered razors once a day. Black eyes that burned like opals, a +bullet-shaped head well cropped, and a pudgy nose broad in the nostrils. +Because this second arrival wore his hat well forward the clerk was +not able to discern the pinched forehead of the fanatic. Not wholly +unpleasant, not particularly agreeable; the sort of individual one +preferred to walk round rather than bump into. The clerk offered the +register, and the squat man scratched his name impatiently, grabbed the +extended key, and trotted to the elevator. + +"Ah," mused the clerk, "we have with us Mr. Poppy--Popo--" He stared at +the signature close up. "Hanged if I can make it out! It looks like +some new brand of soft drink we'll be having after July first. Greek +or Bulgarian. Anyhow, he didn't awsk for a bawth. Looks as if he needed +one, too. Here, boy!" + +"Ye-ah!" + +"Take a peek at this John Hancock." + +"Gee! That must be the guy who makes that drugstore drink--Boolzac." + +The clerk swung out, but missed the boy's head by a hair. The boy stood +off, grinning. + +"Well, you ast me!" + +"All right. If anybody else comes in tell 'em we're full up. I'll be a +wreck to-morrow without my usual beauty sleep." The clerk dropped into +his chair again and elevated his feet to the radiator. + +"Want me t' git a pillow for yuh?" + +"No back talk!"--drowsily. + +"Oh! boy, but I got one on you!" + +"What?" + +"This Boolzac guy didn't have no baggage, and yuh give 'im the key +without little ol' three-per in advance." + +"No grip?" + +"Nix. Not a toot'brush in sight." + +"Well, the damage is done. I might as well go to sleep." + +It was not premeditated on the part of the clerk to give the squat man +the room adjoining that of Hawksley's. The key had been nearest his +hand. But the squat man trembled with excitement when he noted that it +was stamped 214. He had taken particular pains to search the register +for Hawksley's number before rousing the clerk. He hadn't counted on any +such luck as this. His idea had been merely to watch the door of Room +212. + +He had the feline foot, as they say. He moved about lightly and without +sound in the dark. Almost at once he approached one of the two doors +and put his ear to the panel. Running water. The fool had time to take a +bath! + +A plan flashed into his head. Why not end the affair here and now, and +reap the glory for himself? What mattered the net if the fish swam into +your hand? Wasn't this particularly his affair? It was the end, not the +means. A close touch in Hong-Kong, but the fool had slipped away. But +there, in the next room, assured that he had escaped--it would be +easy. The squat man tiptoed to the window. Luck of luck, there was a +fire-escape platform! He would let half an hour pass, then he would +act. The ape, with his British mannerisms! Death to the breed, root and +branch! He sat down to wait. + +On the other side of the wall the bather finished his ablutions. His +body was graceful, vigorous, and youthful, tinted a golden bronze. His +nose was hawky; his eyes a Latin brown, alert and roving, though there +was a hint of weariness in them, the pressure of long, racking hours of +ceaseless vigilance. His top hair was a glossy black inclined to curl; +but the four days' growth of beard was as blond as a ripe chestnut burr. +In spite of this mark of vagabondage there were elements of beauty +in the face. The expanse of the brow and the shape of the head were +intellectual. The mouth was pleasure-loving, but the nose and the jaw +neutralized this. + +After he had towelled himself he reached down for a brown leather pouch +which lay on the three-legged bathroom stool. It was patently a tobacco +pouch, but there was evidently something inside more precious than +Saloniki. He held the pouch on his palm and stared at it as if it +contained some jinn clamouring to be let out. Presently he broke away +from this fascination and rocked his body, eyes closed--like a man +suffering unremitting pain. + +"God's curse on them!" he whispered, opening his eyes. He raised the +pouch swiftly, as though he intended dashing it to the tiled floor; but +his arm sank gently. After all, he would be a fool to destroy them. They +were future bread and butter. + +He would soon have their equivalent in money--money that would bring +back no terrible recollections. + +Strange that every so often, despite the horror, he had to take them out +and gaze at them. He sat down upon the stool, spread a towel across his +knees, and opened the pouch. He drew out a roll of cotton wool, which he +unrolled across the towel. Flames! Blue flames, red, yellow, violet, and +green--precious stones, many of them with histories that reached back +into the dim centuries, histories of murder and loot and envy. The +young man had imagination--perhaps too much of it. He saw the stones +palpitating upon lovely white and brown bosoms; he saw bloody and greedy +hands, the red sack of towns; he heard the screams of women and the +raucous laughter of drunken men. Murder and loot. + +At the end of the cotton wool lay two emeralds about the size of half +dollars and half an inch in thickness, polished, and as vividly green +as a dragonfly in the sun, fit for the turban of Schariar, spouse of +Scheherazade. + +Rodin would have seized upon the young man's attitude--the limp body, +the haggard face--hewn it out of marble and called it Conscience. The +possessor of the stones held this attitude for three or four minutes. +Then he rolled up the cotton wool, jammed it into the pouch, which he +hung to his neck by a thong, and sprang to his feet. No more of this +brooding; it was sapping his vitality; and he was not yet at his +journey's end. + +He proceeded to the bedroom, emptied the battered kitbag, and began to +dress. He put on heavy tan walking shoes, gray woollen stockings, gray +knickerbockers, gray flannel shirt, and a Norfolk jacket minus the third +button. + +Ah, that button! He fingered the loose threads which had aforetime +snugged the button to the wool. The carelessness of a tailor had saved +his life. Had that button held, his bones at this moment would be +reposing on the hillside in far-away Hong-Kong. Evidently Fate had some +definite plans regarding his future, else he would not be in this room, +alive. But what plans? Why should Fate bother about him further? She had +strained the orange to the last drop. Why protect the pulp? Perhaps +she was only making sport of him, lulling him into the belief that +eventually he might win through. One thing, she would never be able to +twist his heart again. You cannot fill a cup with water beyond the brim. +And God knew that his cup had been full and bitter and red. + +His hand swept across his eyes as if to brush away the pictures suddenly +conjured up. He must keep his thoughts off those things. There was a +taint of madness in his blood, and several times he had sensed the brink +at his feet. But God had been kind to him in one respect: The blood of +his glorious mother predominated. + +How many were after him, and who? He had not been able to recognize the +man that night in Hong-Kong. That was the fate of the pursued: one never +dared pause to look back, while the pursuers had their man before them +always. If only he could have broken through into Greece, England would +have been easy. The only door open had been in the East. It seemed +incredible that he should be standing in this room, but three hours from +his goal. + +America! The land of the free and the brave! And the irony of it was +that he must seek in America the only friends he had in the world. +All the Englishmen he had known and loved were dead. He had never made +friends with the French, though he loved France. In this country alone +he might successfully lose himself and begin life anew. The British were +British and the French were French; but in this magnificent America they +possessed the tenacity of the one and the gayety of the other--these +joyous, unconquered, speed-loving Americans. + +He took up the overcoat. Under the light it was no longer black but +a very deep green. On both sleeves there were narrow bands of a still +deeper green, indicating that gold or silver braid had once befrogged +the cuffs. Inside, soft silky Persian lamb; and he ran his fingers over +the fur thoughtfully. The coat was still impregnated with the strong +odour of horse. He cast it aside, never to touch it again. From the +discarded small coat he extracted a black wallet and opened it. That +passport! He wondered if there existed another more cleverly forged. It +would not have served an hour west of the Hindenburg Line; but in the +East and here in America no one had questioned it. In San Francisco they +had scarcely glanced at it, peace having come. Besides this passport the +wallet contained a will, ten bonds, a custom appraiser's receipt and +a sheaf of gold bills. The will, however, was perhaps one of the most +astonishing documents conceivable. It left unreservedly to Capt. John +Hawksley the contents of the wallet! + +Within three hours of his ultimate destination! He knew all about great +cities. An hour after he left the train, if he so willed, he could lose +himself for all time. + +From the bottom of the kitbag he dug up a blue velours case, which after +a moment's hesitation he opened. Medals incrusted with precious stones; +but on the top was the photograph of a charming girl, blonde as ripe +wheat, and arrayed for the tennis court. It was this photograph he +wanted. Indifferently he tossed the case upon the centre table, and it +upset, sending the medals about with a ring and a tinkle. + +The man in the next room heard this sound, and his eye roved +desperately. Some way to peer into yonder room! But there was no +transom, and he would not yet dare risk the fire escape. The young man +raised the photograph to his lips and kissed it passionately. + +Then he hid it in the lining of his coat, there being a convenient rent +in the inside pocket. + +"I must not think!" he murmured. "I must not!" + +He became the hunted man again. He turned a chair upend and placed +it under the window. He tipped another in front of the door. On the +threshold of the bathroom door he deposited the water carafe and the +glasses. His bed was against the connecting door. No man would be +able to enter unannounced. He had no intention of letting himself fall +asleep. He would stretch out and rest. So he lit his pipe, banked the +two pillows, switched out the light, and lay down. Only the intermittent +glow of his pipe coal could be seen. Near the journey's end; and no more +tight-rope walking, with death at both ends, and death staring up from +below. Queer how the human being clung to life. What had he to live +for? Nothing. So far as he was concerned, the world had come to an end. +Sporting instinct; probably that was it; couldn't make up his mind to +shuffle off this mortal coil until he had beaten his enemies. English +university education had dulled the bite of his natural fatalism. To +carry on for the sport of it; not to accept fate but to fight it. + +By chance his hand touched his spiky chin. Nevertheless, he would have +to enter New York just as he was. He had left his razor in a Pullman +washroom hurriedly one morning. He dared not risk a barber's chair, +especially these American chairs, that stretched one out in a most +helpless manner. + +Slowly his pipe sank toward his breast. The weary body was overcoming +the will. A sound broke the pleasant spell. He sat up, tense. Someone +had entered through the window and stumbled over the chair! Hawksley +threw on the light. + + + +CHAPTER II + + +When the day clerk arrived the night clerk sleepily informed him that +the guest in Room 214 was without baggage and had not paid in advance. + +"Lave a call?" + +"No. I thought I'd put you wise. I didn't notice that the man had no +grip until he was in the elevator." + +"All right. I'll send the bell-hop captain up with a fake call to see if +the man's still there." + +When the captain--late of the A.E.F. in France--returned to the office +he was mildly excited. + +"Gee, there's been a whale of a scrap in Room 212. The chambermaid let +me in." + +"Murder?" whispered the clerks in unison. + +"Murder your granny! Naw! Just a fight between 212 and 214, because +both of 'em have flown the roost. But take a peek at what I found on the +table." + +It was a case of blue velours. The boy threw back the lid dramatically. + +"War medals?" + +"If they are I never piped 'em before. They ain't French or British." +The captain of the bell-boys scratched his head ruminatively. "Gee, I +got it! Orders, that's what they all 'em. Kings pay 'em out Saturdays +when the pay roll is nix. Will you pipe the diamonds and rubies? There's +your room rents, monseer." + +The day clerk, who considered himself a judge, was of the opinion that +there were two or three thousand dollars tied up in the stones. It was +a police affair. Some ambassador had been robbed, and the Britisher and +the Greek or Bulgarian were mixed up in it. Loot. + +"I thought the war was over," said the night clerk. + +"The shootin' is over, that's all," said the captain of the bellboys, +sagely. + +What had happened in Room 212? A duel of wits rather than of physical +contact. Hawksley realized instantly that here was the crucial moment. +Caught and overpowered, he was lost. If he shouted for help and it came, +he was lost. Once the police took a hand in the affair, the newspaper +publicity that would follow would result in the total ruin of all his +hopes. There was only one chance--to finish this affair outside the +hotel, in some fog-dimmed street. There leaped into his mind, obliquely +and queerly, a picture in one of Victor Hugo's tales--Quasimodo. And +there he stood, in every particular save the crooked back. And on the +top of this came the recollection that he had seen the man before.... +The torches! The red torches and the hobnailed boots! + +There began an odd game, a dancing match, which the young man led +adroitly, always with his thought upon the open window. There would be +no shooting; Quasimodo would not want the police either. Half a dozen +times his fingers touched futilely the dancing master's coat. Back +and forth across the room, over the bed, round the stand and chairs. +Persistently, as if he understood the young man's manoeuvres, the squat +individual kept to the window side of the room. + +An inspiration brought the affair to an end. Hawksley snatched up the +bedclothes and threw them as the ancient retiarius threw his net. He +managed to win to the lower platform of the fire escape before Quasimodo +emerged. + +There was a fourteen-foot drop to the street, and the man with the +golden stubble on his chin and cheeks swung for a moment to gauge his +landing. Quasimodo came after with the agility of an ape. The race down +the street began with about a hundred yards in between. + +Down the hill they went, like phantoms. The distance did not widen. +Bears will run amazingly fast and for a long while. The quarry cut into +Pearl Street for a block, turned a corner, and soon vaguely espied the +Hudson River. He made for this. + +To the mind of Quasimodo this flight had but one significance--he was +dealing with an arrant coward; and he based his subsequent acts upon +this premise, forgetting that brave men run when need says must. It +would have surprised him exceedingly to learn that he was not driving, +that he was being led. Hawksley wanted his enemy alone, where no one +would see to interfere. Red torches and hobnailed boots! For once the +two bloods, always more or less at war, merged in a common purpose--to +kill this beast, to grind the face of him into pulp! Red torches and +hobnailed boots! + +Presently one of the huge passenger boats, moored for the winter, loomed +up through the fog; and toward this Hawksley directed his steps. He made +a flying leap aboard and vanished round the deckhouse to the river side. + +Quasimodo laughed as he followed. It was as if the tobacco pouch and +the appraiser's receipt were in his own pocket; and broad rivers made +capital graveyards. They two alone in the fog! He whirled round the +deckhouse--and backed on his heels to get his balance. Directly in +front, in a very understandable pose, was the intended victim, his jaw +jutting, his eyelids narrowed. + +Quasimodo tried desperately to reach for his pistol; but a bolt of +lightning stopped the action. There is something peculiar about a blow +on the nose, a good blow. The Anglo-Saxon peoples alone possess the +counterattack--a rush. To other peoples concentration of thought is +impossible after the impact. Instinctively Quasimodo's hands flew to his +face. He heard a laugh, mirthless and terrible. Before he could drop +his hands from his face-blows, short and boring, from this side and from +that, over and under. The squat man was brave enough; simply he did not +know how to fight in this manner. He was accustomed to the use of steel +and the hobnails on his boots. He struck wildly, swinging his arms like +a Flemish mill in a brisk wind. + +Some of his blows got home, but these provoked only sardonic laughter. + +Wild with rage and pain he bored in. He had but one chance--to get this +shadow in his gorilla-like arms. He lacked mental flexibility. An idea, +getting into his head, stuck; it was not adjustable. Like an arrow sped +from the bowstring, it had to fulfill its destiny. It never occurred to +him to take to his heels, to get space between himself and this enemy he +had so woefully underestimated. Ten feet, and he might have been able to +whirl, draw his pistol, and end the affair. + +The coup de grace came suddenly: a blow that caught Quasimodo full on +the point of the jaw. He sagged and went sprawling upon his face. The +victor turned him over and raised a heel.... No! He was neither Prussian +nor Sudanese black. He was white; and white men did not stamp in the +faces of fallen enemies. + +But there was one thing a white man might do in such a case without +disturbing the ethical, and he proceeded about it forthwith: Draw the +devil's fangs; render him impotent for a few hours. He deliberately +knelt on one of the outspread arms and calmly emptied the insensible +man's pockets. He took everything--watch, money, passport, letters, +pistol, keys--rose and dropped them into the river. He overlooked +Quasimodo's belt, however. The Anglo-Saxon idea was top hole. His fists +had saved his life. + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Hawksley heard the panting of an engine and turned his head. Dimly he +saw a giant bridge and a long drab train moving across it. He picked up +the fallen man's cap and tried it on. Not a particularly good fit, but +it would serve. He then trotted round the deckhouse to the street side, +jumped to the wharf, and sucking the cracked knuckles of his right hand +fell into a steady dogtrot which carried him to the station he had left +so hopefully an hour and a half gone. + +An accommodation train eventually deposited him in Poughkeepsie, where +he purchased a cap and a sturdy walking stick. The stubble on his chin +and cheeks began to irritate him intensely, but he could not rid himself +of the idea that a barber's chair would be inviting danger. He was now +tolerably certain that from one end of the continent to the other his +presence was known. His life and his property, they would be after both. +Even now there might be men in this strange town seeking him. The closer +he got to New York, the more active and wide-awake they would become. + +He walked the streets, his glance constantly roving. But apparently no +one paid the least attention to him. Finally he returned to the railway +station; and at six o'clock that evening he left the platform of the +125th Street Station, and appraised covertly the men who accompanied him +to the street. He felt assured that they were all Americans. Probably +they were; but there are still some stray fools of American birth who +cannot accept the great American doctrine as the only Ararat visible +in this present flood. Perhaps one of these accompanied Hawksley to the +street. Whatever he was, one had upon order met every south-going train +since seven o'clock that morning, when Quasimodo, paying from the +gold hidden in his belt, had sent forth the telegraphic alarm. The man +hurried across the street and followed Hawksley by matching his steps. +His business was merely to learn the other's destination and then to +report. + +Across the earth a tempest had been loosed; but Ariel did not ride +it, Caliban did. The scythe of terror was harvesting a type; and the +innocent were bending with the guilty. + +Suddenly Hawksley felt young, revivified, free. He had arrived. +Surmounting indescribable hazards and hardships he walked the pavement +of New York. In an hour the mutable quicksands of a great city would +swallow him forever. Free! He wanted to stroll about, peer into shop +windows, watch the amazing electric signs, dally; but he still had much +to accomplish. + +He searched for a telephone sign. It was necessary that he find one +immediately. He had once spent six weeks in and about this marvellous +city, and he had a vague recollection of the blue-and-white enamel +signs. Shortly he found one. It was a pay station in the rear of a news +and tobacco shop. + +He entered a booth, but discovered that he had no five-cent pieces in +his purse. He hurried out to the girl behind the cigar stand. She was +exhibiting a box of cigars to a customer, who selected three, paid for +them, and walked away. Hawksley, boiling with haste to have his affair +done, flung a silver coin toward the girl. + +"Five-cent pieces!" + +"Will you take them with you or shall I send them?" asked the girl, +earnestly. + +"I beg pardon!" + +"Any particular kind of ribbon you want the box tied with?" + +"I beg your pardon!" repeated Hawksley, harried and bewildered. "But I'm +in a hurry--" + +"Too much of a hurry to leave out the bark when you ask a favour? I make +change out of courtesy. And you all bark at me Nickel! Nickel! as if +that was my job." + +"A thousand apologies!"--contritely. + +"And don't make it any worse by suggesting a movie after supper. My +mother never lets me go out after dark." + +"I rather fancy she's quite sensible. Still, you seem able to take care +of yourself. I might suggest--" + +"With that black eye? Nay, nay! I'll bet somebody's brother gave it to +you." + +"Venus was not on that occasion in ascendancy. Thank you for the +change." Hawksley swung on his heel and reentered the booth. + +A great weariness oppressed him. A longing, almost irresistible, came to +him to go out and cry aloud: "Here I am! Kill me! I am tired and done!" +For he had recognized the purchaser of the cigars as one of the men who +had left the 125th Street Station at the same time as he. He remembered +distinctly that this man had been in a hurry. Perhaps the whole dizzy +affair was reacting upon his imagination psychologically and turning +harmless individuals into enemies. + +"Hello!" said a man's voice over the wire. + +"Is Mr. Rathbone there?" + +"Captain Rathbone is with his regiment at Coblenz, sir." + +"Coblenz?" + +"Yes, sir. I do not expect his return until near midsummer, sir. Who is +this talking?" + +"Have you opened a cable from Yokohama?" + +"This is Mr. Hawksley!" The voice became excited. + +"Oh, sir! You will come right away. I alone understand, sir. You will +remember me when you see me. I'm the captain's butler, sir--Jenkins. +He cabled back to give you the entire run of the house as long as you +desired it. He advised me to notify you that he had also prepared his +banker against your arrival. Have your luggage sent here at once, sir. +Dinner will be at your convenience." + +Hawksley's body relaxed. A lump came into his throat. Here was a friend, +anyhow, ready to serve him though he was thousands of miles away. + +When he could trust himself to speak he said: "Sorry. It will be +impossible to accept the hospitality at present. I shall call in a few +days, however, to establish my identity. Thank you. Good evening." + +"Just a moment, sir. I may have an important cable to transmit to you. +It would be wise to leave me your address, sir." + +Hawksley hesitated a moment. After all, he could trust this perfect old +servant, whom he remembered. He gave the address. + +As he came out of the booth the girl stretched forth an arm to detain +him. He stopped. + +"I'm sorry I spoke like that," she said. "But I'm so tired! I've been on +my feet all day, and everybody's been barking and growling; and if I'd +taken in as many nickels as I've passed out in change the boss would be +rich." + +"Give me a dozen of those roses there." She sold flowers also. "The pink +ones. How much?" he asked. + +"Two-fifty." + +He laid down the money. "Never mind the box. They are for you. Good +evening." + +The girl stared at the flowers as Ali Baba must have stared at the cask +with rubies. + +"For me!" she whispered. "For nothing!" + +Her eyes blurred. She never saw Hawksley again; but that was of no +importance. She had a gentle deed to put away in the lavender of +recollection. + +Outside Hawksley could see nothing of the man who had bought the cigars. +At any rate, further dodging would be useless. He would go directly +to his destination. Old Gregor had sent him a duplicate key to the +apartment. He could hide there for a day or two; then visit Rathbone's +banker at his residence in the night to establish his identity. Gregor +could be trusted to carry the wallet and the pouch to the bank. Once +these were walled in steel half the battle would be over. He would have +nothing to guard thereafter but his life. He laughed brokenly. Nothing +but the clothes he stood in. He never could claim the belongings he had +been forced to leave in that hotel back yonder. But there was loyal old +Gregor. Somebody would be honestly glad to see him. The poor old chap! +Astonishing, but of late he was always thinking in English. + +He hailed the first free taxicab he saw, climbed in, and was driven +downtown. He looked back constantly. Was he followed? There was no way +of telling. The street was alive with vehicles tearing north and south, +with frequent stoppage for the passage of those racing east and west. +The destination of Hawksley's cab was an old-fashioned apartment house +in Eightieth Street. + +Gregor would have a meal ready; and it struck Hawksley forcibly that he +was hungry, that he had not touched food since the night before. Gregor, +valeting in a hotel, pressing coats and trousers and sewing on buttons! +Groggy old world, wasn't it? Gregor, pressing the trousers of the +hoi polloi! Gregor, who could have sent New York mad with that old +Stradivarius of his! But Gregor was wise. Safety for him lay in +obscurity; and what was more obscure than a hotel valet? + +He did not seek the elevator but mounted the first flight of stairs. He +saw two doors, one on each side of the landing. He sought one, stooped +and peered at the card over the bell. Conover. Gregor's was opposite. +Having a key he did not knock but unlocked the door and stepped into the +dark hall. + +"Stefani Gregor?" he called, joyously. "Stefani, my old friend, it is +I!" + +Silence. But that was understandable. Either Gregor had not returned +from his labours or he was out gathering the essentials for the evening +meal. Judging from the variety of odours that swam the halls of this +human warren many suppers were in the process of making, and the top +flavour was garlic. He sniffed pleasurably. Not that the smell of garlic +quickened his hunger. It merely sent his thought galloping backward +a score of years. He saw Stefani Gregor and a small boy in mountain +costume footing it sturdily along the dizzy goat paths of the rugged +hills; saw the two sitting on some ruddy promontory and munching black +bread rubbed with garlic. Ambrosia! His mother's horror, when she smelt +his breath--as if garlic had not been one of her birthrights! His uncle, +roaring out in his bull's voice that black bread and garlic were good +for little boys' stomachs, and made the stuff of soldiers. Black bread +and garlic and the Golden Age! + +After he had flooded the hall with light he began a tour of inspection. +The rooms were rather bare but clean and orderly. Here and there were +items that kept the homeland green in the recollection. He came to the +bedroom last. He hesitated for a moment before opening the door. The +lights told him why Gregor had not greeted his entering hail. + +The overturned reading lamp, the broken chair, the letters and papers +strewn about the floor, the rifled bureau drawers--these things spoke +plainly enough. Gregor was a prisoner somewhere in this vast city; or he +was dead. + +Hawksley stood motionless for a space. And he must remain here at least +for a night and a day! He would not dare risk another hotel. He could, +of course, go to the splendid Rathbone place; but it would not be fair +to invite tragedy across that threshold. + +A ball of crushed paper at his feet attracted his attention. He kicked +it absently, followed and picked it up, his thought on other things. +He was aimlessly smoothing it out when an English word caught his eye. +English! He smoothed the crumpled sheet and read: + + If you find this it is the will of God. I have been watched + for several days, and am now convinced that they have always + known I was here but were leaving me alone for some unknown + purpose. I roll this ball because anything folded and left + in a conspicuous place would be useless should they come for + me. I understand. It is you, poor boy. They are watching + me in hopes of catching you, and I've no way to warn you not + to come here. It was after I sent you the key that I learned + the truth. God bless you and guard you! + STEFANI. + + +Hawksley tore the note into scraps. Food and sleep. He walked toward the +kitchen, musing. What an odd mixture he was! Superficially British, with +the British outlook; and yet filled with the dancing blood of the Latin +and the cold, phlegmatic blood of the Slav. He was like a schoolmaster +with two students too big for him to handle. Always the Latin was +dispossessing the Slav or the Slav was ousting the Latin. With +fatalistic confidence that nevermore would he look upon the kindly face +of Stefani Gregor, alive, he went in search of food. + +Not a crust did he find. In the ice-chest there was a bottle of +milk--soured. Hungry; and not a crumb! And he dared not go out in search +of food. No one had observed his entrance to the apartment, but it was +improbable that such luck would attend him a second time. + +He returned to the bedroom. He did not turn on the light because a novel +idea had blossomed unexpectedly--a Latin idea. There might be food on +some window ledge. He would leave payment. He proceeded to the window, +throwing up both it and the curtain, and looked out. Ripping! There was +a fire escape. + +As he slipped a leg over the sill a golden square sprang into existence +across the way. Immediately he forgot his foraging instincts. In a +moment he was all Latin, always susceptible to the enchantment of +beauty. + +The distance across the court was less than forty feet. He could see the +girl quite plainly as she set about the preparation of her evening meal. +He forgot his danger, his hunger, his code of ethics, which did not +permit him to gaze at a young woman through a window. + +Alone. He was alone and she was alone. A novel idea popped into his +head. He chuckled; and the sound of that chuckle in his ears somehow +brought back his resolve to carry on, to pass out, if so he must, +fighting. He would knock on yonder window and ask the beautiful lady +slavey for a bit of her supper! + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Kitty Conover had inherited brains and beauty, and nothing else but the +furniture. Her father had been a famous reporter, the admiration of +cubs from New York to San Francisco; handsome, happy-go-lucky, generous, +rather improvident, and wholly lovable. Her mother had been a comedy +actress noted for her beauty and wit and extravagance. Thus it will be +seen that Kitty was in luck to inherit any furniture at all. + +Kitty was twenty-four. A body is as old as it is, but a brain is as old +as the facts it absorbs; and Kitty had absorbed enough facts to carry +her brain well into the thirties. + +Conover had been dead twenty years; and Kitty had scarcely any +recollections of him. Improvident as the run of newspaper writers are, +Conover had fulfilled one obligation to his family--he had kept up his +endowment policies; and for eighteen years the insurance had taken care +of Kitty and her mother, who because of a weak ankle had not been able +to return to the scenes of her former triumphs. In 1915 this darling +mother, whom Kitty loved to idolatry, had passed on. + +There was enough for the funeral and the cleaning up of the bills; but +that was all. The income ceased with Mrs. Conover's demise. Kitty saw +that she must give up writing short stories which nobody wanted, and +go to work. So she proceeded at once to the newspaper office where +her father's name was still a tradition, and applied for a job. It was +frankly a charity job, but Kitty was never to know that because she fell +into the newspaper game naturally; and when they discovered her wide +acquaintance among theatrical celebrities they switched her into the +dramatic department, where she had astonishing success as a raconteur. +She was now assistant dramatic editor of the Sunday issue, and her pay +envelope had four crisp ten-dollar notes in it each Monday. + +She still remained in the old apartment; sentiment as much as anything. +She had been born in it and her happiest days had been spent there. She +lived alone, without help, being one of that singular type of womanhood +that is impervious to the rust of loneliness. Her daily activities +sufficed the gregarious instincts, and it was often a relief to move +about in silence. + +Among other things Kitty had foresight. She had learned that a little +money in the background was the most satisfying thing in existence. So +many times she and her mother had just reached the insurance check, with +grumbling bill collectors in the hall, that she was determined never to +be poor. She had to fight constantly her love of finery inherited from +her mother, and her love of good times inherited from her father. So she +established a bank account, and to date had not drawn a check against +it; which speaks well for her will power, an attribute cultivated, not +inherited. + +Kitty was as pleasing to the eye as a basket of fruit. Her beauty was +animated. There was an expression in her eyes and on her lips that spoke +of laughter always on tiptoe. An enviable inheritance, this, the desire +to laugh, to be searching always for a vent to laughter; it is something +money cannot buy, something not to be cultivated; a true gift of +the gods. This desire to laugh is found invariably in the tender and +valorous; and Kitty was both. Brown hair with running threads of +gold that was always catching light; slate-blue eyes with heavy black +fringe-Irish; colour that waxed and waned; and a healthy, shapely body. +Topped by a sparkling intellect these gifts made Kitty desirable of men. + +Kitty had no beau. After the adolescent days beaux ceased to interest +her. This would indicate that she was inclined toward suffrage. Nothing +of the kind. Intensely romantic, she determined to await the grand +passion or go it alone. No experimental adventures for her. Be assured +that she weighed every new man she met, and finding some flaw discarded +him as a matrimonial possibility. Besides, her unusual facilities to +view and judge men had shown her masculine phases the average woman +would have discovered only after the fatal knot was tied. She did not +suspect that she was romantical. She attributed her wariness to common +sense. + +If there is one place where a pretty young woman may labour without +having to build a wall of liquid air about her to fend off amatory +advances that place is the editorial room of a great metropolitan daily. +One must have leisure to fall in love; and only the office boys could +assemble enough idle time to call it leisure. + +Her desk faced Burlingame's; and Burlingame was the dramatic editor, a +scholar and a gentleman. He liked to hear Kitty talk, and often he lured +her into the open; and he gathered information about theatrical folks +that was outside even his wide range of knowledge. + +A drizzly fog had hung over New York since morning. Kitty was finishing +up some Sunday special. Burlingame was reading proofs. All day +theatrical folks had been in and out of this little ten-by-twelve +cubby-hole; and now there would be quiet. + +But no. The door opened and an iron-gray head intruded. + +"Will I be in the way?" + +"Lord, no!" cried Burlingame, throwing down his proofs. "Come along in, +Cutty." + +The great war correspondent came in and sat down, sighing gratefully. + +Cutty was a nickname; he carried and smoked--everywhere they +would permit him--the worst-looking and the worst-smelling pipe in +Christendom. You may not realize it, but a nickname is a round-about +Anglo-Saxon way of telling a fellow you love him. He was Cutty, but +only among his dear intimates, mind you; to the world at large, to +presidents, kings, ambassadors, generals, and capitalists he is known by +another name. You will find it on the roster of the Royal Geographical; +on the title page of several unique books on travel, jewels, and drums; +in magazines and newspapers; on the membership roll of the Savage in +London and the Lambs in New York. But you will not find it in this +story; because it would not be fair to set his name against the unusual +adventures that crossed his line of life with that of the young man who +wore the tobacco pouch suspended from his neck. + +Tall, bony, graceful enough except in a chair, where his angles became +conspicuous; the ruddy, weather-bitten complexion of a deep-sea sailor, +and a sailor man's blue eye; the brow of a thinker and the mouth of a +humourist. Men often call another man handsome when a woman knows they +mean manly. Among men Cutty was handsome. + +Kitty considerately rose and gathered up her manuscript. + +"No, no, Kitty! I'd rather talk to you than Burly, here. You're always +reminding me of that father of yours. Best comrade I ever had. You laugh +just like him. Did your mother ever tell you that old Cutty is your +godfather?" + +"Good gracious!" + +"Fact. I told your dad I'd watch over you." + +"And a fat lot of watching you've done to date," jeered Burlingame. + +"Couldn't help that. But I can be on the job until I return to the +Balkans." + +Kitty laughed joyously and sat down, perhaps a little thrilled. She had +always admired Cutty from afar, shyly. Once in a blue moon he had in +the old days appeared for tea; and he and Mrs. Conover would spend +the balance of the afternoon discussing the lovable qualities of Tommy +Conover. Kitty had seen him but twice during the war. + +"Every so often," began Cutty, "I have to find listeners. Fact. I +used to hate crowds, listeners; but those ten days in an open boat, a +thousand miles from anywhere, made me gregarious. I'm always wanting +company and hating to go to bed, which is bad business for a man of +fifty-two." Cutty's ship had been torpedoed. + +To Kitty, with his tired eyes and weather-bitten face, his bony, +gangling body, he had the appearance of a lazy man. Actually she knew +him to be a man of tremendous vitality and endurance. Eagles when they +roost are heavy-lidded and clumsy. She wondered if there was a corner on +the globe he had not peered into. + +For thirty years he had been following two gods--Rumour and War. For +thirty years he had been the slave of cables and telegrams. Even now he +was preparing to return to the Balkans, where the great fire had started +and where there were still some threatening embers to watch. + +Cutty was not well known in America; his reputation was European. He +played the game because he loved it, being comfortably fortified with +worldly goods. He was a linguist of rare attainments, specializing in +the polyglot of southeastern Europe. He came and went like cloud shadow. +His foresight was so keen he was seldom ordered to go here or there; he +was generally on the spot when the orders arrived. + +He was interested in socialism and its bewildering ramifications, +but only as an analytical student. He could fit himself into any +environment, interview a prime minister in the afternoon and take +potluck that night with the anarchist who was planning to blow up the +prime minister. + +Burlingame, an intimate, often exposed for Kitty's delectation the +amazing and colourful facets of Cutty's diamond-brilliant mind. Cutty +wrote authoritatively on famous gems and collected drums. He had one +of the finest collections of chrysoprase in the world. He loved +these semi-precious stones because of their unmatchable, translucent +green--like the pulp of a grape. From Burlingame Kitty had learned +that Cutty, rather indifferent to women, carried about with him the +photographs--large size--of famous professional beauties and a case +filled with polished chrysoprase. He would lay a photograph on a table +and adorn the lovely throat with astonishing necklaces and the head with +wonderful tiaras, all the while his brain at work with some intricate +political puzzle. + +And he collected drums. The walls of his apartment--part of the loft of +a midtown office building--were covered with a most startling assortment +of drums: drums of war, of the dance, of the temples of the feast, +ancient and modern, some of them dreadful looking objects, as Kitty had +cause to remember. + +Though Cutty had known her father and mother intimately, Kitty was a +comparative stranger. He recollected seeing her perhaps a dozen times. +She had been a shy child, not given to climbing over visitors' knees; +not the precocious offspring of the average theatrical mother. So in +the past he had somewhat overlooked her. Then one day recently he had +dropped in to see Burlingame and had seen Kitty instead; which accounts +for his presence here this day. Neither Kitty nor Burlingame suspected +the true attraction. The dramatic editor accepted the advent as a +peculiar compliment to himself. And it is to be doubted if Cutty himself +realized that there was a true magnetic pole in this cubbyhole of a +room. + +Kitty, however, had vivid recollections. Actually the first strange man +she had ever met. But not having been visible on her horizon, except in +flashes, she knew of the man only what she had read and what Burlingame +had casually offered during discussions. + +"Well, anyhow," said Burlingame, complacently, "the war is over." + +Cutty smiled indulgently. "That's the trouble with us chaps who tramp +round the world for news. We can't bamboozle ourselves like you folks +who stay at home. The war was only the first phase. There's a mess over +there; wanting something and not knowing exactly what, those millions; +milling cattle, with neither shed nor pasture. The Lord only knows how +long it will take to clarify. Would you mind if I smoked?" + +"Wow!" cried Burlingame. + +"Not at all," answered Kitty. "I don't see how any pipe could be worse +than Mr. Burlingame's." + +"I apologize," said the dramatic editor, humbly. + +"You needn't," replied the girl. She turned to the war correspondent. +"Any new drums?" + +"I remember that day. You were scared half to death at my walls." + +"Small wonder! I was only twelve; and I dreamed of cannibals for weeks." + +"Drums! I wonder if any living man has heard a greater variety than +I? What a lot of them! I have heard them calling a jehad in the Sudan. +Tumpi-tum-tump! tumpitum-tump! Makes a white man's hair stand up when he +hears it in the night. I don't know what it is, but the sound drives the +Oriental mad. And that reminds me--I've had them in mind all day--the +drums of jeopardy!" + +"What an odd phrase! And what are the drums of jeopardy?" asked +Kitty, leaning on her arms. Odd, but suddenly she felt a longing to go +somewhere, thousands and thousands of miles away. She had never been +west of Chicago or east of Boston. Until this moment she had never +felt the call of the blood--her father's. Cocoanut palms and birds of +paradise! And drums in the night going tumpi-tum-tump! tumpi-tum-tump! + +"I've always been mad over green things," began Cutty. "A wheat field in +the spring, leafing maples. It's Nature's choice and mine. My passion is +emeralds; and I haven't any because those I want are beyond reach. +They are owned by the great houses of Europe and Asia, and lie in royal +caskets; or did. If I could go into a mine and find an emerald as big +as my fist I should be only partly happy if it chanced to be of fine +colour. In a little while I should lose interest in it. It wouldn't be +alive, if you can get what I mean. Just as a man would rather have a +homely woman to talk to than a beautiful window dummy to admire. A +stone to interest me must have a story--a story of murder and loot, of +beautiful women, palaces. + +"Br-r-r!" cried Burlingame. + +"Why, I've seen emeralds I would steal with half a chance. I couldn't +help it. Fact," declared Cutty, earnestly. "Think of the loot in the +Romanoff palaces! What's become of all those magnificent stones? In a +little while they'll be turning up in Amsterdam to be cut--some of them. +Or maybe Mister Bolsheviki's inamorata will be stringing them round her +neck. Loot." + +"But the drums of jeopardy!" said Kitty. + +"Emeralds, green as an English lawn in May after a shower, Kitty. By the +way, do you mind if I call you Kitty? I used to." + +"And I've always thought of you as Cutty. Fifty-fifty." + +"It's a bargain. Well, the drums to my thinking are the finest two +examples of the green beryl in the world. Polished, of course, as +emeralds always should be. I should say that they were about the size of +those peppermint chocolate drops there." + +"Have one?" said Kitty. + +"No. Spoil the taste of the pipe." + +"You ought to spoil that taste once in a while," was Burlingame's +observation. "But go on." + +"I suppose originally there was a single stone, later cut into halves, +because they are perfect matches. The drums proper are exquisitely +carved ivory statuettes, of Hindu or Mohammedan drummers, squatting, +the golden base of the drums between the knees, and the drumheads the +emeralds. Lord, how they got to me! I wanted to run off with them. The +history of murder and loot they could tell! Some Delhi mogul owned them +first. Then Nadir Shah carried them off to Persia, along with the famous +peacock throne. I saw them in a palace on the Caspian in 1912. Russia +was very strong in Persia at one time. Perhaps they were gifts; perhaps +they were stolen--these emeralds. Anyhow, I'd never heard of them until +that year. And I travelled all the way up from Constantinople to get +a glimpse of them if it were possible. I had to do some mighty fine +wire-pulling. For one of those stones I would give half of all I own. To +see them in the possession of another man would be a supreme test to my +honesty." + +"You old pirate!" said Burlingame. + +"But why the word jeopardy?" persisted Kitty, who was intrigued by the +phrase. + +"Probably some Hindu trick. It is a language of flowery metaphors. It +means, I suppose, that when you touch the drums they bite. In journeying +from one spot to another they always leave misfortune behind, as I +understand it. Just coincidence; but you couldn't drive that into an +Oriental skull. This is what makes the study of precious stones so +interesting. There is always some enchantment, some evil spell. To +handle the drums is to invite a minor accident. Call it twaddle; +probably is; and yet I have reason to believe that there's something to +the superstition." + +Burlingame sniffed. + +"I can prove it," Cutty declared. "I held those drums in my hands one +day. I carried them to a window the better to observe them. On my return +to the hotel I was knocked down by a horse and laid up in bed for a +week. That same night someone tried to kill the man who showed me the +emeralds. Coincidence? Perhaps. But these days I'm shying at thirteen, +the wrong side of the street, ladders, and religious curses." + +"An old hard-boiled egg like you?" Burlingame threw up his hands in mock +despair. + +"I laugh, too; but I duck, nevertheless. The chap who showed me +the stones was what you'd call the honorary custodian; a privileged +character because of his genius. Before approaching him I sent him a +copy of my monograph on green stones. I found that he was quite as crazy +over green as I. That brought us together; and while I drew him out I +kept wondering where I had seen him before. Both his name and his face +were vaguely familiar. It seems a superstition had come along with the +stones, from India to Persia, from there to Russia. A maid fortunate +enough to see the drums would marry and be happy. The old fellow +confessed that occasionally he secretly admitted a peasant maid to gaze +upon the stones. But he never let the male inmates of the palace find +this out. He knew them a little too intimately. A bad lot." + +"And this palace?" asked Kitty. + +"Not one stone on another. The proletariat rose up and destroyed it. To +mobs anything beautiful is offensive. Palaces looted, banks, museums, +houses. The ignorant toying with hand grenades, thinking them sceptres. +All the scum in the world boiling to the top. After the Red Day comes +the Red Night." + +"Whatever will become of them--the little kings and princes and dukes?" +After all, thought Kitty, they were human beings; they would not suffer +any the less because they had been born to the purple. + +"Maybe they'll go to work," said Cutty, dryly. "Sooner or later, all +parasites will have to work if they want bread. And yet I've met some +men among them, big in the heart and the mind, who would have made +bully farmers and professors. The beautiful thing about the Anglo-Saxon +education is that the whole structure is based upon fair play. In +eastern and southeastern Europe few of them can play solitaire without +cheating. But I would give a good deal to know what has happened to +those emeralds--the drums of jeopardy. They'll probably be broken up and +sold in carat weights. The whole family was wiped out in a night.... I +say, will you take lunch with me to-morrow?" + +"Gladly." + +"All right. I'll drop in here at half after twelve. Here's my telephone +number, should anything alter your plans. If I'm going to be godfather I +might as well start right in." + +"The drums of jeopardy; what a haunting phrase!" + +"Haunting stones, too, Kitty. For picking them up in my hands I went to +bed with a banged-up leg. I can't forget that. We Occidentals laugh at +Orientals and their superstitions. We don't believe in the curse. And +yet, by George, those emeralds were accursed!" + +"Piffle!" snorted Burlingame. "Mush! It's greed, pure and simple, that +gives precious stones their sinister histories. You'd have been hit by +that horse if you had picked up nothing more valuable than a rhinestone +buckle. Take away the gold lure, and precious stones wouldn't sell at +the price of window glass." + +"Is that so? How about me? It isn't because a stone is worth so much +that makes me want it. I want it for the sheer beauty; I want it for the +tremendous panorama the sight of it unfolds in my mind. I imagine what +happened from the hour the stone was mined to the hour it came into my +possession. To me--to all genuine collectors--the intrinsic value is +nil. Can't you see? It is for me what Balzac's La Peau de Chagrin would +be to you if you had fallen on it for the first time--money, love, +tragedy, death." + +An interruption came in the form of one of the office boys. The chief +was on the wire and wanted Cutty at once. + +"At half after twelve, Kitty. And by the way," added Cutty as he rose, +"they say about the drums that a beautiful woman is immune to their +danger." + +"There's your chance, Kitty," said Burlingame. + +"Am I beautiful?" asked Kitty, demurely. + +"Lord love the minx!" shouted Cutty. "A corner in Mouquin's." + +"Rain or shine." After Cutty had departed Kitty said: "He's the most +fascinating man I know. What fun it would be to jog round the world with +a man like that, who knew everybody and everything. As a little girl I +was violently in love with him; but don't you ever dare give me away." + +"You'll probably have nightmare to-night. And honestly you ought not to +live in that den alone. But Cutty has seen things," Burlingame admitted; +"things no white man ought to see. He's been shot up, mauled by animals, +marooned, torpedoed at sea, made prisoner by old Fuzzy-Wuzzy. An +ordinary man would have died of fatigue. Cutty is as tough and strong +as a gorilla and as active as a cat. But this jewel superstition is all +rot. Odd, though; he'll travel halfway round the world to see a ruby or +an emerald. He says no true collector cares a cent for a diamond. Says +they are vulgar." + +"Except on the third finger of a lady's left hand; and then they are +just perfectly splendid!" + +"Oho! Well, when you get yours I hope it's as big as the Koh-i-noor." + +"Thank you! You might just as well wish a brick on me!" + +Kitty left the office at a quarter of six. The phrase kept running +through her head--the drums of jeopardy. A little shiver ran up her +spine. Money, love, tragedy, death! This terrible and wonderful old +world, of which she had seen little else than city streets, suddenly +exhibited wide vistas. She knew now why she had begun to save--travel. +Just as soon as she had a thousand she would go somewhere. A great +longing to hear native drums in the night. + +Even as the wish entered her mind a new sound entered her ears. The +Subway car wheels began to beat--tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! Fudge! +She opened her evening paper and scanned the fashions, the dramatic +news, and the comics. Being a woman she read the world news last. On the +front page she saw a queer story, dated at Albany: Mysterious guests at +a hotel; how they had fought and fled in the early morning. There had +been left behind a case with foreign orders incrusted with several +thousand dollars' worth of gems. Bolsheviki, said the police; just as +they said auto bandits a few years ago when confronted with something +they could not understand. The orders had been turned over to the +Federal authorities from whom it was learned that they were all royal +and demi-royal. Neither of the two guests had returned up to noon, and +one had fled, leaving even his hat and coat. But there was nothing to +indicate his identity. + +"Loot!" murmured Kitty. "All the scum in the world rising to the +top"--quoting Cutty. "Poor things!" as she thought of the gentle ladies +who had died horribly in bedrooms and cellars. + +Kitty was beginning to cast about for more congenial quarters. There +were too many foreigners in the apartments, and none of them especially +good housekeepers. Always, nowadays, somebody had a washing out on the +line, the odour of garlic was continuously in the air, and there were +noisy children under foot in the halls. The families she and her mother +had known were all gone; and Kitty was perhaps the oldest inhabitant in +the block. + +The living-room windows faced Eightieth Street; bedrooms, dining room, +and kitchen looked out upon the court. From the latter windows one could +step out upon the fire-escape platform, which ran round the three sides +of the court. + +Among the present tenants she knew but one, an old man by the name of +Gregory, who lived opposite. The acquaintance had never ripened into +friendship; but sometimes Kitty would borrow an egg and he would borrow +some sugar. In the summertime, when the windows were open at night, she +had frequently heard the music of a violin swimming across the court. +Polish, Russian, and Hungarian music, always speaking with a tragic +note; nothing she had ever heard in concerts. Once, however, she had +heard him begin something from Thais, and stop in the middle of it; and +that convinced her that he was a master. She was fond of good music. One +day she asked Gregory why he did not teach music instead of valeting +at a hotel. His answer had been illuminative. It was only his body that +pressed clothes; but it would have torn his soul to listen daily to the +agonized bow of the novice. Kitty was lonely through pride as much as +anything. As for friends, she had a regiment of them. But she rarely +accepted their hospitality, realizing that she could not return it. No +young men called because she never invited them. All this, however, was +going to change when she moved. + +As she turned on the hail light she saw an envelope on the floor. +Evidently it had been shoved under the door. It was unstamped. She +opened it, and stepped out of the humdrum into the whirligig. + + DEAR MISS CONOVER: + If anything should happen to me all the things in my apartment + I give to you without reservation. + STEPHEN GREGORY. + +She read the letter a dozen times to make sure that it meant exactly +what it said. He might be ill. After she had cooked her supper she would +run round and inquire. The poor lonely old man! + +She went into the kitchen and took inventory. There was nothing but +bacon and eggs and coffee. She had forgotten to order that morning. She +lit the gas range and began to prepare the meal. As she broke an egg +against the rim of the pan the nearby Elevated train rushed by, +drumming tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! She laughed, but it wasn't honest +laughter. She laughed because she was conscious that she was afraid +of something. Impulse drove her to the window. Contact with men--her +unusual experiences as a reporter--had developed her natural +fearlessness to a point where it was aggressive. As she pressed the tip +of her nose against the pane, however, she found herself gazing squarely +into a pair of exceedingly brilliant dark eyes; and all the blood in her +body seemed to rush violently into her throat. + +Tableau! + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Kitty gasped, but she did not cry out. The five days' growth of blondish +stubble, the discoloured eye--for all the orb itself was brilliant--and +the hawky nose combined to send through her the first great thrill of +danger she had ever known. + +Slowly she backed away from the window. The man outside immediately +extended his hands with a gesture that a child would have understood. +Supplication. Kitty paused, naturally. But did the man mean it? Might it +not be some trick to lure her into opening the window? And what was he +doing outside there anyhow? Her mind, freed from the initial hypnosis +of the encounter, began to work quickly. If she ran from the kitchen to +call for help he might be gone when she returned, only to come back when +she was again alone. + +Once more the man executed that gesture, his palms upward. It was Latin; +she was aware of that, for she was always encountering it in the halls. +Another gesture. She understood this also. The tips of the fingers +bunched and dabbed at the lips. She had seen Italian children make the +gesture and cry: "Ho fame!" Hungry. But she could not let him into the +kitchen. Still, if he were honestly hungry--She had it! + +In the kitchen-table drawer was an imitation revolver--press the +trigger, and a fluted fan was revealed--a dance favour she had received +during the winter. + +She plucked it out of the drawer and walked bravely to the window, which +she threw up. + +"What do you want? What are you doing out there on the fire escape?" she +instantly demanded to know. + +"My word, I am hungry! I was looking out of the window across the way +and saw you preparing your dinner. A bit of bread and a glass of milk. +Would you mind, I wonder?" + +"Why didn't you come to the door then? What window?" Kitty was resolute; +once she embarked upon an enterprise. + +"That one." + +"Where is Mr. Gregory?" Kitty recalled that odd letter. + +"Gregory? I should very much like to know. I have come many miles to +see him. He sent me a duplicate key. There was not even a crust in the +cupboard." + +Gregory away? That letter! Something had happened to that poor, kindly +old man. "Why did you not seek some restaurant? Or have you no money?" + +"I have plenty. I was afraid that I might not be able conveniently to +return. I am a stranger. My actions might be viewed with suspicion." + +"Indeed! Describe Mr. Gregory." + +Not of the clinging kind, evidently, he thought. A raving beauty--Diana +domesticated! + +"It is four years since I saw him. He was then gray, dapper, and erect. +A mole on his chin, which he rubs when he talks. He is a valet in one +of the fashionable hotels. He is--or was--the only true friend I have in +New York." + +"Was? What do you mean?" + +"I'm afraid something has happened to him. I found his bedroom things +tossed about." + +"What could possibly happen to a harmless old man like Mr. Gregory?" + +"Pardon me, but your egg is burning!" + +Kitty wheeled and lifted off the pan, choking in the smother of smoke. +She came right-about face swiftly enough. The man had not moved; and +that decided her. + +"Come in. I will give you something to eat. Sit in that chair by the +window, and be careful not to stir from it. I'm a good shot," lied +Kitty, truculently. "Frankly, I do not like the looks of this." + +"I do look like a burglar, what?" He sat down in the chair meekly. Food +and a human being to talk to! A lovely, self-reliant American girl, +able to take care of herself. Magnificent eyes--slate blue, with thick, +velvety black lashes. Irish. + +In a moment Kitty had three eggs and half a dozen strips of bacon frying +in a fresh pan. She kept one eye upon the pan and the other upon the +intruder, risking strabismus. At length she transferred the contents of +the pan to a plate, backed to the ice chest, and reached for a bottle +of milk. She placed the food at the far end of the table and retreated +a few steps, her arms crossed in such a way as to keep the revolver in +view. + +"Please do not be afraid of me. + +"What makes you think I am?" + +"Any woman would be." + +Kitty saw that he was actually hungry, and her suspicions began to ebb. +He hadn't lied about that. And he ate like a gentleman. Young, not more +than thirty; possibly less. But that dreadful stubble and that black +eye! The clothes would have passed muster on any fashionable golf links. +A fugitive? From what? + +"Thank you," he said, setting down the empty milk bottle. + +"Your accent is English." + +"Which is to say?" + +"That your gestures are Italian." + +"My mother was Italian. But what makes you believe I am not English?" + +"An Englishman--or an American, for that matter--with money in his +pocket would have gone into the street in search of a restaurant." + +"You are right. The fundamentals of the blood will always crop out. +You can educate the brain but not the blood. I am not an Englishman; I +merely received my education at Oxford." + +"A fugitive, however, of any blood might have come to my window." + +"Yes; I am a fugitive, pursued by the god of Irony. And Irony is never +particular; the chase is the thing. What matters it whether the quarry +be wolf or sheep?" + +Kitty was impressed by the bitterness of the tone. "What is your name?" + +"John Hawksley." + +"But that is English!" + +"I should not care to call myself Two-Hawks, literally. It would be +embarrassing. So I call myself Hawksley." + +A pause. Kitty wondered what new impetus she might give to the +conversation, which was interesting her despite her distrust. + +"How did you come by that black eye?" she asked with embarrassing +directness. + +Hawksley smiled, revealing beautifully white teeth. "I say, it is a bit +off, isn't it! I received it"--a twinkle coming into his eyes--"in a +situation that had moribund perspectives." + +"Moribund perspectives," repeated Kitty, casting the phrase about in her +mind in search of an equivalent less academic. + +"I am young and healthy, and I wanted to live," he said, gravely. "I am +curious to know what is going to happen to-morrow and other to-morrows." + +Somewhere near by a door was slammed violently. Kitty, every muscle in +her body tense, jumped convulsively, with the result that her finger +pressed automatically the trigger of her pistol. The fan popped out +gayly. + +Hawksley stared at the fan, quite as astonished as Kitty. Then he broke +into low, rollicking laughter, which Kitty, because her basic corpuscle +was Irish, perforce had to join. For all her laughter she retreated, +furious and alarmed. + +"Fancy! I say, now, you're jolly plucky to face a scoundrel like me with +that." + +"I don't just know what to make of you," said Kitty, irresolutely, +flinging the fan into a corner. + +"You have revivified a celestial spark--my faith in human beings. I beg +of you not to be afraid of me. I am quite harmless. I am very grateful +for the meal. Yours is the one act of kindness I have known in weeks. I +will return to Gregor's apartment at once. But before I go please accept +this. I rather suspect, you know, that you live alone, and that fan is +amusing and not particularly suitable." He rose and unsmilingly laid +upon the table one of those heavy blue-black bull-dogs of war, a +regulation revolver. Kitty understood what this courteous act signified; +he was disarming himself to reassure her. + +"Sit down," she ordered. Either he was harmless or he wasn't. If he +wasn't she was utterly at his mercy. She might be able to lift that +terrible-looking engine of murder, battle, and sudden death with the aid +of both hands, but to aim and fire it--never in this world! "As I came +in to-night I found a note in the hall from Mr. Gregory. I will fetch +it. But you call him Gregor?" + +"His name is Stefani Gregor; and years and years ago he dandled me on +his knees. I promise not to move until you return." + +Subdued by she knew not what, no longer afraid, Kitty moved out of the +kitchen. She had offered Gregory's letter as an excuse to reach the +telephone. Once there, however, she did not take the receiver off the +hook. Instead she whistled down the tube for the janitor. + +"This is Miss Conover. Come up to my apartment in ten minutes.... No; +it's not the water pipes.... In ten minutes." + +Nothing very serious could happen inside of ten minutes; and the janitor +was reliable and not the sort one reads about in the comic weeklies. Her +confidence reenforced by the knowledge that a friend was near, she took +the letter into the kitchen. Apparently her unwelcome guest had not +stirred. The revolver was where he had laid it. + +"Read this," she said. + +The visitor glanced through it. "It is Gregor's hand. Poor old chap! I +shall never forgive my self." + +"For what?" + +"For dragging him into this. They must have intercepted one of my +telegrams." He stared dejectedly at the strip of oilcloth in front of +the range. "You are an American?" + +"Yes." + +"God has been exceedingly kind to your country. I doubt if you will ever +know how kind. I'll take myself off. No sense in compromising you." +He laid a folded handkerchief inside his cap which he put on. "Know +anything about this?"--indicating the revolver. + +"Nothing whatever." + +"Permit me to show you. It is loaded; there are five bullets in the +clip. See this little latch? So, it is harmless. So, and you kill with +it." + +"It is horrible!" cried Kitty. "Take it with you please. I could not +keep my eyes open to shoot it." + +"These are troublous times. All women should know something about small +arms. Again I thank you. For your own sake I trust that we may never +meet again. Good-bye." He stepped out of the window and vanished. + +Kitty, at a mental impasse, could only stare into the night beyond the +window. This mesmeric state endured for a minute; then a gentle and +continuous sound dissipated the spell. It was raining. Obliquely she +saw the burnt egg in the pan. The thing had happened; she had not been +dreaming. + +Her brain awoke. Thought crowded thought; before one matured another +displaced it; and all as futile as the sparks from the anvil. An +avalanche of conjecture; and out of it all eventually emerged one +concrete fact. The man Was honest. His hunger had been honest; his +laughter. Who was he, what was he? For all his speech, not English; for +all his gestures, not Italian. Moribund perspectives. Somewhere that day +he had fought for his life. John Two-Hawks. + +And there was the mysterious evanishment of old Gregory, whose name was +Stefani Gregor. In a humdrum, prosaic old apartment like this! + +Kitty had ideas about adventure--an inheritance, though she was not +aware of that. There had to be certain ingredients, principally mystery. +Anything sordid must not be permitted to edge in. She had often gone +forth upon semi-perilous enterprises as a reporter, entered sinister +houses where crimes had been committed, but always calculating how much +copy at eight dollars a column could be squeezed out of the affair. But +this promised to be something like those tales which were always clear +and wonderful in her head but more or less opaque when she attempted to +transfer them to paper. A secret society? Vengeance? An echo of the war? + +"Johnny Two-Hawks," she murmured aloud. "And he hopes we'll never meet +again!" + +There was a mirror over the sink, and she threw a glance into it. Very +well; if he thought like that about it. + +Here the doorbell tinkled. That would be the faithful janitor. She ran +to the door. + +"Whadjuh wanta see me about, Miz Conover?" + +"What has happened to old Mr. Gregory?" + +"Him? Why, some amb'lance fellers carted him off this afternoon. Didn't +know nawthin' was the matter with 'im until I runs into them in the +hall." + +"He'd been hurt?" + +"Couldn't say, miz. He was on a stretcher when I seen 'im. Under a +sheet." + +"But he might have been dead!" + +"Nope. I ast 'em, an' they said a shock of some sort." + +"What hospital?" + +"Gee, I forgot t'ast that!" + +"I'll find out. Good-night." + +But Kitty did not find out. She called up all the known private and +public hospitals, but no Gregor or Gregory had been received that +afternoon, nor anybody answering his description. The fog had swallowed +up Stefani Gregor. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +The reportorial instinct in Kitty Conover, combined with her natural +feminine curiosity, impelled her to seek to the bottom of affair. Her +newspaper was as far from her as the poles; simply a paramount desire to +translate the incomprehensible into sequence and consequence. Harmless +old Gregor's disappearance and the advent of John Two-Hawks--the +absurdity of that name!--with his impeccable English accent, his Latin +gestures, and his black eye, convinced her that it was political; an +electrical cross current out of that broken world over there. Moribund +perspectives. What did that signify save that Johnny Two-Hawks had +fought somewhere that day for his life? Had Gregor been spirited away so +as to leave Two-Hawks without support, to confuse and discourage him +and break down his powers of resistance? Or had there been something of +great value in the Gregor apartment, and Johnny Two-Hawks had come too +late to save his friend? + +A word slipped into her mind like a whiff of miasma off an evil swamp. +As she recognized the word she felt the same horror and repugnance one +senses upon being unexpectedly confronted by a cobra. Internationalism. +The scum of the world boiling to the top. A half-blind viper striking +venomously at everything--even itself! A destroyer who tore down but +who knew not how or what to build. Kitty knew that lower New York was +seething with this species of terrorism--thousands of noisome European +rats trying to burrow into the granary of democracy. But she had no +particular fear of the result. The reacting chemicals of American humour +and common sense would neutralize that virus. Supposing a ripple from +this indecent eddy had touched her feet? The torch of liberty in the +hands of Anarch! + +Johnny Two-Hawks. Somehow--even if she never saw him again--she knew she +would always remember him by that name. Phases of the encounter began +to return. Fine hands; perhaps he painted or played. The oblong head of +well-balanced mentality. A pleasant voice. Breeding. To be sure, he had +laughed at that fan popping out. Anybody would have laughed. Never had +she felt so idiotic. He had gravely expressed the hope that they +might never meet again because his life was in danger. What danger? +Conceivably the enmity of a society--internationalism. The word having +found lodgment in her thoughts took root. Internationalism--Utopia while +you wait! Anarchism and Bolshevism offering nostrums for humanity's +ills! And there were sane men who defended the cult on the basis that +the intention was honest. Who can say that the rattlesnake does not +consider his intentions honourable? + +The attribute lacking in the ape to make him human is continuity of +thought and action in all things save one. He often starts out well but +he never arrives. His interest is never sustained. He drops one thing +and turns to another. The exception is his enmity, savage and cunning, +relentless and enduring. + +Kitty was awake to one fact. She could not venture to dig into this +affair alone. On the other hand, she did not want one of the men from +the city room--a reporter who would see nothing but news. If Gregor was +only a prisoner publicity might be the cause of his death; and publicity +would certainly react hardily against Johnny Two-Hawks. To whom might +she turn? + +Cutty!--with his great physical strength, his shrewd and alert +mentality, and his wide knowledge of peoples and tongues. There was the +man for her--Kitty Conover's godfather. She dumped the contents of her +handbag upon the stand in the hallway in her impatience to find Cutty's +card with his telephone number. It was not in the directory. She might +catch him before he went out for the evening. + +A Japanese voice answered her call. + +"'Souse, but he iss out." + +"Where?" + +"No tell me." + +"How long has he been gone?" + +"'Scuse!" + +Kitty heard the click of the receiver as it went down upon the hook. +But she wasn't the daughter of Conover for nothing. She called up the +University Club. No. The Harvard Club. No. The Players, the Lambs; and +in the latter club she found him. + +"Who is it?" Cutty spoke impatiently. + +"Kitty Conover." + +"Oh! What's the matter? Can't you have lunch with me?" + +"Something very strange is happening in this old apartment house, Cutty. +I'm afraid it is a matter of life and death. Otherwise I shouldn't have +bothered you. Can you come up right away?" + +"As soon as a taxi can take me!" + +"Thanks." + +Kitty then went through the apartment and turned out all the lights. +Next she drew up a chair to the kitchen window and sat down to watch. +All was dark across the way. But there was nothing singular in this +fact. Johnny Two-Hawks would have sense enough to realize that it would +be safer to move about in the dark. It was even probable that he was +lying down. + +Tumpitum-tump! Tumpitum-tump! went the racing Elevated; and Kitty's +heart raced along with it. Queer how the echo of Cutty's description +of the drums calling a jehad--a holy war--should adapt itself to that +Elevated. Drums! Perhaps the echo clung because she had been interested +beyond measure in his tale of those two emeralds, the drums of jeopardy. +Mobs sacking palaces and museums and banks and homes; all the scum of +the world boiling to the top; the Red Night that wasn't over. + +She uttered a shaky little laugh. She would tell Cutty. The real drums +of jeopardy weren't emeralds but the roll of warning that prescience +taps upon the spine, the occult sense of impending danger. That was why +the Elevated went tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! She would tell Cutty. +The drums of fear. + +He over there and she here, in darkness; both of them waiting for +something to happen; and the invisible drumsticks beating the tattoo of +fear. If he were in her thoughts might not she be a little in his? +She stood up. She would do it. Convention in a moment like this was +nonsense. Hadn't he kept his side of the line scrupulously? + +Nonchalance. It occurred to her for the first time that there must be +good material in a man who could come through in a contest with death, +nonchalant. She would fetch him and have him here to meet Cutty, this +rather forlorn Johnny Two-Hawks, with his unshaven face, his black eye, +and his nonchalance. She would fetch him at once. It would save a good +deal of time. + +There were but ten apartments in the building, two on a floor. The +living room formed an L. Kitty's buttressed Gregor's. The elevator shaft +was inside, facing the court; and the stair head was on the Gregor side +of the elevator. The two entrances faced each other across the landing. + +As Kitty opened her door to step outside she was nonplussed to see two +men issue cautiously from the Gregor door. The moment they espied her, +however, there was a mad rush for the stair head. She could hear the +thud of their feet all the way down to the ground floor; and every +footfall seemed to touch her heart. One of them carried a bundle. + +She breathed quickly, and she knew that she was afraid. Neither man was +Johnny Two-Hawks. Something dreadful had happened; she was sure of it. +Reenforcing her sinking courage with nerve energy she ran across to the +Gregor door and knocked. No answer. She knocked again; then she tried +the door. Locked. The flutter in her breast died away; she became quite +calm. She was going to enter this apartment by the way of the fire +escape. The window he had come out of was still up. She had made note of +this from the kitchen. In returning he had stepped on to the springe of +a snare. + +She hurried back to her kitchen for the automatic. She hadn't the least +idea how to manipulate it; but she was no longer afraid of it. Bravely +she stepped out on to the fire escape. To reach her objective she had +to walk under the ladder. Danger often puts odd irrelevancies into the +human brain. As she moved forward she wondered if there was anything in +the superstition regarding ladders. + +When she reached the window she leaned against the brick wall and +listened. Silence; an ominous silence. The window was open, the curtain +up. Within, what? For as long as five minutes she waited, then she +climbed in. + +Now as this bedroom was a counterpart of her own she knew where the +light button would be. She might stumble over a chair or two, but in the +end she would find the light. The fingers of one hand spread out before +her and the other clutching the impossible automatic, she succeeded in +navigating the uncharted reefs of an unfamiliar room. She blinked for a +moment after throwing on the light, and stood with her back to the wall, +the automatic wabbling at nothing in particular. The room was empty so +far as she could see. There was evidence of a physical encounter, but +she could not tell whether it was due to the former or to the latter +invasion. + +Where was he? From where she stood she could not see the floor on the +far side of the bed. Timidly she walked past the foot of the bed--and +the transient paralysis of horror laid hold of her. She became bereft of +the power to grasp and hold, and the automatic slipped from her fingers +and thudded on the carpet. + +On the floor lay poor Johnny Two-Hawks, crumpled grotesquely, a streak +of blood zigzagging across his forehead; to all appearances, dead! + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Twice before in her life Kitty had looked upon death by violence; and it +required only this present picture to convince her that she would never +be able to gaze upon it callously, without pity and terror. Newspaper +life--at least the reportorial side of it--has an odd effect upon men +and women; it sharpens their tragical instincts and perceptions and +dulls eternally the edge of tenderness and sentimentality. It was +natural for Kitty to possess the keenest perceptions of tragedy; but she +had been taken out of the reportorial field in time to preserve all +her tenderness and romanticism. Otherwise she would have seen in that +crumpled object with the sinister daub of blood on the forehead merely +a story, and would have approached it from that angle. But was he dead? +She literally forced her steps toward the body and stared. She dropped +to her knees because they were threatening to buckle in one of those +flashes of physical incoordination to which the strongest will must bow +occasionally. She was no longer afraid of the tragedy, but she feared +the great surging pity that was striving to express itself in sobs; and +she knew that if she surrendered she would forthwith become hysterical +for the rest of the evening and incompetent to carry out the plan in her +head. + +A strong, healthy young man done to death in this fashion only a few +minutes after he had left her kitchen! Somehow she could not look upon +him as a stranger. She had given him food; she had talked to him; she +had even laughed with him. He was not like those dead she had seen +in her reportorial days. Her orbit and Johnny Two-Hawks' had +indeterminately touched; she had known old Gregory, or Gregor, who had +been this unfortunate young man's friend. And he had hoped they might +never meet again! + +The murderous scoundrels had been watching. They must have entered the +apartment shortly after he had entered hers. Conceivably they would have +Gregor's key. And they had watched and waited, striking him down it may +have been at the very moment he had crossed the sill of the window. + +Her hand shook so idiotically that it was impossible for a time to tell +if the man's heart was beating. All at once a wave of hot fury rushed +over her--fury at the cowardliness of the assault--and the vertigo +passed. She laid her palm firmly over Johnny Two-Hawks' heart. Alive! +He was alive! She straightened his body and put a pillow under his head. +Then she sought water and towels. + +There was no cut on his forehead, only blood; but the top of his head +had been cruelly beaten. He was alive, but without immediate aid he +might die. The poor young man! + +There were two physicians in the block; one or the other would be in. +She ran to the door, to find it locked. She had forgotten. Next she +found the telephone wire cut and the speaking tube battered and inutile. +She would have to return to her own apartment to summon help. She dared +not leave the light on. The scoundrels might possibly return, and +the light would warn them that their victim had been discovered; and +naturally they would wish to ascertain whether or not they had succeeded +in their murderous assault. + +As she was passing the first-landing windows she saw Cutty emerging +from the elevator. She flew across the fire-escape platform with the +resilient step of one crossing thin ice. + +Probably the most astonished man in New York was the war correspondent +when the door opened and a pair of arms were flung about him, and a +voice smothered in the lapel of his coat cried: "Oh, Cutty, I never was +so glad to see any one!" + +"What in the name of--" + +"Come! We'll handle this ourselves. Hurry!" She dragged him along by the +sleeve. + +"But--" + +"It is life and death! No talk now!" + +Cutty, immaculate in his evening clothes, very much perturbed, went +along after her. As she passed through the kitchen window and beckoned +him to follow he demurred. + +"Kitty, what the deuce is going on here?" + +"I'll answer your questions when we get him into my apartment. They +tried to murder him; left him there to die!" + +Cutty possessed a great art, an art highly developed only in explorers +and newspaper reporters of the first order--adaptability; of being able +to cast aside instantly the conventions of civilization and let down the +bars to the primordial, the instinctive, and the natural. Thus the Cutty +who stepped out beside Kitty into the drizzle was not the Cutty she +had admitted into the apartment. She did not recognize this remarkable +transition until later; and then she discovered that Cutty, the suave +and lackadaisical in idleness, was a tremendous animal hibernating +behind a crackle shell. + +Ordinarily Cutty would have declined to come through this shell, thin as +it was; he liked these catnaps between great activities. But this +lovely creature was Conover's daughter, and she would have the seventh +sense-divination of the born reporter. Something big was in the air. + +"Go on!" he said, briskly. "I'm at your heels. And stoop as you pass +those hall windows. No use throwing a silhouette for somebody in those +rear houses to see.... Old Tommy Conover's daughter, sure pop!... +There you go, under the ladder! You've dished the whole affair, whatever +it is.... No, no! Just spoofing, Kitty. A long face is no good anywhere, +even at a funeral.... This window? All right. Know where the lights are? +Very good." + +When Cutty saw the man on the floor he knelt quickly. "Nasty bang on +the head, but he's alive. What's this? His cap. Poughkeepsie. By George, +padded with his handkerchief! Must have known something was going to +fall on him. Now, what's it all about?" + +"When we get him to my apartment." + +"Yours? Good Lord, what's the matter with this?" + +"They tried to kill him here. They might return to see if they had +succeeded. They mustn't find where he has gone. I'm strong. I can take +hold of his knees." + +"Tut! Neither of us could walk backward over that fire escape. He looks +husky, but I'll try it. Now obey me without question or comment. You'll +have to help me get him outside the window and in through yours. +Between the two windows I can handle him alone. I only hope we shan't +be noticed, for that might prove awkward. Now take hold. That's it. +When I'm through the window just push his legs outside." Panting, Kitty +obeyed. "All right," said Cutty. "I like your pluck. You run along ahead +and be ready to help me in with him. A healthy beggar! Here goes." + +With a heave and a hunch and another heave Cutty stood up, the limp body +disposed scientifically across his shoulders. Kitty was quite impressed +by this exhibition of strength in a man whom she considered as +elderly--old. There was an underthought that such feats of bodily +prowess were reserved for young men. With the naive conceit of +twenty-four she ignored the actual mathematics of fifty years of clean +living and thinking, missed the physiological fact that often men at +fifty are stronger and tougher than men in the twenties. They never +waste energy; their precision of movement and deliberation of thought +conserve the residue against the supreme moment. + +As a parenthesis: To a young woman what is a hero? Generally something +conjured out of a book she has read; the unknown, handsome young man +across the street; the leading actor in a society drama; the idol of +the movie. A hero must of necessity be handsome; that is the +first essential. If he happens to be brave and debonair, rich and +aristocratic, so much the better. Somehow, to be brave and to be heroic +are not actually accepted synonyms in certain youthful feminine minds. +For instance, every maid will agree that her father is brave; but tell +her he is a hero because he pays his bills regularly and she will accept +the statement with a smile of tolerant indulgence. + +Thus Kitty viewed Cutty's activities with a thrill of amazed wonder. Had +the young man hoisted Cutty to his shoulders her feeling would have been +one of exultant admiration. Let age crown its garnered wisdom; youth has +no objections to that; but feats of physical strength--that is poaching +upon youth's preserves. Kitty was not conscious of the instinctive +resentment. At that moment Cutty was to her the most extraordinary old +man in the world. + +"Forward!" he whispered. "I want to know why I am doing this movie +stunt." The journey began with Kitty in the lead. She prayed that no one +would see them as they passed the two landing windows. Below and above +were vivid squares of golden light. She regretted the drizzle; no +clothes-laden lines intervened to obscure their progress. Someone in +the rear of the houses in Seventy-ninth Street might observe the +silhouettes. The whole affair must be carried off secretly or their +efforts would come to nothing. + +Once inside the kitchen Cutty shifted his burden into his arms, the way +one carries a child, and followed Kitty into the unused bedroom. He did +not wait for the story, but asked for the telephone. + +"I'm going to call for a surgeon at the Lambs. He's just back from +France and knows a lot about broken heads. And we can trust him +absolutely. I told him to wait there until I called." + +"Cutty, you're a dear. I don't wonder father loved you." + +Presently he turned away from the telephone. "He'll be here in a jiffy. +Now, then, what the deuce is all this about?" + +Briefly Kitty narrated the episodes. + +"Samaritan stuff. I see. Any absorbent cotton? I can wash the wound +after a fashion. Warm water and Castile soap. We can have him in shape +for Harrison." + +Alone, Cutty took note of several apparent facts. The victim's flannel +shirt was torn at the collar and there were marks of finger nails on +the throat and chest. Upon close inspection he observed a thin red line +round the neck--the mark of a thong. Had they tried to strangle him or +had he carried something of value? Silk underwear and a clean body; well +born; foreign. After a conscientious hesitance Cutty went through the +pockets. All he found were some crumbs of tobacco and a soggy match box. +They had cleaned him out evidently. There were no tailors' labels in any +of the pockets; but there were signs that these had once existed. The +man on the bed had probably ripped them out himself; did not care to be +identified. + +A criminal in flight? Cutty studied the face on the pillow. Shorn of +that beard it would be handsome; not the type criminal, certainly. A bit +of natural cynicism edged into his thoughts: Kitty had seen through the +beard, otherwise she would have turned the affair over to the police. +Not at all like her mother, yet equally her mother's match in beauty and +intelligence. Conover's girl, whose eyes had nearly popped out of her +head at the first sight of those drum-lined walls of his. + +Two-Hawks. What was it that was trying to stir in his recollection? +Two-Hawks. He was sure he had heard that name before. Hawksley meant +nothing at all; but Two-Hawks possessed a strange attraction. He stared +off into space. He might have heard the name in a tongue other than +English. + +A sound. It came from the lips of the young man. Cutty frowned. The +poor chap wasn't breathing in a promising way; he groaned after each +inhalation. And what had become of the old fellow Kitty called Gregory? +A queer business. + +Kitty came in with a basin and a roll of absorbent cotton. + +"He is groaning!" she whispered. + +"Pretty rocky condition, I should say. That handkerchief in his cap +doubtless saved him. Now, little lady, I frankly don't like the idea +of his being here. Suppose he dies? In that event there'll be the very +devil to pay. You're all alone here, without even a maid." + +"Am I all alone?"--softly. + +"Well, no; come to think of it, I'm no longer your godfather in theory. +Give me the cotton and hold the basin." + +He was very tender. The wound bled a little; but it was not the kind +that bled profusely. It was less a cut than a smashing bruise. + +"Well, that's all I can do. Who was this tenant Gregory?" + +"A dear old man. A valet at a Broadway hotel. Oh, I forgot! Johnny +Two-Hawks called him Stefani Gregor." + +"Stefani Gregor?" + +"Yes. What is it? Why do you say it like that?" + +"Say it like what?"--sparring for time. + +"As if you had heard the name before?" + +"Just as I thought!" cried Cutty, his nimble mind pouncing upon a +happy invention. "You're romantic, Kitty. You're imagining all sorts of +nonsense about this chap, and you must not let the situation intrigue +you. If I spoke the name oddly--this Stefani Gregor--it was because I +sensed in a moment that this was a bit of the overflow. Southeastern +Europe, where the good Samaritan gets kicked instead of thanked. Now, +here's a good idea. Of course we can't turn this poor chap loose upon +the public, now that we know his life is in danger. That's always the +trouble with this Samaritan business. When you commit a fine action +you assume an obligation. You hoist the Old Man of the Sea on your +shoulders, as it were. The chap cannot be allowed to remain here. So, +if Harrison agrees, we'll take him up to my diggings, where no Bolshevik +will ever lay eyes upon him." + +"Bolshevik?" + +"For the sake of a handle. They might be Chinamen, for all I know. I can +take care of him until he is on his feet. And you will be saved all this +annoyance. + +"But I don't believe it's going to be an annoyance. I'm terribly +interested, and want to see it through." + +"If he can be moved, out he goes. No arguments. He can't stay in this +apartment. That's final." + +"Exactly why not?" Kitty demanded, rebelliously. + +"Because I say so, Kitty." + +"Is Stefani Gregor an undesirable?" + +"You knew him. What do you say?" countered her godfather, evading the +trap. The innocent child! He smiled inwardly. + +Kitty was keen. She sensed an undercurrent, and her first attempt to +touch it had failed. The mere name of Stefani Gregor had not roused +Cutty's astonishment. She was quite positive that the name was not +wholly unfamiliar to her father's friend. + +Still, something warned her not to press in this direction. He would be +on the alert. She must wait until he had forgotten the incident. So she +drew up a chair beside the bed and sat down. + +Cutty leaned against the footrail, his expression neutral. He sighed +inaudibly. His delightful catnap was over. Stefani Gregor, Kitty's +neighbour, a valet in a fashionable hotel! Stefani Gregor, who, upon +a certain day, had placed the drums of jeopardy in the palms of a war +correspondent known to his familiars as Cutty. And who was this young +man on the bed? + +"There goes the bell!" cried Kitty, jumping up. + +"Wait!" + +The ring was repeated vigorously and impatiently. + +"Kitty, I don't quite like the sound of that bell. Harrison would have +no occasion to be impatient. Somebody in a hurry. Now, attend to me. I'm +going to steal out to the kitchen. Don't be afraid. Call if I'm needed. +Open the door just a crack, with your foot against it. If it's Harrison +he'll be in uniform. Call out his name. Slam the door if it is someone +you don't know." + +Kitty opened the door as instructed, but she swung it wide because one +of the men outside was a policeman. The man behind him was a thickset, +squat individual, with puffed, discoloured eyes and a nose that reminded +Kitty of an alligator pear. + +"What's going on here?" the policeman demanded to know. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +A phrase, apparently quite irrelevant to the situation, shot into +Kitty's head. Moribund perspectives. Instantly she knew, with that +foretasting mind of hers, that the man peering over the policeman's +shoulder and Johnny Two-Hawks had met somewhere that day. She was now +able to compare the results, and she placed the victory on Two-Hawks' +brow. Yonder individual somehow justified the instinct that had prompted +her to play the good Samaritan. Whence had this gorilla come? He was +not one of the men who had issued in such dramatic haste from the Gregor +apartment. + +"This man here saw you and another carrying someone across the fire +escape. What's the rumpus?" The policeman was not exactly belligerent, +but he was dutifully determined. And though he was ready to grant that +this girl with the Irish eyes was beautiful, a man never could tell. + +"There's been a tragedy of some kind," began Kitty. "This man certainly +did see us carrying a man across the fire escape. He had been set upon +and robbed in the apartment across the way." + +"Why didn't you call in the police?" + +"Because he might have died before you got here." + +"Where's the man who helped you?" + +"Gone. He was an outsider. He was afraid of getting mixed up in a police +affair and ran away." Behind the kitchen door Cutty smiled. She would +do, this girl. + +"Sounds all right," said the policeman. "I'll take a look at the man." + +"This way, if you please," said Kitty, readily. "You come, too, +sir," she added as the squat man hesitated. Kitty wanted to watch his +expression when he saw Johnny Two-Hawks. + +Seed on rocky soil; nothing came of the little artifice. No Buddha's +graven face was less indicative than the squat man's. Perhaps his face +was too sore to permit mobility of expression. The drollery of this +thought caused a quirk in one corner of Kitty's mouth. The squat man +stopped at the foot of the bed with the air of a mere passer-by and +seemed more interested in the investigations of the policeman than in +the man on the bed. But Kitty knew. + +"A fine bang on the coco," was the policeman's observation. "Take +anything out of his pockets?" + +"They were quite empty. I've sent for a military surgeon. He may arrive +at any moment." + +"This fellow live across the way?" + +"That's the odd part of it. No, he doesn't." + +"Then what was he doing there?" + +"Probably awaiting the return of the real tenant who hasn't returned up +to this hour"--with an oblique glance at the squat man. + +"Kind o' queer. Say, you stay here and watch the lady while I scout +round." + +The squat man nodded and leaned over the foot of the bed. The policeman +stalked out. + +"I was in the kitchen," said Kitty, confidingly. "I saw shadows on +the window curtain. It did not look right. So I started to inquire and +almost bumped into two men leaving the apartment. They took to their +heels when they saw me." + +Again the squat man nodded. He appeared to be a good listener. + +"Where were you when we crossed the fire escape?" + +"In the yard on the other side of the fence." There was reluctance in +the guttural voice. + +"Oh, I see. You live there." + +As this was a supposition and not a direct query, the squat man wagged +his head affirmatively. + +Kitty, her ears strained for disquieting sounds in the kitchen, laid her +palm on the patient's cheek. It was very hot. She dipped a bit of cotton +into the water, which had grown cold, and dampened the wounded man's +cheeks and throat. Not that she expected to accomplish anything by +this act; it relieved the nerve tension. This man was no fool. If her +surmises were correct he was a strong man both in body and in mind. In a +rage he would be terrible. However, had Johnny Two-Hawks done it--beaten +the man and escaped? No doubt he had been watching all the time and +had at length stepped in to learn if his subordinates had followed his +instructions and to what extent they had succeeded. + +"If he dies it will be murder." + +"It is a big city." + +"And so many terrible things happen like this every day. But sooner or +later those who commit them are found out. Nemesis always follows on the +heels of vengeance." + +For the first time there was a flash of interest in the battered eyes of +the intruder. Perhaps he saw that this was not only a pretty woman but +a keen one, and sensed the veiled threat. Moreover, he knew that she had +lied at one point. There had been no light in the room across the court. + +But what in the world was happening out there in the kitchen? Kitty +wondered. So far, not a sound. Had Cutty really taken flight? And why +shouldn't he have faced it out at her side? Very odd on Cutty's part. +Shortly she heard the heavy shoes of the policeman returning. + +"Guess it's all right, miss. I'll report the affair at the precinct and +have an ambulance sent over. You'll have to come along with me, sir." + +"Is that legally necessary?" asked the squat man, rather perturbed. + +"Sure. You saw the thing and I verified it," declared the policeman. "It +won't take ten minutes. Your name and address, in case this man dies." + +"I see. Very well." + +Kitty wasn't sure, but the policeman seemed embarrassed about something. +The directness was gone from his eyes and his speech was no longer +brisk. + +"My name is Conover," said Kitty. + +"I got that coming in," replied the policeman. "We'll be on our way." + +Not once again did the squat man glance at the man on the bed. He +followed the policeman into the hall, his air that of one who had +accepted a certain obligation to community welfare and cancelled it. + +Kitty shut the door--and leaned against it weakly. Where had Cutty gone? +Even as she expressed the query she smelt burning tobacco. She ran out +into the kitchen, to behold Cutty seated in a chair calmly smoking his +infamous pipe! + +"And I thought you were gone! What did you say to that policeman?" + +"I hypnotized him, Kitty." + +"The newspaper?" + +"No. Just looked into his eye and made a few passes with my hands." + +"Of course, if you believe you ought not to tell me--" said Kitty, which +is the way all women start their wheedling. + +Cutty looked into the bowl of his pipe. + +"Kitty, when you throw a cobble into a pond, what happens? A splash. But +did you ever notice the way the ripples have of running on and on, until +they touch the farthest shore?" + +"Yes. And this is a ripple from some big stone cast into the pond of +southeastern Europe. I understand." + +"That's just the difficulty. If you understood nothing it would be much +easier for me. But you know just enough to want to follow up on your own +hook. I know nothing definitely; I have only suspicions. I calmed +that policeman by showing him a blanket police power issued by the +commissioner. I want you to pack up and move out of this neighbourhood. +It's not congenial to you." + +"I'm afraid I can't afford to move until May." + +"I'll take care of that gladly, to get you out of this garlicky ruin." + +"No, Cutty; I'm going to stay here until the lease is up." + +"Gee-whiz! The Irish are all alike," cried the war correspondent, +hopelessly. "Petticoat or pantaloon, always looking for trouble." + +"No, Cutty; simply we don't run away from it. And there's just as much +Irish in you as there is in me." + +"Sure! And for thirty years I've gone hunting for trouble, and never +failed to find it. I don't like this affair, Kitty; and because I don't +I'm going to risk my Samson locks in your lily-white hands. I am going +to tell you two things: I am a secret foreign agent of the United States +Government. Now don't light up that way. Dark alleys and secret papers +and beautiful adventuresses and bang-bang have nothing at all to do +with my job. There isn't a grain of romance in it. Ostensibly I am a war +correspondent. I have handled all the big events in Serbia and Bulgaria +and Greece and southwestern Russia. Boiled down, I am a census taker of +undesirables. Socialist, anarchist and Bolshevik--I photograph them +in my mental 'fillums' and transmit to Washington. Thus, when Feodor +Slopeski lands at Ellis Island with the idea of blowing up New York, he +is returned with thanks. I didn't ask for the job; it was thrust upon me +because of my knowledge of the foreign tongues. I accepted it because I +am a loyal American citizen." + +"And you left me because you' didn't know who might be at the door!" + +"Precisely. I am known in lower New York under another name. I'm a rabid +internationalist. Down with everything! I don't go out much these days; +keep under cover as much as I can. Once recognized, my value would be +nil. In a flannel shirt I'm a dangerous codger." + +"And Gregor and this poor young man are in some way mixed up with +internationalism!" + +"Victims, probably." + +"What is the other thing you wish to tell me?" + +"Because your eyes are slate blue like your mother's. I loved your +mother, Kitty," said Cutty, blinking into his pipe. "And the singular +fact is, your father knew but your mother never did. I was never able +to tell your mother after your father died. Their bodies were separated, +but not their spirits." + +Kitty nodded. So that was it? Poor Cutty! + +"I make this confession because I want you to understand my attitude +toward you. I am going to elect myself as your special guardian so +long as I'm in New York. From now on, when I ask you to do something, +understand that I believe it best for you. If my suspicions are correct +we are not dealing with fools but with madmen. The most dangerous human +being, Kitty, is an honest man with a half-baked or crooked idea; and +that's what this world pother, Bolshevism, is--honest men with crooked +ideas, carrying the torch of anarchism and believing it enlightenment. +What makes them tear down things? Every beautiful building is only a +monument to their former wretchedness; and so they annihilate. None of +them actually knows what he wants. A thousand will-o'-the-wisps in front +of them, and all alike. A thousand years to throw off the shackles, +and they expect Utopia in ten minutes! It makes you want to weep. +Socialism--the brotherhood of man--is a beautiful thing theoretically; +but it is like some plays--they read well but do not act. Lopping off +heads, believing them to be ideas!" + +"The poor things!" + +"That's it. Though I betray them I pity them. Democracy; slowly and +surely. As prickly with faults as a cactus pear; but every year there +are less prickles. We don't stand still or retrogress; we keep going on +and up. Take this town. Think of It to-day and compare it with the town +your father knew. There's the bell. I imagine that will be Harrison. If +we can move this chap will you go to a hotel for the night?" + +"I'm going to stay here, Cutty. That's final." + +Cutty sighed. + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +At the precinct station the squat man gave a name and an address to +the bored sergeant at the desk, passed out a cigar, lit one himself, +expressed some innocuous opinions upon one or two topics of the day, and +walked leisurely out of the precinct. He wanted to laugh. These pigheads +had never thought to question his presence in the backyard of the house +in Seventy-ninth Street. It was the way he had carried himself. +Those years in New York, prior to the war, had not been wasted. The +brass-buttoned fools! + +Serenely unconscious that he was at liberty by explicit orders, because +the Department of Justice did not care to trap a werewolf before +ascertaining where the pack was and what the kill, he proceeded +leisurely to the corner, turned, and broke into a run, which carried +him to a drug store in Eightieth Street. Here he was joined by two men, +apparently coal heavers by the look of their hands and faces. + +"They will take him to a hospital. Find where, then notify me. Remember, +this is your business, and woe to you if you fail. Where is it?" One of +the men extended an object wrapped in ordinary grocer's paper. + +"Ha! That's good. I shall enjoy myself presently. Remember: telephone me +the moment you learn where they take him. He is still alive, bunglers! +And you came away empty-handed." + +"There was nothing on him. We searched." + +"He has hidden them in one of those rooms. I'll attend to that later. +Watch the hospital for an hour or so, then telephone for information +regarding his condition. Is that motor for me? Very good. Remember!" + +Inside the taxicab the squat man patted the object on his knees, and +chuckled from time to time audibly. It would be worth all that journey, +all he had gone through since dawn that morning. Stefani Gregor! After +these seven long years--the man who had betrayed him! To reach into his +breast and squeeze his heart as one might squeeze a bit of cheese! Many +things to tell, many pictures to paint. He rode far downtown, wound in +and out of the warehouse district for a while, then dismissed the taxi +and proceeded on foot to his destination--a decayed brick mansion of the +40's sandwiched in between two deserted warehouses. In the hall of the +first landing a man sat in a chair under the gas, reading a newspaper. +At the approach of the squat man he sprang to his feet, but a phrase +dissipated his apprehension and he nodded toward a door. + +"Unlock it for me and see that I am not disturbed." + +Presently the squat man stood inside the room, which was dark. He struck +a match and peered about for the candle. The light discovered a room +barren of all furniture excepting the table upon which stood the candle, +and a single chair. In this chair was a man, bound. He was small and +dapper, his gray hair swept back a la Liszt. His chin was on his breast, +his body limp. Apparently the bonds alone held him in the chair. + +The squat man laid his bundle on the table and approached the prisoner. + +"Stefani Gregor, look up; it is I!" He drummed on his chest like a +challenging gorilla. "I, Boris Karlov!" + +Slowly the eyelids of the prisoner went up, revealing mild blue eyes. +But almost instantly the mildness was replaced by an agate hardness, and +the body became upright. + +"Yes, it is Boris, whom you betrayed. But I escaped by a hair, Stefani; +and we meet again." + +What good to tell this poor madman that Stefani Gregor had not betrayed +him, that he had only warned those marked for death? There was no longer +reason inside that skull. To die, probably in a few moments. So be it. +Had he not been ready for seven years? But that poor boy--to have come +all these thousands of miles, only to walk into a trap! Had he found +that note? Had they killed him? Doubtless they had or Boris Karlov would +not be in this room. + +"We killed him to-night, Stefani, in your rooms. We threw out the food +so he would have to seek something to eat. The last of that breed, stem +and branch! We are no longer the mud; we ourselves are the heels. We are +conquering the world. Today Europe is ours; to-morrow, America!" + +A wintry little smile stirred the lips of the man in the chair. America, +with its keen perceptions of the ridiculous, its withering humour! + +"No more the dissolute opera dancers will dance to your fiddling, +Stefani, while we starve in the town. Fiddler, valet, tutor, the rivers +and seas of Russia are red. We roll east and west, and our emblem +is red. Stem and branch! We ground our heels in their faces as for +centuries they ground theirs in ours. He escaped us there--but I was +Nemesis. He died to-night." + +The body in the chair relaxed a little. "He was clean and honest, Boris. +I made him so. He would have done fine things if you had let him live." + +"That breed?" + +"Why, you yourself loved him when he was a boy!" + +"Stem and branch! I loved my little sister Anna, too. But what did they +do to her behind those marble walls? Did you fiddle for her? What was +she when they let her go? My pretty little Anna! The fires of hell +for those damned green stones of yours, Stefani! She heard of them and +wanted to see them, and you promised." + +"I? I never promised Anna! ... So that was it? Boris, I only saw her +there. I never knew what brought her. But the boy was in England then." + +"The breed, the breed!" roared the squat man. "Ha, but you should have +seen! Those gay officers and their damned master--we left them with +their faces in the mud, Stefani; in the mud! And the women begged. Fine +music! Those proud hearts, begging Boris Karlov for their lives--their +faces in the mud! You, born of us in those Astrakhan Hills, you denied +us because you liked your fiddle and a full belly, and to play keeper +of those emeralds. The winding paths of torture and misery and death +by which they came into the possession of that house! And always the +proletariat has had to pay in blood and daughters. You, of the people, +to betray us!" + +"I did not betray you. I only tried to save those who had been kind to +me." + +A cunning light shot into Karlov's eyes. "The emeralds!" He struck his +pocket. "Here, Stefani; and they shall be broken up to buy bread for our +people." + +"That poor boy! So he brought them! What are you going to do with me?" + +"Watch you grow thin, Stefani. You want death; you shall want food +instead. Oh, a little; enough to keep you alive. You must learn what it +is to be hungry." + +The squat man picked up the bundle from the table and tore off the +wrapping paper. A violin the colour of old Burgundy lay revealed. + +"Boris!" The man in the chair writhed. + +"Have I waked you, Stefani?"--tenderly. "The Stradivarius--the very +grand duke of fiddles! And he and his damned officers, how they used to +call out--'Get Stefani to fiddle for us!' And you fiddled, dragged your +genius though the mud to keep your belly warm!" + +"To save a soul, Boris--the boy's. When I fiddled his uncle forgot +to drag him into an orgy. Ah, yes; I fiddled, fiddled because I had +promised his mother!" + +"The Italian singer! She was lucky to die when she did. She did not see +the torch, the bayonet, and the mud. But the boy did--with his English +accent! How he escaped I don't know; but he died to-night, and the +emeralds are in my pocket. See!" Karlov held the instrument close to +the other's face. "Look at it well, this grand duke of fiddles. Look, +fiddler, look!" + +The huge hands pressed suddenly. There was brittle crackling, and a rare +violin became kindling. A sob broke from the prisoner's lips. What +to Karlov was a fiddle to him was a soul. He saw the madman fling the +wreckage to the floor and grind his heels into the fragments. Gregor +shut his eyes, but he could not shut his ears; and he sensed in that +cold, demoniacal fury of the crunching heel the rising of maddened +peoples. + + + +CHAPTER X + + +Meanwhile, Captain Harrison of the Medical Corps entered the Conover +apartment briskly. + +"You old vagabond, what have you been up to? I beg pardon!"--as he saw +Kitty emerge from behind Cutty's bulk. + +"This is Miss Conover, Harrison." + +"Very pleased, I'm sure. Luckily my case was in the coat room at the +club. I took the liberty of telephoning for Miss Frances, who returned +on the same ship with me. I concluded that your friend would need a +nurse. Let me have a look at him." + +Callously but lightly and skillfully the surgeon examined the battered +head. "Escaped concussion by a hair, you might say. Probably had his cap +on. That black eye, though, is an older affair. Who is he?" + +"I suspect he's some political refugee. We don't know a thing about him +otherwise. How soon can he be moved?" + +"He ought to be moved at once and given the best of care." + +"I can give him that in my eagle's nest. Harrison, this chap's life is +in danger; and if we get him into my lofty diggings they won't be able +to trace him. Not far from here there's a private hospital I know. It +goes through from one street to the next. I know the doctor. We'll have +the ambulance carry the patient there, but at the rear I'll have one +of the office newspaper trucks. And after a little wait we'll shoot the +stretcher into the truck. The police will not bother us. I've seen to +that. I rather believe it falls in with some of my work. The main idea, +of course, is to rid Miss Conover of any trouble." + +"Just as you say," agreed the surgeon. "That's all I can do for the +present. I'll run down to the entrance and wait for The nurse." + +"Will he live?" asked Kitty. + +"Of course he will. He is in good physical condition. Imagine he has +simply been knocked out. Serious only if unattended. Your finding him +probably saved him. Twelve hours will tell the story. May be on his feet +inside a week. Still, it would be advisable to keep him in bed as long +as possible. Fagged out, I should say, from that beard. I'll go down and +wait for Miss Frances." + +"And ring three times when you return," advised Cutty. + +"All right. Did they try to strangle him or did he have something round +his neck?" + +"Hanged if I know." + +"All out of the room now. I want it dark. Just as soon as the nurse +arrives I'll return. Three rings." Harrison left the apartment. + +Cutty spent a few minutes at the telephone, then he joined Kitty in the +living room. + +"Kitty, what was the stranger like?" + +"Like a gorilla. He spoke English as if he had a cold." + +Cutty scowled into space. "Have a scar over an eyebrow?" + +"Good gracious, I couldn't tell! Both his eyes were black and his nose +banged dreadfully. Johnny Two-Hawks probably did it." + +"Bully for Two-Hawks! Kitty, you're a marvel. Not a flivver from the +start. And those slate-blue eyes of yours don't miss many things." + +"Listen!" she interrupted, taking hold of his sleeve. "Hear it?" + +"Only the Elevated." + +"Tumpitum-tump! Tumpitum-tump! Cutty, you hypnotized me this afternoon +with your horrid drums." + +"The emeralds?" He managed to repress the start. + +"I don't know what it is; drums, anyhow. Maybe it is the emeralds. +Something has been happening ever since you told me about them--the +misery and evil that follow their wake." + +"But the story goes that women are immune, Kitty." + +"Nonsense! No woman is immune where a wonderful gem is concerned. And +yet I've common sense and humour." + +"And a lot more besides, Kitty. You're a raving, howling little beauty; +and how you've remained out of captivity this long is a puzzler to me. +Haven't you got a beau somewhere?" + +"No, Cutty. Perhaps I'm one of those who are quite willing to wait +patiently. If the one I want doesn't come--why, I'll be a jolly, +philosophical old maid. No seconds or culls for me, as the magazine +editor says." + +"Exactly what do you want?" Cutty was keenly curious, for some reason he +could not define. He did not care for diamonds as stones; but he admired +any personality that flashed differently from each new angle exposed. + +"Oh, a man, among other things. I don't mean one of those godlike +chromos in the frontispiece of popular novels. He hasn't got to be +handsome. But he must be able to laugh when he's happy, when he's hurt. +I must be his business in life. He must know a lot about things I know. +I want a comrade who will come to me when he has a joke or an ache. A +gay man and whimsical. The law can make any man a husband, but only God +can make a good comrade." + +"Kitty," said Cutty, his fine eyes sparkling, "I shan't have to watch +over you so much as I thought. On the other hand, you have described me +to a dot." + +"Quite possibly. Vanity has its uses. It keeps us in contact with +bathtubs and nice clothes. I imagine that you would make both husband +and comrade; or you would have, twenty years ago"--without intentional +cruelty. Wasn't Cutty fifty-two? + +"Kitty, you've touched a vital point. It took those twenty years to make +me companionable. Experience is something we must buy; it isn't left in +somebody's will. Let us say that I possess all the necessary attributes +save one." + +"And what is that?" + +"Youth, Kitty. And take the word of a senile old dotard, your young man, +when you find him, will lack many of the attributes you require. On the +other hand, there is always the possibility that these will develop as +you jog along. The terrible pity of youth is that it has the habit of +conferring these attributes rather than finding them. You put garlands +on the heads of snow images, and the first glare of sunshine--pouf!" + +"Cutty, I'm beginning to like you immensely"--smiling. "Perhaps women +ought to have two husbands--one young and handsome and the other old and +wise like yourself." + +Cutty wished he were alone in order to analyze the stab. Old! When +he knew that mentally and physically he could take and break a dozen +Two-Hawks. Old! He had never thought himself that. Fifty-two years; +they had piled up on him without his appreciation of the fullness of the +score. And yet he was more than a match for any ordinary man of thirty +in sinew and brain; and no man met the new morning with more zest than +he himself met it. But to Kitty he was old! Lavender and oak leaves were +being draped on his door knob. He laughed. + +"Why do you laugh?" + +"Oh, because--Hark!" + +The two of them ran to the bedroom door. + +"Olga! Olga!" And then a guttural level jumble of sounds. + +Kitty's quick brain reached out for a similitude--water rushing over +ragged boulders. + +"Olga!" she whispered. "He is a Russian!" + +"There are Serbian Olgas and Bulgarian Olgas and Rumanian Olgas. +Probably his sweetheart." + +"The poor thing!" + +"Sounds like Russian," added Cutty, his conscience pricking him. But +he welcomed that "Olga." It would naturally put a damper on Kitty's +interest. "There's Harrison with the nurse." + +Quarter of an hour later the patient was taken down to the ambulance +and conveyed to the private hospital. Cutty had no way of ascertaining +whether they were followed; but he hoped they would be. The knowledge +that their victim was in a near-by hospital would naturally serve to +relax the enemy vigilance temporarily; and this would permit safely and +secretly the second leg of the journey--that to his own apartment. + +He decided to let an hour go past; then Two-Hawks was taken through the +building to the rear and transferred to the truck. Cutty sat with +the driver while Captain Harrison and the nurse rode inside with the +patient. + +On the way Cutty was rather disturbed by the deep impression Kitty +Conover had made upon his heart and mind. That afternoon he had looked +upon her with fatherly condescension, as the pretty daughter of the two +he had loved most. From the altitude of his fifty-two he had gazed +down upon her twenty-four, weighing her as like all young women of +twenty-four--pleasure-loving and beau-hunting and fashion-scorched; +and in a flash she had revealed the formed mind of a woman of thirty. +Altitude. He had forgotten that relative to altitudes there are always +two angles of vision--that from the summit and that from the green +valley below. Kitty saw him beyond the tree line, but just this side +of the snows--and matched his condescension with pity! He chuckled. +Doddering old ass, what did it matter how she looked at him? + +Beautiful and young and full of common sense, yet dangerously +romantical. To wait for the man she wanted, what did that signify but +romance? And there was her Irish blood to consider. The association +of pretty nurse and interesting patient always afforded excellent +background for sentimental nonsense, the obligations of the one and the +gratitude of the other. Well, he had nipped that in the bud. + +And why hadn't he taken this Two-Hawks person--how easy it was to fall +into Kitty's way of naming the chap!--why hadn't he taken him directly +to the Roosevelt? Why all this pother and secrecy over a total stranger? +Stefani Gregor, who lived opposite Kitty and who hadn't prospered +particularly since the day he had exhibited the drums of jeopardy--he +was the reason. These were volcanic days, and a friend of Stefani +Gregor--who played the violin like Paganini--might well be worth the +trouble of a little courtesy. Then, too, there was that mark of the +thong--a charm, a military identification disk or something of value. +Whatever it was, the rogues had got it. Murder and loot. And as soon as +he returned to consciousness the young fellow would be making inquiries. + +Perhaps Kitty's point of view regarding a certain duffer aged fifty-two +was nearer the truth than the duffer himself realized. Second childhood! +As if the drums of jeopardy would ever again see light, after that +tempest of fire and death--that mud volcano! + +One thing was certain--there would be no more cat-napping. The game was +on again. He was assured of that side of it. + +Green stones, the sunlight breaking against the flaws in a shower of +golden sparks; green as the pulp of a Champagne grape; the drums of +jeopardy! Murder and loot; he could understand. + +Immediately after the patient was put to bed Cutty changed. A +nondescript suit of the day-labourer type and a few deft touches of coal +dust completed his make-up. + +"I shan't be back until morning," he announced. "Work to do. Kuroki will +be at your service through the night, Miss Frances. Strike that Burmese +gong once, at any hour. Come along, Harrison." + +"Want any company?" asked Harrison, with a belligerent twist to his +moustache. + +Cutty laughed. "No. You run along to your lambs. I'm running with +the wolves to-night, old scout, and you might get that spick-and-span +uniform considerably mussed up. Besides, it's raining." + +"But what's to become of Miss Conover? She ought not to remain alone in +that apartment." + +"Well, well! I thought of that, too. But she can take care of herself." + +"Those ruffians may call up the hospital and learn that we tricked them. + +"And then?" + +"Try to force the truth from Miss Conover." + +"That's precisely the wherefore of this coal dust. On your way!" + +Eleven o'clock. Kitty was in the kitchen, without light, her chair by +the window, which she had thrown up. She had gone to bed, but sleep was +impossible. So she decided to watch the Gregor windows. Sometimes the +mind is like a movie camera set for a double exposure. The whole scene +is visible, but the camera sees only half of it. Thus, while she saw +the windows across the court there entered the other side of her mind +a picture of the immaculate Cutty crossing the platform with Johnny +Two-Hawks thrown over his shoulder. The mental picture obscured the +actual. + +She had called him old. Well, he was old. And no doubt he looked upon +her as a child, wanting her to spend the night at a hotel! The affair +was over. No one would bother Kitty Conover. Why should they? But it +took strength to shoulder a man like that. What fun he and her father +must have had together! And Cutty had loved her mother! That made +Kitty exquisitely tender for a moment. All alone, at the age when new +friendships were impossible. A lovable man like that going down through +life alone! + +Census taker of alien undesirables; a queer occupation for a man so +famous as Cutty. Patriotism--to plunge into that seething revolutionary +scum to sort the dangerous madmen from the harmless mad-men. Courage and +strength and mental resource; yes, Cutty possessed these; and he would +be the kind to laugh at a joke or a hurt. + +One thing, however, was indelibly printed on her mind. Stefani +Gregor--either Cutty had met and known the man or he had heard of him. + +Suddenly she became conscious that she was blinking as one blinks +from mirror-reflected sunlight. She cast about for the source of this +phenomenon. Obliquely from between the interstices of the fire-escape +platform came a point of moving white light. She craned her neck. A +battery lamp! The round spot of light worked along the cement floor, +vanished occasionally, reappeared, and then vanished altogether. +Somebody was down there hunting for something. What? + +Kitty remained with her head out of the window for some time, unmindful +of the spatter of rain. But nothing happened. The man was gone. Of +course the incident might not have the slightest bearing upon the +previous adventures of this amazing night; still, it was suggestive. The +young man had worn something round his neck. But if his enemies had +it why should this man comb the court, unless he was a tenant and had +knocked something off a window ledge? + +She began to appreciate that she was very tired, and decided to go back +to bed. This time she fell asleep. Her disordered thoughts rearranged +themselves in a dazzling dream. She found herself wandering through a +glorious translucent green cavern--a huge emerald. And in the distance +she heard that unmistakable tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! It drew her +irresistibly. She fought and struggled against the fascinating sound, +but it continued to draw her on. Suddenly from round a corner came the +squat man, his hair a la Fuzzy-Wuzzy. He caught her savagely by the +shoulder and dragged her toward a fire of blazing diamonds. On the other +side of that fire was a blonde young woman with a tiara of rubies on her +head. "Save me! I am Olga, Olga!" Kitty struggled fiercely and awoke. + +The light was on. At the side of her bed were two men. One of them was +holding her bare shoulder and digging his fingers into it cruelly. They +looked like coal heavers. + +"We do not wish to harm you, and won't if you're sensible. Where did +they take the man you brought?" + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Kitty did not wrench herself loose at once. She wasn't quite sure that +this was not a continuance of her nightmare. She knew that nightmares +had a way of breaking off in the middle of things, of never arriving +anywhere. The room looked natural enough and the pain in her shoulder +seemed real enough, but one never could tell. She decided to wait for +the next episode. + +"Answer!" cried the spokesman of the two, twisting Kitty's shoulder. +"Where did they take him?" + +Awake! Kitty wrenched her shoulder away and swept the bedclothes up to +her chin. She was thoroughly frightened, but her brain was clear. +The spark of self-preservation flew hither and about in search of +expediencies, temporizations. She must come through this somehow with +the vantage on her side. She could not possibly betray that poor young +man, for that would entail the betrayal of Cutty also. She saw but one +avenue, the telephone; and these two men were on the wrong side of the +bed, between her and the door. + +"What do you want?" Her throat was so dry she wondered whether the words +were projected far enough for them to hear. + +"We want the address of the wounded man you brought into this +apartment." + +"They took him to a hospital." + +"He was taken away from there." + +"He was?" + +"Yes, he was. You may not know where, but you will know the address of +the man who tricked us; and that will be sufficient." + +"The army surgeon? He was called in by chance. I don't know where he +lives." + +"The man in the dress suit." + +"He was with the surgeon." + +"He came first. Come; we have no time to waste. We don't want to hurt +you, and we hope you will not force us. + +"Will you step out of the room while I dress?" + +"No. Tell us where the man lives, and you can have the whole apartment +to yourself." + +"You speak English very well." + +"Enough! Do you want us to bundle you up in the bedclothes and carry you +off? It will not be a pleasant experience for a pretty young woman like +yourself. Something happened to the man you knew as Gregory. Will that +make you understand?" + +"You know what abduction means?" + +"Your police will not catch us." + +"But I might give you the wrong address." + +"Try it and see what happens. Young lady, this is a bad affair for a +woman to be mixed up in. Be sensible. We are in a hurry." + +"Well, you seem to have acquired at least one American habit!" said a +gruff voice from the bedroom doorway. "Raise your hands quickly, and +don't turn," went on the gruff voice. "If I shoot it will be to kill. +It is a rough game, as you say. That's it; and keep them up. Now, then, +young lady, slip on your kimono. Get up and search these men. I'm in a +hurry, too." + +Kitty obeyed, very lovely in her dishevelment. Repugnant as the task was +she disarmed the two men and flung their weapons on the bed. + +"Now something to tie their hands; anything that will hold." + +Kitty could see the speaker now. Another coal heaver, but evidently on +her side. + +"Tie their hands behind them... I warn you not to move, men. When I say +I'll shoot I mean it. Don't be afraid of hurting them, miss. Very good. +Now bandage their eyes. Handkerchiefs." + +But Kitty's handkerchiefs did not run to the dimensions' required; so +she ripped up a petticoat. Torn between her eagerness to complete a +disagreeable task and her offended modesty, Kitty went through the +performance with creditable alacrity. Then she jumped back into bed, +doubled her knees, and once more drew up the bedclothes to her chin, +content to be a spectator, her eyes as wide as ever they possibly could +be. + +Some secret-service man Cutty had sent to protect her. Dear old Cutty! +Small wonder he had urged her to spend the night at a hotel. The +admiration of her childhood returned, but without the shackles of +shyness. She had always trusted him absolutely, and to this trust was +now added understanding. To have him pop into her life again in this +fashion, all the ordinary approaches to intimacy wiped out by these +amazing episodes; the years bridged in an hour! If only he were younger! + +"Watch them, miss. Don't be afraid to shoot. I'll return in a +moment"--still gruffly. The secret-service man pushed his prisoners into +chairs and left the bedroom. + +Kitty did not care how gruff the voice was; it was decidedly pleasant +in her ears. Gingerly she picked up one of the revolvers. Kitty Conover +with shooting irons in her hands, like a movie actress! She heard a +whistle. After this an interval of silence, save for the ticking of the +alarm clock on the stand. She eyed the blindfolded men speculatively, +swung out of bed, and put on her stockings and sandals; then she sat on +the edge of the bed and waited for the sequence. Kitty Conover was going +to have some queer recollections to tell her grandchildren, providing +she had any. That morning she had risen to face a humdrum normal day. +And here she was, at midnight, hobnobbing with quiescent murder and +sudden death! To-morrow Burlingame would ask her to hustle up the Sunday +stuff, and she would hustle. She wanted to laugh, but was a little +afraid that this laughter might degenerate into incipient hysteria. + +There was still in her mind a vivid recollection of her dream--the fire +of diamonds and the blonde girl with the tiara of rubies. Olga, Olga! +Russian; the whole affair was Russian. She shivered. Always that +land and people had appeared to her in sinister aspect; no doubt an +impression acquired from reading melodramas written by Englishmen who, +once upon a time, had given Russia preeminence as a political menace. +Russia, in all things--music, art, literature--the tragic note. Stefani +Gregor and Johnny Two-Hawks had roused the enmity of some political +society with this result. Nihilist or Bolshevist or socialist, there +was little choice; and Cutty sensibly did not want her drawn into the +whirlpool. + +What a pleasant intimacy hers and Cutty's promised to be! And if he +hadn't casually dropped into the office that afternoon she would have +surrendered the affair to the police, and that would have been the end +of it. Amazing thought--you might jog along all your life at the side +of a person and never know him half so well as someone you met m a tense +episode, like that of the immaculate Cutty crossing the fire escape with +Two-Hawks on his shoulders! + +She heard the friendly coal heaver going down the corridor to the door. +When he returned to the bedroom two men accompanied him. Not a word was +said. The two men marched off with the prisoners and left Kitty alone +with her saviour. + +"Thank you," she said, simply. + +"You poor little chicken, did you believe I had deserted you?" The voice +wasn't gruff now. + +"Cutty?" Kitty ran to him, flinging her arms round his neck. "Oh, +Cutty!" + +Cutty's heart, which had bumped along an astonishing number of million +times in fifty-two years, registered a memorable bump against his ribs. +The touch of her soft arms and the faint, indescribable perfume which +emanates from a dainty woman's hair thrilled him beyond any thrill he +had ever known. For Kitty's mother had never put her arms round old +Cutty's neck. Of course he understood readily enough: Molly's girl, +flesh of her flesh. And she had rushed to him as she would have rushed +to her father. He patted her shoulder clumsily, still a little dazzled +for all the revelation in the analysis. The sweet intimacy of it! The +door of Paradise opened for a moment, and then shut in his face. + +"I did not recognize you at all!" she cried, standing off. "I shouldn't +have known you on the street. And it is so simple. What a wonderful man +you are!" + +"For an old codger?" Cutty's heart registered another sizable bump. + +Kitty laughed. "Never call yourself old to me again. Are you always +doing these things?" + +"Well, I keep moving. I suspected something like this might happen. +Those two will go to the Tombs to await deportation if they are aliens. +Perhaps we can dig something out of them relative to this man Gregor. +Anyhow, we'll try." + +"Cutty, I saw a man in the court with a pocket lamp before I went to +bed. He was hunting for something." + +"I didn't find anything but a lot of fresh food someone had thrown out." + +"It was you, then?" + +"Yes. There was a vague possibility that your protege might have thrown +out something valuable during the struggle." + +"What?" + +"Lord knows! A queer business, Kitty, you've lugged me into--my own! +And there is one thing I want you to remember particularly: Life means +nothing to the men opposed, neither chivalry nor ethics. Annihilation is +their business. They don't want civilization; they want chaos. They +have lost the sense of comparisons or they would not seek to thrust +Bolshevism down the throats of the rest of the world. They say democracy +has failed, and their substitute is murder and loot. Kitty, I want you +to leave this roost." + +"I shall stay until my lease expires." + +"Why? In the face of real danger?" + +"Because I intend to, Cutty--unless you kidnap me." + +"Have you any good reason?" + +"You'll laugh; but something tells me to stay here." + +But Cutty did not laugh. "Very well. Tomorrow an assistant janitor will +be installed. His name is Antonio Bernini. Every night he will whistle +up the tube. Whistle back. If you are going out for the evening notify +him where you intend to go and when you expect to be back. A wire from +your bed to his cot will be installed. In danger, press the button. +That's the best I can do for you, since you decide to stick. I don't +believe anything more will happen to-night, but from now on you will be +watched. Never come directly to my apartment. Break your journey two +or three times with taxis. Always use Elevator Four. The boy is mine; +belongs to the service. So our Bolshevik friends won't gather anything +about you from him." + +As a matter of fact, Cutty had now come to the conviction that it would +be well to let Kitty remain here as a lure. He had urged her to leave, +and she had refused, so his conscience was tolerably clear. Besides, she +would henceforth be guarded with a ceaseless efficiency second only to +that which encompasses a President of the United States. Always some man +of the service would be watching those who watched her. This was going +to develop into a game of small nets, one or two victims at a time. +Because these enemies of civilization lacked coherence in action there +would be slim chance of rounding them up in bulk. But from now on men +would vanish--one here, a pair there, perhaps on occasion four or five. +And those who had known them would know them no more. The policy would +be that employed by the British in the submarine campaign--mysterious +silence after the evanishment. + +"It's all so exciting!" said Kitty. "But that poor old man Gregor! He +had a wonderful violin, Cutty; and sometimes I used to hear him play +folklore music--sad, haunting melodies." + +"We'll know in a little while what's become of him. I doubt there is a +foreign organization in the city that hasn't one or more of our men on +the inside. A word will be dropped somewhere. I'm rarely active on +this side of the Atlantic; and what I'm doing now is practically due to +interest. But every active operative in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, +and Chicago is on the lookout for a man who, if left free, will stir +up a lot of trouble. He has leadership, this Boris Karlov, a former +intimate here of Trotzky's. We have reason to believe that he slipped +through the net in San Francisco. Probably under a cleverly forged +passport. Now please describe the man who came in with the policeman. I +haven't had time to make inquiries at the precinct, where they will have +a minute description of him." + +"He made me think of a gorilla, just as I told you. His face was pretty +well banged up. Naturally I did not notice any scar. A dreadfully black +beard, shaven." + +"Squat, powerful, like a gorilla. Lord, I wish I'd had a glimpse of him! +He's one of the few topnotchers I haven't met. He's the spark, the hand +on the plunger. The powder is all ready in this land of ours; our job is +to keep off the sparks until we can spread the stuff so it will only +go puff instead of bang. This man Karlov is bad medicine for democracy. +Poor devil!" + +"Why do you say that?" + +"Because I'm honestly sorry for them. This fellow Karlov has suffered. +He is now a species of madman nothing will cure. He and his kind have +gained their ends in Russia, but the impetus to kill and burn and loot +is still unchecked. Sorry, yes; but we can't have them here. They +remind me of nothing so much as those blind deep-sea monsters in one of +Kipling's tales, thrown up into air and sunlight by a submarine volcano, +slashing and bellowing. But we can't have them here any longer. Keep +those revolvers under your pillow. All you have to do is to point. +Nobody will know that you can't shoot. And always remember, we're +watching over you. Good-night." + +"Mouquin's for lunch?" + +"Well, I'll be hanged! But it can't be, Kitty. You and I must not be +seen in public. If that was Karlov you will be marked, and so will any +one who travels with you." + +"Good gracious!" + +"Fact. But come up to the roost--changing taxis--to-morrow at five and +have tea." + +Down in the street Cutty bore into the slanting rain, no longer a +drizzle. With his hands jammed in his side pockets and his gaze on the +sparkling pavement he continued downtown, in a dangerously ruminative +frame of mind, dangerous because had he been followed he would not have +known it. + +Molly Conover's girl! That afternoon it had been Tommy Conover's girl; +now she was Molly's. It occurred to him for the first time that he was +one of those unfortunate individuals who are always able to open the +door to Paradise for others and are themselves forced to remain outside. +Hadn't he introduced Conover to Molly, and hadn't they fallen in love +on the spot? Too old to be a hero and not old enough to die. He grinned. +Some day he would use that line. + +Of course it wasn't Kitty who set this peculiar cogitation in motion. It +wasn't her arms and the perfume of her hair. The actual thrill had come +from a recrudescence of a vanished passion; anyhow, a passion that had +been held suspended all these years. Still, it offered a disquieting +prospect. He was sensible enough to realize that he would be in for some +confusion in trying to disassociate the phantom from the quick. + +Most pretty young women were flitter-flutters, unstable, shallow, +immature. But this little lady had depth, the sense of the living drama; +and, Lord, she was such a beauty! Wanted a man who would laugh when he +was happy and when he was hurt. A bull's-eye--bang, like that! For the +only breed worth its salt was the kind that laughed when happy and when +hurt. + +The average young woman, rushing into his arms the way she had, would +not have stirred him in the least. And immediately upon the heels of +this thought came a taste of the confusion he saw in store for himself. +Was it the phantom or Kitty? He jumped to another angle to escape the +impasse. Kitty's coming to him in that fashion raised an unpalatable +suggestion. He evidently looked fatherly, no matter how he felt. Hang +these fifty-two years, to come crowding his doorstep all at once! + +He raised his head and laughed. He suddenly remembered now. At nine that +night he had been scheduled to deliver a lecture on the Italo-Jugoslav +muddle before a distinguished audience in the ballroom of a famous +hotel! He would have some fancy apologizing to do in the morning. + +He stepped into a doorway, then peered out cautiously. There was not a +single pedestrian in sight. No need of hiking any further in this +rain; so he hunted for a taxi. To-morrow he would set the wires humming +relative to old Stefani Gregor. Boris Karlov, if indeed it were he, +would lead the way. Hadn't Stefani and Boris been boyhood friends, and +hadn't Stefani betrayed the latter in some political affair? He wasn't +sure; but a glance among his 1912 notes would clear up the fog. + +But that young chap! Who was he? Cutty set his process of logical +deduction moving. Karlov--always supposing that gorilla was Karlov--had +come in from the west. So had the young man. Gregor's inclinations had +been toward the aristocracy; at least, that had been the impression. A +Bolshevik would not seek haven with a man like Gregor, as this young man +had. But Two-Hawks bothered him; the name bothered him, because it had +no sense either in English or in Russian. And yet he was sure he had +heard it somewhere. Perhaps his notes would throw some light on that +subject, too. + +When he arrived home Miss Frances, the nurse, informed him that the +patient was babbling in an outlandish tongue. For a long time Cutty +stood by the bedside, translating. + +"Olga!... Olga!... And she gave me food, Stefani, this charming American +girl. Never must we forget that. I was hungry, and she gave me food.... +But I paid for it. You, gone, there was no one else.... And she is +poor.... The torches!... I am burning, burning!... Olga!" + +"What does he say?" asked the nurse. + +"It is Russian. Is it a crisis?" he evaded. + +"Not necessarily. Doctor Harrison said he would probably return to +consciousness sometime to-morrow. But he must have absolute quiet. No +visitors. A bad blow, but not of fatal consequence. I've seen hundreds +of cases much worse pull out in a fortnight. You'd better go to bed, +sir." + +"All right," said Cutty, gratefully. He was tired. The ball did not +rebound as it used to; the resilience was petering out. But look alive, +there! Big events were toward, and he must not stop to feel of his +pulse. + + +Three o'clock in the morning. + +The man in the Gregor bedroom sat down on the bed, the pocket lamp +dangling from his hairy fingers. Not a nook or cranny in the apartment +had he overlooked. In every cupboard, drawer; in the beds and under; the +trunks; behind the radiators and the pictures; the shelves and clothes +in the closets. What he sought he had not found. + +His vengeance would not be complete without those green stones in his +hands. Anna would call from her grave. Pretty little Anna, who had +trusted Stefani Gregor, and gone to her doom. + +All these thousands of miles, by hook and crook, by forged passports, by +sums of money, sleepless nights and hungry days--for this! The last of +that branch of the breed out of his reach, and the stones vanished! A +queer superstition had taken lodgment in his brain; he recognized it now +for the first time. The possession of those stones would be a sign from +God to go on. Green stones for bread! Green stones for bread! The drums +of jeopardy! In his hands they would be talismanic. + +But wait! That pretty girl across the way. Supposing he had intrusted +the stones to her? Or hidden them there without her being aware of it? + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Kitty Conover ate in the kitchen. First off, this statement is likely +to create the false impression that there was an ordinary grain here, +a wedge of base hemlock in the citron. Not so. She ate in the kitchen +because she could not yet face that vacant chair in the dining room +without choking and losing her appetite. She could not look at the chair +without visualizing that glorious, whimsical, fascinating mother of +hers, who could turn grumpy janitors into comedians and send importunate +bill collectors away with nothing but spangles in their heads. + +So long as she stayed out of the dining room she could accept her +loneliness with sound philosophy. She knew, as all sensible people know, +that there were ghosts, that memory had haunted galleries, and that +empty chairs were evocations. + +Her days were so busily active, there were so many first nights and +concerts, that she did not mind such evenings as she had to spend alone +in the apartment. Persons were in and out of the office all through +the day, and many of them entertaining. For only real persons ever +penetrated that well-guarded cubby-hole off the noisy city room. Many +of them were old friends of her mother. Of course they were a little +pompous, but this was less innate than acquired; and she knew that below +they were worth while. She had come to the conclusion that successful +actors and actresses were the only people in America who spoke English +fluently and correctly. + +Yes, she ate in the kitchen; but she would have been a fit subject for +the fastidious Fragonard. Kitty was naturally an exquisite. Everything +about her was dainty, her body and her mind. The background of pans and +dishes, gas range and sink did not absorb Kitty; her presence here in +the morning lifted everything out of the rut of commonplace and created +an atmosphere that was ornamental. Pink peignoir and turquoise-blue +boudoir cap, silk petticoat and stockings and adorable little slippers. +No harm to tell the secret! Kitty was educating herself for a husband. +She knew that if she acquired the habit of daintiness at breakfast +before marriage it would become second nature after marriage. Moreover, +she was determined that it should be tremendous news that would cause a +newspaper to intervene. She had all the confidence in the world in her +mirror. + +She got her breakfast this morning, singing. She was happy. She had +found a door out of monotony; theatrical drama had given way to the +living. She had opened the book of adventure and she was going straight +through to finis. That there was an undertow of the sinister escaped her +or she ignored it. + +In all high-strung Irish souls there is a bit of the old wife, the +foreteller; the gift of prescience; and Kitty possessed this in a mild +degree. Something held her here, when for a dozen reasons she should +have gone elsewhere. + +She strained the coffee, humming a tune out of The Mikado, the revival +of which she had seen lately: + + My object all sublime + I shall achieve in time + To make the punishment fit the crime. + The punishment fit the crime. + And make the prisoner pent + Unwillingly represent + A source of innocent merriment. + Of innocent merriment! + + +And there you were! To make the punishment fit the crime. Wall in the +Bolsheviki, the I.W.W.'s, the Red Socialist, the anarchists--and let +them try it for ten years. Those left would be glad enough to embrace +democracy and sanity. The poor benighted things, to imagine that they +were going forward there in Russia! What kind of mentality was it that +could conceive a blessing to humanity in the abolition of baths and +work? And Cutty felt sorry for them. Well, as for that, so did Kitty +Conover; and she would continue feeling sorry for them so long as they +remained thousands of miles away. But next door! + +"Grapefruit, eggs on toast, and coffee; mademoiselle is served!" she +cried, gayly, sitting down and attacking her breakfast with the zest of +healthy youth. + +Often the eyes are like the lenses of a camera minus the sensitized +plate; they see objects without printing them. Thus a dozen times +Kitty's glance absently swept the range and the racks on each side of +the stovepipe, one rack burdened with an empty pancake jug and the other +cluttered with old-fashioned flatirons; but she saw nothing. + +She was carefully reviewing the events of the night before. She could +not dismiss the impression that Cutty knew Stefani Gregor or had heard +of him; and in either case it signified that Gregor was something more +than a valet. And decidedly Two-Hawks was not of the Russian peasantry. + +By the time she was ready to leave for the office the Irish blood in +her was seething and bubbling and dancing. She knew she would do crazy, +impulsive things all day. It was easy to analyze this exuberance. She +had reached out into the dark and touched danger, and found a new thrill +in a humdrum world. + +The Great Dramatist had produced a tremendous drama and she had watched +curtain after curtain fall from the wrong side of the lights. Now she +had been given a speaking part; and she would be down stage for a moment +or two--dusting the furniture--while the stars were retouching +their make-up. It was not the thought of Cutty, of Gregor, of Johnny +Two-Hawks, of hidden treasure; simply she had arrived somewhere in the +great drama. + +When she reached the office she had a hard time of it to settle down to +the day's work. + +"Hustle up that Sunday stuff," said Burlingame. Kitty laughed. Just as +she had pictured it. She hustled. + +"I have it!" she cried, breaking a spell of silence. + +"What--St. Vitus?" inquired Burlingame, patiently. + +"No; the Morgue!" + +"What the dickens--!" + +But Kitty was no longer there to answer. + +In all newspaper offices there is a department flippantly designated +as the Morgue. Obituaries on ice, as it were. A photograph or an item +concerning a great man, a celebrated, beauty or some notorious rogue; +from the king calibre down to Gyp-the-Blood brand, all indexed and laid +away against the instant need. So, running her finger tip down the K's, +Kitty found Karlov. The half tone which she eventually exhumed from the +tin box was an excellent likeness of the human gorilla who had entered +her rooms with the policeman. She would be able to carry this positive +information to Cutty that afternoon. + +When she left the office at four she took the Subway to Forty-second +Street. She engaged a taxi from the Knickerbocker and discharged it at +the north entrance to the Waldorf, which she entered. She walked through +to the south entrance and got into another taxi. She left this at +Wanamaker's, ducking and dodging through the crowded aisles. She +selected this hour because, being a woman, she knew that the press of +shoppers would be the greatest during the day. Karlov's man and +the secret-service operative detailed by Cutty both made the same +mistake--followed Kitty into the dry-goods shop and lost her as +completely as if she had popped up in China. At quarter to five she +stepped into Elevator Number Four of the building which Cutty called his +home, very well pleased with herself. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +To understand Kitty at this moment one must be able to understand the +Irish; and nobody does or can or will. Consider her twenty-four +years, her corpuscular inheritance, the love of drama and the love of +adventure. Imagine possessing sound ideas of life and the ability +to apply them, and spiritually always galloping off on some broad +highway--more often than not furnished by some engaging scoundrel of +a novelist--and you will be able to construct a half tone of Kitty +Conover. + +That civilization might be actually on its deathbed, that positively +half of the world was starving and dying and going mad through the +reaction of the German blight touched her in a detached way. She felt +sorry, dreadfully sorry, for the poor things; but as she could not help +them she dismissed them from her thoughts every morning after she had +read the paper, the way most of us do here in these United States. You +cannot grapple with the misery of an unknown person several thousand +miles away. + +That which had taken place during the past twenty-four hours was to her +a lark, a blindman's buff for grown-ups. It was not in her to tremble, +to shudder, to hesitate, to weigh this and to balance that. Irish +curiosity. Perhaps in the original that immortal line read: "The +Irish rush in where angels fear to tread," and some proofreader had a +particular grudge against the race. + +When the elevator reached the seventeenth floor, the passengers surged +forth. All except Kitty, who tarried. + +"We don't carry to the eighteenth, miss. + +"I am Miss Conover," she replied. "I dared not tell you until we were +alone." + +"I see." The boy nodded, swept her with an appraising glance, and sent +the elevator up to the loft. + +"You understand? If any one inquires about me, you don't remember." + +"Yes, miss. The boss's orders." + +"And if any one does inquire you are to report at once." + +"That, too." + +The boy rolled back the door and Kitty stepped out upon a Laristan +runner of rose hues and cobalt blue. She wondered what it cost Cutty +to keep up an establishment like this. There were fourteen rooms, seven +facing the north and seven facing the west, with glorious vistas of +steam-wreathed roofs and brick Matterhorns and the dim horizon touching +the sea. Fine rugs and tapestries and furniture gathered from the four +ends of the world; but wholly livable and in no sense atmospheric of the +museum. Cutty had excellent taste. + +She had visited the apartment but twice before, once in her childhood +and again when she was eighteen. Cutty had given a dinner in honour of +her mother's birthday. She smiled as she recalled the incident. Cutty +had placed a box of candles at the side of her mother's plate and told +her to stick as many into the cake as she thought best. + +"Hello!" said Cutty, emerging from one of the doors. "What the dickens +have you been up to? My man has just telephoned me that he lost track of +you in Wanamaker's." + +Kitty explained, delighted. + +"Well, well! If you can lose a man such as I set to watch you, you'll +have no trouble shaking the others." + +"It was Karlov, Cutty." + +"How did you learn?" + +"Searched the morgue and found a half tone of him. Positively Karlov. +How is the patient?" + +"Harrison says he's pulling round amazingly. A tough skull. He'll be up +for his meals in no time." + +"How do you do it?" she asked with a gesture. + +"Do what?" + +"Manage a place like this? In a busy office district. It's the most +wonderful apartment in New York. Riverside has nothing like it. It must +cost like sixty." + +"The building is mine, Kitty. That makes it possible. An uncle who knew +I hated money and the responsibilities that go with it, died and left it +to me." + +"Why, Cutty, you must be rich!" + +"I'm sorry. What can I do? I can't give it away." + +"But you don't have to work!" + +"Oh, yes, I do. I'm that kind. I'd die of a broken heart if I had to sit +still. It's the game." + +"Did mother know?" + +"Yes." + +With the toe of a snug little bronze boot Kitty drew an outline round a +pattern in the rug. + +"Love is a funny thing," was her comment. + +"It sure is, old-timer. But what put the thought into your head?" + +"I was thinking how very much mumsy must have been in love with father." + +"But she never knew that I loved her, Kitty." + +"What's that got to do with it? If she had wanted money you wouldn't +have had the least chance in the world." + +"Probably not! But what would you have done in your mother's place?" + +"Snapped you up like that!" Kitty flashed back. + +"You cheerful little--little--" + +"Liar. Say it!" Kitty laughed. "But am I a cheerful little liar? I don't +know. It would be an awful temptation. Somebody to wait on you; heaps of +flowers when you wanted them; beautiful gowns and thingummies and furs +and limousines. I've often wondered what I should do if I found myself +with love and youth on one side and money and attraction on the other. +I've always been in straitened circumstances. I never spent a dollar in +all my days when I didn't think I ought to have held back three or +four cents of it. You can't know, Cutty, what it is to be poor and want +beautiful things and good times. Of course. I couldn't marry just +money. There would have to be some kind of a man to go with it. Someone +interesting enough to make me forget sometimes that I'd thrown away a +lover for a pocket-book." + +"Would you marry me, Kitty?" + +"Are you serious?" + +"Let's suppose I am." + +"No. I couldn't marry you, Cutty I should always be having my mother's +ghost as a rival." + +"But supposing I fell in love with you?" + +"Then I'd always be doubting your constancy. But what queer talk!"' + +"Kitty, you're a joy! Lordy, my luck in dropping in to see you +yesterday!" + +"And a little whippersnapper like me calling a great man like you +Cutty!" + +"Well, if it embarrasses you, you might switch to papa once in a while." + +Kitty's laughter rang down the corridor. "I'll remember that whenever I +want to make you mad. Who's here?" + +"Nobody but Harrison and the nurse. Both good citizens, and I've taken +them into my confidence to a certain extent. You can talk freely before +them." + +"Am I to see the patient?" + +"Harrison says not. About Wednesday your Two-Hawks will be sitting up. +I've determined to keep the poor devil here until he can take care of +himself. But he is flat broke." + +"He said he had money." + +"Well, Karlov's men stripped him clean." + +"Have you any idea who he is?" + +"To be honest, that's one of the reasons why I want to keep him here. +He's Russian, for all his Oxford English and his Italian gestures; and +from his babble I imagine he's been through seven kinds of hell. Torches +and hobnailed boots and the incessant call for a woman named Olga--a +young woman about eighteen." + +"How did you find that out?" + +"From a photograph I found in the lining of his coat. A pretty blonde +girl." + +"Good heavens!"--recollecting her dream. "Where was it printed?" + +"Amateur photography. I'll pick it up on the way to the living room." + +It was nothing like the blonde girl of her dream. Still, the girl was +charming. Kitty turned over the photograph. There was writing on the +back. + +"Russian? What does it say?" + +"'To Ivan from Olga with all her love.'" + +Cutty was conscious of the presence of an indefensible malice in his +tones. Why the deuce should he be bitter--glad that the chap had left +behind a sweetheart? He knew exactly the basis of Kitty's interest, as +utterly detached as that of a reporter going to a fire. On the day the +patient could explain himself, Kitty's interest would automatically +cease. An old dog in the manger? Malice. + +"Cutty, something dreadful has happened to this poor young woman. That's +what makes him cry out the name. Caught in that horror, and probably he +alone escaped. Is it heartless to be glad I'm an American? Do they let +in these Russians?" + +"Not since the Trotzky regime. I imagine Two-Hawks slipped through on +some British passport. He'll probably tell us all about it when he comes +round. But how do you feel after last night's bout?" + +"Alive! And I'm going on being alive, forever and ever! Oh, those awful +drums! They look like dead eyes in those dim corners. Tumpitum-tump! +Tumpitum-tump!" she cried, linking her arm in his. "What a gorgeous +view! Just what I'm going to do when my ship comes in--live in a loft. I +really believe I could write up here--I mean worth-while things I could +enjoy writing and sell." + +"It's yours if you want it when I leave." + +"And I'd have a fine time explaining to my friends! You old innocent! +... Or are you so innocent?" + +"We do live in a cramped world. But I meant it. Don't forget to whistle +down to Tony Bernini when you get back home to-night." + +"I promise. + +"Why the gurgle?" + +"Because I'm tremendously excited. All my life I've wanted to do +mysterious things. I've been with the audience all the while, and I want +to be with the actors." + +"You'll give some man a wild dance." + +"If I do I'll dance with him. Now lead me to the cookies." + +She was the life of the tea table. Her wit, her effervescence, her +whimsicalities amused even the prim Miss Frances. When she recounted +the exploit of the camouflaged fan, Cutty and Harrison laughed so loudly +that the nurse had to put her finger on her lips. They might wake the +patient. + +"I am really interested in him," went on Kitty. "I won't deny it. I want +to see how it's going to turn out. He was very nice after I let him into +the kitchen. A perfectly English manner and voice, and Italian gestures +when off his guard. I feel so sorry for him. What strangers we races are +to each other! Until the war we hardly knew the Canadians. The British +didn't know us at all, and the French became acquainted with the British +for the first time in history. And the German thought he knew us all +and really knew nobody. All the Russians I ever saw were peasants of +the cattle type; so that the word Russian conjures up two pictures--the +grand duke at Monte Carlo and a race of men who wear long beards and +never bathe except when it rains. Think of it! For the first time since +God set mankind on earth peoples are becoming acquainted. I never saw a +Russian of this type before.". + +"A leaf in the whirlpool.--Anyhow, we'll keep him here until he's on his +feet. By the way, never answer any telephone call--I mean, go anywhere +on a call--unless you are sure of the speaker." + +"I begin to feel important." + +"You are important. You have suddenly become a connecting link between +this Karlov and the man we wish to protect. I'll confess I wanted you +out of that apartment at first; but when I saw that you were bent on +remaining, I decided to make use of you." + +"You are going to give me a part in the play?" + +"Yes. You are to go about your affairs as always, just as if nothing had +happened. Only when you wish to come here will you play any game like +that of to-day. Then it will be advisable. Switch your route each time. +Your real part is to be that of lure. Through you we shall gradually +learn who Karlov's associates are. If you don't care to play the role +all you have to do is to move." + +"The idea! I'm grateful for anything. You men will never understand. +You go forth into the world each day--politics, diplomacy, commerce, +war--while we women stay at home and knit or darn socks or take care of +the baby or make over our clothes and hats or do household work or +play the piano or read. Never any adventure. Never any games. Never any +clubs. The leaving your house to go to the office is an adventure. A +train from here to Philadelphia is an adventure. We women are always +craving it. And about all we can squeeze out of life is shopping and +hiding the bills after marriage, and going to the movies before marriage +with young men our fathers don't like. We can't even stroll the street +and admire the handsome gowns of our more fortunate sisters the way you +men do. When you see a pretty woman on the street do you ever stop to +think that there are ten at home eating their hearts out? Of course you +don't. So I'm going through with this, to satisfy suppressed instincts; +and I shan't promise to trot along as usual." + +"They may attempt to kidnap you, Kitty." + +"That doesn't frighten me." + +"So I observe. But if they ever should have the luck to kidnap you, tell +all you know at once. There's only one way up here--the elevator. I can +get out to the fire escape, but none can get in from that direction, as +the door is of steel." + +"And, of course, you'll take me into your confidence completely?" + +"When the time comes. Half the fun in an adventure is the element of the +unexpected," said Cutty. + +"Where did you first meet Stefani Gregor?" + +Captain Harrison laughed. He liked this girl. She was keen and could +be depended upon, as witness last night's work. Her real danger lay in +being conspicuously pretty, in looking upon this affair as merely a kind +of exciting game, when it was tragedy. + +"What makes you think I know Stefani Gregor?" asked Cutty, genuinely +curious. + +"When I pronounced that name you whirled upon me as if I had struck +you." + +"Very well. When we learn who Two-Hawks is I'll tell you what I know +about Gregor. And in the meantime you will be ceaselessly under guard. +You are an asset, Kitty, to whichever side holds you. Captain Harrison +is going to stay for dinner. Won't you join us?" + +"I'm going to a studio potluck with some girls. And it's time I was on +the way. I'll let your Tony Bernini know. Home probably at ten." + +Cutty went with her to the elevator and when he returned to the tea +table he sat down without speaking. + +"Why not kidnap her yourself," suggested Harrison, "if you don't want +her in this?" + +"She would never forgive me." + +"If she found it out." + +"She's the kind who would. What do you think of her, Miss Frances?" + +"I think she is wonderful. Frankly, I should tell her everything--if +there is anything more to be told." + +When dinner was over, the nurse gone back to the patient and Captain +Harrison to his club, Cutty lit his odoriferous pipe and patrolled the +windows of his study. Ever since Kitty's departure he had been mulling +over in his mind a plan regarding her future--to add a codicil to his +will, leaving her five thousand a year, so Molly's girl might always +have a dainty frame for her unusual beauty. The pity of it was that +convention denied him the pleasure of settling the income upon her at +once, while she was young. He might outlive her; you never could tell. +Anyhow, he would see to the codicil. An accident might step in. + +He got out his chrysoprase. In one corner of the room there was a large +portfolio such as artists use for their proofs and sketches; and from +this he took a dozen twelve-by-fourteen-inch photographs of beautiful +women, most of them stage beauties of bygone years. The one on top +happened to be Patti. The adorable Patti!... Linda, Violetta, Lucia. +Lord, what a nightingale she had been! He laughed laid the photograph +on the desk, and dipped his hand into a canvas bag filled with polished +green stones which would have great commercial value if people knew more +about them; for nothing else in the world is quite so beautifully green. + +He built tiaras above the lovely head and laid necklaces across the +marvellous throat. Suddenly a phenomenon took place. The roguish eyes of +the prima donna receded and vanished and slate-blue ones replaced them. +The odd part of it was, he could not dissipate the fancied eyes for the +replacement of the actual. Patti, with slate-blue eyes! He discarded +the photograph and selected another. He began the game anew and was +just beginning the attack on the problem uppermost in his mind when the +phenomenon occurred again. Kitty's eyes! What infernal nonsense! Kitty +had served merely to enliven his tender recollections of her +mother. Twenty-four and fifty-two. And yet, hadn't he just read that +Maeterlinck, fifty-six, had married Mademoiselle Dahon, many years +younger? + +In a kind of resentful fury he pushed back his chair and fell to pacing, +eddies and loops and spirals of smoke whirling and sweeping behind him. +The only light was centred upon the desk, so he might have been some god +pacing cloud-riven Olympus in the twilight. By and by he laughed; and +the atmosphere--mental--cleared. Maeterlinck, fifty-six, and Cutty, +fifty-two, were two different men. Cutty might mix his metaphors +occasionally, but he wasn't going to mix his ghosts. + +He returned to his singular game. More tiaras and necklaces; and his +brain took firm hold of the theme which had in the beginning lured him +to the green stones. + +Two-Hawks. That name bothered him. He knew he had heard it before, but +never in the Russian tongue. It might be that the chap had been spoofing +Kitty. Still, he had also called himself Hawksley. + +The smoke thickened; there were frequent flares of matches. One by one +Cutty discarded the photographs, dropping them on the floor beside his +chair, his mind boring this way and that for a solution. He had now come +to the point where he ceased to see the photographs or the green stones. +The movements of his hands were almost automatic. And in this abstract +manner he came to the last photograph. He built a necklace and even +ventured an earring. + +It was a glorious face--black eyes that followed you; full lipped; every +indication of fire and genius. It must be understood that he rarely saw +the photographs when he played this game. It wasn't an amusing pastime, +a mental relaxation. It was a unique game of solitaire, the photographs +and chrysoprase being substituted for cards; and in some inexplicable +manner it permitted him to concentrate upon whatever problem filled +his thoughts. It was purely accidental that he saw Patti to-night or +recalled her art. Coming upon the last photograph without having found a +solution of the riddle of Two-Hawks he relaxed the mental pressure; and +his sight reestablished its ability to focus. + +"Good Lord!" he ejaculated. + +He seized the photograph excitedly, scattering the green stones. She! +The Calabrian, the enchanting colouratura who had vanished from the +world at the height of her fame, thirty-odd years gone! Two-Hawks! + +Cutty saw himself at twenty, in the pit at La Scala, with music-mad +Milan all about him. Two-Hawks! He remembered now. The nickname the +young bloods had given her because she had been eternally guarded by her +mother and aunt, fierce-beaked Calabrians, who had determined that Rosa +should never throw herself away on some beggarly Adonis. + +And this chap was her son! Yesterday, rich and powerful, with a name +that was open sesame wherever he went; to-day, hunted, penniless, and +forlorn. Cutty sank back in his chair, stunned by the revelation. In +that room yonder! + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +For a long time Cutty sat perfectly motionless, his pipe at an upward +angle--a fine commentary on the strength of his jaws--and his gaze +boring into the shadows beyond his desk. What was uppermost in his +thoughts now was the fateful twist of events that had brought the young +man to the assured haven of this towering loft. + +All based, singularly enough, upon his wanting to see Molly's girl for +a few moments; and thus he had established himself in Kitty's thoughts. +Instead of turning to the police she had turned to him. Old Cutty, +reaching round vaguely for something to stay the current--age; hoping +by seeing this living link 'twixt the present and the past to stay the +afterglow of youth. As if that could be done! He, who had never paid any +attention to gray hairs and wrinkles and time, all at once found +himself in a position similar to that of the man who supposes he has +an inexhaustible sum at the bank and has just been notified that he has +overdrawn. + +Cutty knew that life wasn't really coordination and premeditation so +much as it was coincident. Trivials. Nothing was absolute and dependable +but death; between birth and death a series of accidents and incidents +and coincidents which men called life. + +He tapped his pipe on the ash tray and stood up. He gathered the +chrysoprase and restored the stones to the canvas bag. Then he carefully +stacked the photographs and carried them to the portfolio. The green +stones he deposited in a safe, from which he took a considerable +bundle of small notebooks, returning to the desk with these. Denatured +dynamite, these notebooks, full of political secrets, solutions of +mysteries that baffle historians. A truly great journalist never writes +history as a historian; he is afraid to. Sometimes conjecture is safer +than fact. And these little notebooks were the repository of suppressed +facts ranging over twenty-odd years. Gerald Stanley Lee would have +recognized them instantly as coming under the head of what he calls Sh! + +An hour later Cutty returned the notebooks to their abiding place, +his memory refreshed. The poor devil! A dissolute father and uncle, +dissolute forbears, corrupt blood weakened by intermarriage, what hope +was there? Only one--the rich, fiery blood of the Calabrian mother. + +But why had the chap come to America? Why not England or the Riviera, +where rank, even if shorn of its prerogatives, is still treated +respectfully? But America! + +Cutty's head went up. Perhaps that was it--to barter his phantom +greatness for money, to dazzle some rich fool of an American girl. In +that case Karlov would be welcome. But wait a moment. The chap had come +in from the west. In that event there should be an Odyssey of some kind +tucked away in the affair. + +Cutty resumed his pacing. The moment his imagination caught the +essentials he visualized the Odyssey. Across mountains and deserts, +rivers and seas, he followed Two-Hawks in fancy, pursued by an +implacable hatred, more or less historical, of which the lad was less +a cause than an abstract object. And Karlov--Cutty understood Karlov +now--always span near, his hate reenergizing his faltering feet. + +There was evidently some iron in this Two-Hawks' blood. Fear never +would have carried him thus far. Fear would have whispered, "Futility! +Futility!" And he would have bent his head to the stroke. So then there +was resource and there was courage. And he lay in yonder room, beaten +and penniless. The top piece in the grim irony--to have come all these +thousands of miles unscathed, to be dropped at the goal. But America? +Well, that would be solved later. + +"By the Lord Harry!" Cutty stopped and struck his hands together. "The +drums!" + +From the hour Kitty had pronounced the name Stefani Gregor an idea had +taken lodgment, an irrepressible idea, that somewhere in this drama +would be the drums of jeopardy. The mark of the thong! Never any +doubt of it now. Those magnificent emeralds were here in New York, +The mob--the Red Guard--hammering on the doors, what would have been +Two-Hawks' most natural first thought? To gather what treasures the +hand could be laid to and flee. Here in New York, and in Karlov's hands, +ultimately to be cut up for Bolshevik propaganda! The infernal pity of +it! + +The passion of the gem hunter blazed forth, dimming all other phases of +the drama. Here was a real game, a man's game; sport! Cutty rubbed his +hands together pleasurably. To recover those green flames before +they could be broken up; under the ancient ruling that "Findings is +keepings." The stones, of course, meant nothing to Karlov beyond the +monetary value; and upon this fact Cutty began developing a plan. He +stood ready to buy those stones if he could draw them into the open. +Lord, how he wanted them! Murder and loot, always murder and loot! + +The thought of those two incomparable emeralds being broken up +distressed him profoundly. He must act at once, before the desecration +could be consummated. Two-Hawks--Hawksley hereafter, for the sake of +convenience--had an equity in the gems; but what of that? In smuggling +them in--and how the deuce had he done it?--he had thrown away his +legal right to them. Cutty kneaded his conscience into a satisfactory +condition of quiescence and went on with his planning. If he succeeded +in recovering the stones and his conscience bit a little too deeply +for comfort--why, he could pay over to Hawksley twenty per cent. of +the price Karlov demanded. He could take it or leave it. In a case like +this--to a bachelor without dependents--money was no object. All +his life he had wanted a fine emerald to play with, and here was an +opportunity to acquire two! + +If this plan failed to draw Karlov into the open, then every jeweller +and pawnbroker in town would be notified and warned. What with the +secret-service operatives and the agents of the Department of Justice +on the watch for Karlov--who would recognize his limitations of +mobility--it was reasonable to assume that the Bolshevik would be only +too glad to dicker secretly for the disposal of the stones. Now to work. +Cutty looked at his watch. + +Nearly midnight. Rather late, but he knew all the tricks of this +particular kind of game. If the advertisement appeared isolated, all the +better. The real job would be to hide his identity. He saw a way round +this difficulty. He wrote out six advertisements, all worded the same. +He figured out the cost and was delighted to find that he carried the +necessary currency. Then he got into his engineer's--dungarees, touched +up his face and hands to the required griminess, and sallied forth. + +Luck attended him until he reached the last morning newspaper on the +list. Here he was obliged to proceed to the city room--risky business. +A queer advertisement coming into the city room late at night was always +pried into, as he knew from experience. Still, he felt that he ought not +to miss any chance to reach Karlov. + +He explained his business to the sleepy gate boy, who carried the +advertisement and the cash to the night city editor's desk. Ordinarily +the night city editor would have returned the advertisement with the +crisp information that he had no authority to accept advertisements. But +the "drums of jeopardy" caught his attention; and he sent a keen +glance across the busy room to the rail where Cutty stood, perhaps +conspicuously. + +"Humph!" He called to one of the reporters. "This looks like a story. +I'll run it. Follow that guy in the overalls and see what's in it." + +Cutty appreciated the interlude for what it was worth. Someone was +going to follow him. When the gate boy returned to notify him that the +advertisement had been accepted, Cutty went down to the street. + +"Hey, there; just a moment!" hailed the reporter. "I want a word with +you about that advertisement." + +Cutty came to a standstill. "I paid for it, didn't I?" + +"Sure. But what's this about the drums of jeopardy?" + +"Two great emeralds I'm hunting for," explained Cutty, recalling the man +who stood on London Bridge and peddled sovereigns at two bits each, and +no buyer. + +"Can it! Can it!" jeered the reporter. "Be a good sport and give us the +tip. Strike call among the city engineers?" + +"I'm telling you." + +"Like Mike you are!" + +"All right. It's the word to tie up the surface lines, like Newark, if +you want to know. Now, get t' hell out o' here before I hand you one on +the jaw!" + +The reporter backed away. "Is that on the level?" + +"Call up the barns and find out. They'll tell you what's on. And listen, +if you follow me, I'll break your head. On your way!" + +The reporter dashed for the elevator--and back to the doorway in time to +see Cutty legging it for the Subway. As he was a reporter of the first +class he managed to catch the same express uptown. + +On the way uptown Cutty considered that he had accomplished a shrewd +bit of work. Karlov or one of his agents would certainly see that +advertisement; and even if Karlov suspected a Federal trap he would find +some means of communicating with the issuer of the advertisement. + +The thought of Kitty returned. What the dickens would she say--how would +she act--when she learned who this Hawksley was? He fervently hoped +that she had never read "Thaddeus of Warsaw." There would be all the +difference in the world between an elegant refugee Pole and a derelict +of the Russian autocracy. Perhaps the best course to pursue would be to +say nothing at all to her about the amazing discovery. + +Upon leaving Elevator Four Cutty said: "Bob, I've been followed by a +sharp reporter. Sheer him off with any tale you please, and go home. +Goodnight." + +"I'll fix him, sir." + +Cutty took a bath, put on his lounging robe, and tiptoed to the +threshold of the patient's room. The shaded light revealed the nurse +asleep with a book on her knees. The patient's eyes were closed and his +breathing was regular. He was coming along. Cutty decided to go to bed. + +Meantime, when the elevator touched the ground floor, the operator +observed a prospective passenger. + +"Last trip, sir. You'll have to take the stairs." + +"Where'll I find the engineer who went up with you just now?" + +"The man I took up? Gone to bed, I guess." + +"What floor?" + +"Nothing doing, bo. I'm wise. You're the fourth guy with a subpoena +that's been after him. Nix." + +"I'm not a lawyer's clerk. I'm a reporter, and I want to ask him a few +questions." + +"Gee! Has that Jane of his been hauling in the newspapers? Good-night! +Toddle along, bo; there's nothing coming from me. Nix." + +"Would ten dollars make you talk?" asked the reporter, desperately. + +"Ye-ah--about the Kaiser and his wood-sawing. By-by!" + +The operator, secretly enjoying the reporter's discomfiture, shut off +the lights, slammed the elevator door to the latch, and walked to the +revolving doors, to the tune of Garry Owen. + +The reporter did not follow him but sat down on the first step of the +marble stairs to think, for there was a lot to think about. He sensed +clearly enough that all this talk about street-railway strikes and +subpoenas was rot. The elevator man and the engineer were in cahoots. +There was a story here, but how to get to it was a puzzler. He had one +chance in a hundred of landing it--tip the mail clerk in the business +office to keep an eye open for the man who called for "Double C" mail. + +Eventually, the man who did call for that mail presented a card to the +mail clerk. At the bottom of this card was the name of the chief of the +United States Secret Service. + +"And say to the reporter who has probably asked to watch--hands off! +Understand? Absolutely--off!" + +When the reporter was informed he blew a kiss into air and sought his +city editor for his regular assignment. He understood, with the wisdom +of his calling, that one didn't go whale fishing with trout rods. + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +Early the next morning in a bedroom in a rooming house for aliens in +Fifteenth Street, a man sat in a chair scanning the want columns of a +newspaper. Occasionally he jotted down something on a slip of paper. +This man's job was rather an unusual one. He hunted jobs for other +men--jobs in steel mills, great factories, in the textile districts, the +street-car lines, the shipping yards and docks, any place where there +might be a grain or two of the powder of unrest and discontent. His +business was to supply the human matches. + +No more parading the streets, no more haranguing from soap boxes. The +proper place nowadays was in the yard or shop corners at noontime. A +word or two dropped at the right moment; perhaps a printed pamphlet; +little wedges wherever there were men who wanted something they neither +earned nor deserved. Here and there across the land little flares, +one running into the other, like wildfire on the plains, and then--the +upheaval. As in Russia, so now in Germany; later, England and France and +here. The proletariat was gaining power. + +He was no fool, this individual. He knew his clay, the day labourer, +with his parrotlike mentality. Though the victim of this peculiar potter +absorbs sounds he doesn't often absorb meanings. But he takes these +sounds and respouts them and convinces himself that he is some kind +of Moses, headed for the promised land. Inflammable stuff. Hence, the +strikes which puzzle the average intelligent American citizen. What is +it all about? Nobody seems to know. + +Once upon a time men went on a strike because they were being cheated +and abused. Now they strike on the principle that it is excellent +policy always to be demanding something; it keeps capitalism where it +belongs--on the ragged edge of things. No matter what they demand they +never expect to give an equivalent; and a just cause isn't necessary. +Thus the present-day agitator has only one perplexity--that of eluding +the iron hand of the Department of Justice. + +Suddenly the man in the chair brought the newspaper close up and stared. +He jumped to his feet, ran out and up the next flight of stairs. He +stopped before a door and turned the knob a certain number of times. +Presently the door opened the barest crack; then it was swung wide +enough to admit the visitor. + +"Look!" he whispered, indicating Cutty's advertisement. + +The occupant of the room snatched the newspaper and carried it to a +window. + + Will purchase the drums of jeopardy at top price. No questions + asked. Address this office. + Double C. + +"Very good. I might have missed it. We shall sell the accursed drums to +this gentleman." + +"Sell them? But--" + +"Imbecile! What we must do is to find out who this man is. In the end he +may lead us to him." + +"But it may be a trap!" + +"Leave that to me. You have work of your own to do, and you had best be +about it. Do you not see beneath? Who but the man who harbours him would +know about the drums? The man in the evening clothes. I was too far away +to see his face. Get me all the morning newspapers. If the advertisement +is in all of them I will send a letter to each. We lost the young woman +yesterday. And nothing has been heard of Vladimir and Stemmler. Bad. +I do not like this place. I move to the house to-night. My old friend +Stefani may be lonesome. I dare not risk daylight. Some fool may have +talked. To work! All of us have much to do to wake up the proletariat +in this country of the blind. But the hour will come. Get me the +newspapers." + +Karlov pushed his visitor from the room and locked and bolted the door. +He stepped over to the window again and stared down at the clutter of +pushcarts, drays, trucks, and human beings that tried to go forward +and got forward only by moving sideways or worming through temporary +breaches, seldom directly--the way of humanity. But there was no object +lesson in this for Karlov, who was not philosophical in the peculiar +sense of one who was demanding a reason for everything and finding +allegory and comparison and allusion in the ebb and flow of life. The +philosophical is often misapplied to the stoical. Karlov was a stoic, +not a philosopher, or he would not have been the victim of his present +obsession. The idea of live and let live has never been the propaganda +of the anarch. To the anarch the death of some body or the destruction +of some thing is the cornerstone to his madhouse. + +Nothing would ever cure this man of his obsession--the death of Hawksley +and the possession of the emeralds. Moreover, there was the fanatical +belief in his poor disordered brain that the accomplishment of these +two projects would eventually assist in the liberation of mankind. +Abnormally cunning in his methods of approach, he lacked those +imaginative scales by which we weigh our projects and which we call +logic. A child alone in a house with a box of matches; a dog on one +side of Fifth Avenue that sees a dog on the other side, but not the +automobiles--inexorable logic--irresistible force--whizzing up and down +the middle of that thoroughfare. It is not difficult to prophesy what is +going to happen to that child, that dog. + +Karlov was at this moment reaching out toward a satisfactory solution +relative to the disappearance of the gems. They had not been found on +his enemy; they had not been found in the Gregor apartment; the two +men assigned to the task of securing them would not have risked certain +death by trying to do a little bargaining on their own initiative. +In the first instance they had come forth empty-handed. In the +second instance--that of intimidating the girl to disclose his +whereabouts--neither Vladimir nor Stemmler had returned. Sinister. The +man in the dress suit again? + +Conceivably, then, the drums were in the possession of this girl; and +she was holding them against the day when the fugitive would reclaim +them. The advertisement was a snare. Very good. Two could play that game +as well as one. + +The girl. Was it not always so? That breed! God's curse on them all! A +crooked finger, and the women followed, hypnotized. The girl was away +from the apartment the major part of the day; so it was in order to +search her rooms. A pretty little fool. + +But where were they hiding him? Gall and wormwood! That he should slip +through Boris Karlov's fingers, after all these tortuous windings across +the world! Patience. Sooner or later the girl would lead the way. Still, +patience was a galling hobble when he had so little time, when even now +they might be hunting him. Boris Karlov had left New York rather well +known. + +He expanded under this thought. For the spiritual breath of life to +the anarch is flattery, attention. Had the newspapers ignored Trotzky's +advent into Russia, had they omitted the daily chronicle of his +activities, the Russian problem would not be so large as it is this day. +Trotzky would have died of chagrin. + +He would answer this advertisement. Trap? He would set one himself. The +man who eventually came to negotiate would be made a prisoner and forced +to disclose the identity of the man who had interfered with the great +projects of Boris Karlov, plenipotentiary extraordinary for the red +government of Russia. + +Midtown, Cutty tapped his breakfast egg dubiously. Not that he +speculated upon the freshness of the egg. What troubled him was that +advertisement. Last night, keyed high by his remarkable discovery of the +identity of his guest and his cupidity relative to the emeralds, he +had laid himself open. If he knew anything at all about the craft, that +reporter would be digging in. Fortunately he had resources unsuspected +by the reporter. Legitimately he could send a secret-service operative +to collect the mail--if Karlov decided to negotiate. Still within his +rights, he could use another operative to conduct the negotiations. +If in the end Karlov strayed into the net the use of the service for +private ends would be justified. + +Lord, those green stones! Well, why not? Something in the world worth +a hazard. What had he in life but this second grand passion? There shot +into his mind obliquely an irrelevant question. Supposing, in the old +days, he had proceeded to reach for Molly as he was now reaching for the +emeralds--a bit lawlessly? After all these years, to have such a thought +strike him! Hadn't he stepped aside meekly for Conover? Hadn't he +observed and envied Conover's dazzling assault? Supposing Molly had +been wavering, and this method of attack had decided her? Never to have +thought of that before! What did a woman want? A love storm, and then an +endless after-calm. And it had taken him twenty-odd years to make this +discovery. + +Fact. He had never been shy of women. He had somehow preferred to play +comrade instead of gallant; and all the women had taken advantage of +that, used him callously to pair with old maids, faded wives, and homely +debutantes. + +What impellent was driving him toward these introspections? Kitty, +Molly's girl. Each time he saw her or thought of her--the uninvited +ghost of her mother. Any other man upon seeing Kitty or thinking about +her would have jumped into the future from the spring of a dream. The +disparity in years would not have mattered. It was all nonsense, of +course. But for his dropping into the office and casually picking up the +thread of his acquaintance with Kitty, Molly--the memory of her--would +have gone on dimming. Actions, tremendous and world-wide, had set +his vision toward the future; he had been too busy to waste time in +retrospection and introspection. Thus, instead of a gently rising and +falling tide, healthily recurrent, a flood of mixed longings that was +swirling him into uncertain depths. Those emeralds had bobbed up just in +time. The chase would serve to pull him out of this bog. + +He heard a footstep and looked up. The nurse was beckoning to him. + +"What is it?" + +"He's awake, and there is sanity in his eyes." + +"Great! Has he talked?" + +"No. The awakening happened just this moment, and I came to you. You +never can tell about blows on the skull or brain fever--never any two +eases alike." + +Cutty threw down his napkin and accompanied the nurse to the bedside. +The glance of the patient trailed from Cutty to the nurse and back. + +"Don't talk," said Cutty. "Don't ask any questions. Take it easy until +later in the day. You are in the hands of persons who wish you well. Eat +what the nurse gives you. When the right time comes we'll tell you all +about ourselves, You've been robbed and beaten. But the men who did it +are under arrest." + +"One question," said the patient, weakly. + +"Well, just one." + +"A girl--who gave me something to eat?" + +"Yes. She fed you, and later probably your life." + +"Thanks." Hawksley closed his eyes. + +Cutty and the nurse watched him interestedly for a few minutes; but as +he did not stir again the nurse took up her temperature sheet and Cutty +returned to his eggs. Was there a girl? No question about the emeralds, +no interest in the day and the hour. Was there a girl? The last person +he had seen, Kitty; the first question, after coming into the light: Had +he seen her? Then and there Cutty knew that when he died he would +carry into the Beyond, of all his earthly possessions--a chuckle. Human +beings! + +The yarn that reporter had missed by a hair--front page, eight-column +head! But he had missed it, and that was the main thing. The poor devil! +Beaten and without a sou marque in his pockets, his trail was likely to +be crowded without the assistance of any newspaper publicity. But what a +yarn! What a whale of a yarn! + +In his fevered flights Hawksley had spoken of having paid Kitty for that +meal. + +Kitty had said nothing about it. Supposing-- + +"Telephone, sair," announced the Jap. "Lady." + +Molly's girl! Cutty sprinted to the telephone. + +"Hello! That you, Kitty?" + +"Yes. How is Johnny Two-Hawks?" + +"Back to earth." + +"When can I see him? I'm just crazy to know what the story is!" + +"Say the third or fourth day from this. We'll have him shaved and +sitting up then." + +"Has he talked?" + +"Not permitted. Still determined to stay the run of your lease?" Cutty +heard a laugh. "All right. Only I hope you will never have cause to +regret this decision." + +"Fiddlesticks! All I've got to do in danger is to press a button, and +presto! here's Bernini." + +"Kitty, did Hawksley pay you for that meal?" + +"Good heavens, no! What makes you ask that?" + +"In his delirium he spoke of having paid you. I didn't know." Cutty's +heart began to rap against his ribs. Supposing, after all, Karlov hadn't +the stones? Supposing Hawksley had hidden them somewhere in Kitty's +kitchen? + +"Anything about Gregor?" + +"No. Remember, you're to call me up twice a day and report the news. +Don't go out nights if you can avoid it." + +"I'll be good," Kitty agreed. "And now I must hie me to the job. +Imagine, Cutty!--writing personalities about stage folks and gabfesting +with Burlingame and all the while my brain boiling with this affair! +The city room will kill me, Cutty, if it ever finds out that I held back +such a yarn. But it wouldn't be fair to Johnny Two-Hawks. Cutty, did you +know that your wonderful drums of jeopardy are here in New York?" + +"What?" barked Cutty. + +"Somebody is offering to buy them. There was an advertisement in the +paper this morning. Cutty?" + +"Yes." + +"The first problem in arithmetic is two and two make four. By-by!" + +Dizzily Cutty hung up the receiver. He had not reckoned on the +possibility of Kitty seeing that damfool advertisement. Two and two made +four; and four and four made eight; so on indefinitely. That is to say, +Kitty already had a glimmer of the startling truth. The initial misstep +on his part had been made upon her pronouncement of the name Stefani +Gregor. He hadn't been able to control his surprise. And yesterday, +having frankly admitted that he knew Gregor, all that was needed +to complete the circle was that advertisement. Cutty tore his hair, +literally. The very door he hoped she might overlook he had thrown open +to her. + +Thaddeus of Warsaw. But it should not be. He would continue to offer +a haven to that chap; but no nonsense. None of that sinister and +unfortunate blood should meddle with Kitty Conover's happiness. Her +self-appointed guardian would attend to that. + +He realized that his attitude was rather inexplicable; but there were +some adventures which hypnotized women; and one of this sort was +now unfolding for Kitty. That she had her share of common sense was +negligible in face of the facts that she was imaginative and romantical +and adventuresome, and that for the first time she was riding one of the +great middle currents in human events. She was Molly's girl; Cutty was +going to look out for her. + +Mighty odd that this fear for her should have sprung into being that +night, quite illogically. Prescience? He could not say. Perhaps it was +a borrowed instinct--fatherly; the same instinct that would have stirred +her father into action--the protection of that dearest to him. + +If he told her who Hawksley really was, that would intrigue her. If he +made a mystery of the affair, that, too, would intrigue her. And there +you were, 'twixt the devil and the deep blue sea. Hang it, what evil +luck had stirred him to tell her about those emeralds? Already she +was building a story to satisfy her dramatic fancy. Two and two made +four--which signified that she was her father's daughter, that she would +not rest until she had explored every corner of this dark room. Wanting +to keep her out of it, and then dragging her into it through his +cupidity. Devil take those emeralds! Always the same; trouble wherever +they were. + +The real danger would rise during the convalescence. Kitty would be +contriving to drop in frequently; not to see Hawksley especially, +but her initial success in playing hide and seek with secret agents, +friendly and otherwise, had tickled her fancy. For a while it would be +an exciting game; then it might become only a means to an end. Well, it +should not be. + +Was there a girl! Already Hawksley had recorded her beauty. Very well; +the first sign of sentimental nonsense, and out he should go, Karlov or +no Karlov. Kitty wasn't going to know any hurt in this affair. That much +was decided. + +Cutty stormed into his study, growling audibly. He filled a pipe and +smoked savagely. Another side, Kitty's entrance into the drama promised +to spoil his own fun; he would have to play two games instead of one. A +fine muddle! + +He came to a stand before one of the windows and saw the glory of +the morning flashing from the myriad spires and towers and roofs, and +wondered why artists bothered about cows in pastures. + +Touching his knees was an antique Florentine bridal chest, with +exquisite carving and massive lock. He threw back the lid and disclosed +a miscellany never seen by any eye save his own. It was all the garret +he had. He dug into it and at length resurrected the photograph of a +woman whose face was both roguish and beautiful. He sat on the floor a +la Turk and studied the face, his own tender and wistful. No resemblance +to Kitty except in the eyes. How often he had gone to her with the +question burning his lips, only to carry it away unspoken! He turned +over the photograph and read: "To the nicest man I know. With love from +Molly." With love. And he had stepped aside for Tommy Conover! + +By George! He dropped the photograph into the chest, let down the lid, +and rose to his feet. Not a bad idea, that. To intrigue Kitty himself, +to smother her with attentions and gallantries, to give her out of his +wide experience, and to play the game until this intruder was on his way +elsewhere. + +He could do it; and he based his assurance upon his experiences and +observations. Never a squire of dames, he knew the part. He had played +the game occasionally in the capitals of Europe when there had been some +information he had particularly desired. Clever, scheming women, too. A +clever, passably good-looking elderly man could make himself peculiarly +attractive to young women and women in the thirties. Dazzlement for the +young; the man who knew all about life, the trivial little courtesies +a younger man generally forgot; the moving of chairs, the holding of +wraps; the gray hairs which served to invite trust and confidence, which +lulled the eternal feminine fear of the male. To the older women, no +callow youth but a man of discernment, discretion, wit and fancy and +daring, who remembered birthdays husbands forgot, who was always round +when wanted. + +There was no vanity back of these premises. Cutty was merely reaching +about for an expedient to thwart what to his anticipatory mind promised +to be an inevitability. Of course the glamour would not last; it never +did, but he felt he could sustain it until yonder chap was off and away. + +That evening at five-thirty Kitty received a box of beautiful roses, +with Cutty's card. + +"Oh, the lovely things!" she cried. + +She kissed them and set them in a big copper jug, arranged and +rearranged them for the simple pleasure it afforded her. What a dear +man this Cutty was, to have thought of her in this fashion! Her father's +friend, her mother's, and now hers; she had inherited him. This thought +caused her to smile, but there were tears in her eyes. A garden some +day to play in, this mad city far away, a home of her own; would it ever +happen? + +The bell rang. She wasn't going to like this caller for taking her away +from these roses, the first she had received in a long time--roses she +could keep and not toss out the window. For it must not be understood +that Kitty was never besieged. + +Outside stood a well-dressed gentleman, older than Cutty, with shrewd, +inquiring gray eyes and a face with strong salients. + +"Pardon me, but I am looking for a man by the name of Stephen Gregory. I +was referred by the janitor to you. You are Miss Conover?" + +"Yes," answered Kitty. "Will you come in?" She ushered the stranger into +the living room and indicated a chair. "Please excuse me for a moment." +Kitty went into her bedroom and touched the danger button, which would +summon Bernini. She wanted her watchdog to see the visitor. She returned +to the living room. "What is it you wish to know?" + +"Where I may find this Gregory." + +"That nobody seems able to answer. He was carried away from here in an +ambulance; but we have been unable to locate the hospital. If you will +leave your name--" + +"That is not necessary. I am out of bounds, you might say, and I'd +rather my name should be left out of the affair, which is rather +peculiar." + +"In what way?" + +"I am only an agent, and am not at liberty to speak. Could you describe +Gregory?" + +"Then he is a stranger to you?" + +"Absolutely." + +Kitty described Gregor deliberately and at length. It struck her that +the visitor was becoming bored, though he nodded at times. She was glad +to hear Bernini's ring. She excused herself to admit the Italian. + +"A false alarm," she whispered. "Someone inquiring for Gregor. I thought +it might be well for you to see him." + +"I'll work the radiator stuff." + +"Very well." + +Bernini went into the living room and fussed over the steam cock of the +radiator. + +"Nothing the matter with it, miss. Just stuck." + +"Sorry to have troubled you," said the stranger, rising and picking up +his hat. + +Bernini went down to the basement, obfuscated; for he knew the visitor. +He was one of the greatest bankers in New York--that is to say, in +America! Asking questions about Stefani Gregor! + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +About nine o'clock that same night a certain rich man, having +established himself comfortably under the reading lamp, a fine book +in his hands and a fine after-dinner cigar between his teeth, was +exceedingly resentful when his butler knocked, entered, and presented a +card. + +"My orders were that I was not at home to any one." + +"Yes, sir. But he said you would see him because he came to see you +regarding a Mr. Gregory." + +"What?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Damn these newspapers!... Wait, wait!" the banker called, for the +butler was starting for the door to carry the anathema to the appointed +head. "Bring him in. He's a big bug, and I can't afford to affront him." + +"Yes, sir"--with the colourless tone of a perfect servant. + +When the visitor entered he stopped just beyond the threshold. He +remained there even after the butler closed the door. Blue eye and gray +clashed; two masters of fence who had executed the same stroke. The +banker laughed and Cutty smiled. + +"I suppose," said the banker, "you and I ought to sign an armistice, +too." + +"Agreed." + +"And you've always been rather a puzzle to me. A rich man, a gentleman, +and yet sticking to the newspaper game." + +"And you're a puzzle to me, too. A rich man, a gentleman, and yet +sticking to the banking game." + +"What the devil was our row about?" + +"Can't quite recall." + +"Whatever it was it was the way you went at it." + +"A reform was never yet accomplished by purring and pussyfooting," said +Cutty. + +"Come over and sit down. Now, how the devil did you find out about this +Gregory affair?" The banker held out his hand, which Cutty grasped with +honest pressure. "If you are here in the capacity of a newspaper man, +not a word out of me. Have a cigar?" + +"I never smoke anything but pipes that ruin curtains. You should have +given your name to Miss Conover." + +"I was under promise not to explain my business. But before we proceed, +an answer. Newspaper?" + +"No. I represent the Department of Justice. And we'll get along easier +when I add that I possess rather unlimited powers under that head. How +did you happen to stumble into this affair?" + +"Through Captain Rathbone, my prospective son-in-law, who is in Coblenz. +A cable arrived this morning, instructing me to proceed precisely in the +manner I did. Rathbone is an intimate friend of the man I was actually +seeking. The apartment of this man Gregory was mentioned to Rathbone +in a cable as a possible temporary abiding place. What do you want to +know?" + +"Whether or not he is undesirable." + +"Decidedly, I should say, desirable." + +"You make that statement as an American citizen?" + +"I do. I make it unreservedly because my future son-in-law is rather +a difficult man to make friends with. I am acting merely as Rathbone's +agent. On the other hand, I should be a cheerful liar if I told you I +wasn't interested. What do you know?" + +"Everything," answered Cutty, quietly. + +"You know where this young man is?" + +"At this moment he is in my apartment, rather seriously battered and +absolutely penniless." + +"Well, I'll be tinker-dammed! You know who he is, of course?" + +"Yes. And I want all your information so that I may guide my future +actions accordingly. If he is really undesirable he shall be deported +the moment he can stand on his two feet." + +The banker pyramided his fingers, rather pleased to learn that he could +astonish this interesting beggar. "He has on account at my bank half +a million dollars. Originally he had eight hundred thousand. The three +hundred thousand, under cable orders from Yokohama, was transferred to +our branch in San Francisco. This was withdrawn about two weeks ago. How +does that strike you?" + +"All in a heap," confessed Cutty. "When was this fund established with +you?" + +"Shortly before Kerensky's government blew up. The funds were in our +London bank. There was, of course, a lot of red tape, excessive +charges in exchange, and all that. Anyhow, about eight hundred thousand +arrived." + +"What brought him to America? Why didn't he go to England? That would +have been the safest haven." + +"I can explain that. He intends to become an American citizen. Some time +ago he became the owner of a fine cattle ranch in Montana." + +"Well, I'll be tinker-dammed, too!" exploded Cutty. + +"A young man with these ideas in his head ought eventually to become a +first-rate citizen. What do you say?" + +"I am considerably relieved. His forbears, the blood--" + +"His mother was a healthy Italian peasant--a famous singer in her time. +His fortune, I take it, was his inheritance from her. She made a fortune +singing in the capitals of Europe and speculating from time to time. +She sent the boy, at the age of ten, to England. Afraid of the home +influence. He remained there, under the name of Hawksley, for something +like fourteen years, under the guardianship of this fellow Gregory. Of +Gregory I know positively nothing. The young fellow is, to all purposes, +methods of living, points of view, an Englishman. Rathbone, who was +educated at Oxford, met him there and they shared quarters. But it was +only in recent years that he learned the identity of his friend. In 1914 +the young fellow returned to Russia. Military obligations. That's all I +know. Mighty interesting, though." + +"I am much obliged to you. The white elephant becomes a normal drab +pachyderm," said Cutty. + +"Still something of an elephant on your hands. I see. Bring him here if +you wish." + +"And sic the Bolshevik at your door." + +"That's so. You spoke of his having been beaten and robbed. Bolshevik?" + +"Yes. An old line of reasoning first put into effect by Oliver Cromwell. +The axe." + +"The poor devil!" + +"Fact. I'm sorry for him, but I wish he would blow away conveniently." + +"Rathbone says he's handsome, gay, but decent, considering. Humanity is +being knocked about some. The hour has come for our lawyers to go back +to their offices. Politics must step aside for business. We ought +to hang up signs in every state capitol in the country: 'Men +Wanted--Specialists.' A steel man from Pittsburgh, a mining man from +Idaho, a shipowner from Boston, a meat packer from Omaha, a grain man +from Chicago. What the devil do lawyers know about these things--the +energies that make the wheels of this country go round? By the way, +that Miss Conover was a remarkably pretty girl. She seemed to be a bit +suspicious of me." + +"Good reasons. That chap went to Gregor's--Gregor is his name--and was +beaten, robbed, and left for dead. She saved his life." + +"Good Lord! Does she know?" + +"No. And what's more, I don't want her to. I am practically her +guardian." + +"Then you ought to get her out of that roost." + +"Hang it, I can't get her to leave. I'm not legally her guardian; +self-appointed. But she has agreed to leave in May." + +"I'm glad you dropped in. Command me in any way you please." + +"That's very good of you, considering." + +"The war is over. We'd be a fine pair of fools to let an ancient +grudge go on. They tell me you've a wonderful apartment on top of that +skyscraper of yours." + +"Will you come to dinner some night?" + +"Any time you say. I should like to bring my daughter." + +"She doesn't know?" + +"No. Heard of Hawksley; thinks he's English." + +"I am certainly agreeable." This would be a distinct advantage to Kitty. +"I see you have a good book there. I'll take myself off." + +In the Avenue Cutty loaded his pipe. He struck a match on the +flagstone and cupped it over the bowl of his pipe, thereby throwing his +picturesque countenance into ruddy relief. Opposite emotions filled +the hearts of the two men watching him--in one, chagrin; in the other, +exultation. + +Cutty decided to walk downtown, the night being fine. He set his foot +to a long, swinging stride. An elephant on his hands, truly. Poor devil, +for a fad! Nobody wanted him, not even those who wished him well. Wanted +to become an American citizen. He would have been tolerably safe in +England. Here he would never be free of danger. A ranch. The beggar +would have a chance out there in the West. The anarchist and the +Bolshevik were town cooties. His one chance, actually. The poor devil! +Kitty had the right idea. It was a mighty fine thing, these times, to be +a citizen under the protection of the American doctrine. + +Three hundred thousand! And Karlov had got that along with the drums. +The devil's own for luck! The fool would be able to start some fine +ructions with all that capital behind him. Episodes in the night. + +Kitty dreamed of wonderful rose gardens, endless and changing; but +strive as she would she could not find Cutty anywhere, which worried +her, even in her dream. + +The nurse heard the patient utter a single word several times before he +fell asleep. + +"What is it?" she asked. + +"Fan!" And he smiled. + +She hunted for the palm leaf, but with a slight gesture he signified +that that was not what he wanted. + +Cutty played solitaire with his chrysoprase until the telephone broke in +upon his reveries. What he heard over the wire disturbed him greatly. + +"You were followed from the Avenue to the apartment." + +"How do you know?" + +"I am Henderson. You assigned me to watch the apartment in Eightieth +through the night. I followed the man who followed you. He saw your face +when you lit the pipe. When the banker left Miss Conover he was followed +home. That established him in the affair. The follower hung round, and +so did I. You appeared. He took a chance shot in the dark. Not sure, but +doing a bit of clever guessing." + +"You still followed him?" + +"Yes." + +"Where did he wind up?" + +"A house in the warehouse district. Vacant warehouses on each side. Some +new nest. I can lead you to it, sir, any time you wish." + +"Thanks." + +Cutty pushed aside the telephone and returned to his green stones. After +all, why worry? It was unfortunate, of course, but the apartment was +more inaccessible than the top of the Matterhorn. Still, they might +discover what his real business was and interfere seriously with his +future work on the other side. A ruin in the warehouse district? A good +place to look for Stefani Gregor--if he were still alive. + +He was. And in his dark room he cried piteously for water--water--water! + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +A March day, sunny and cloudless, with fresh, bracing winds. Green +things pushed up from the soil; an eternal something was happening to +the tips of the tree branches; an eternal something was happening in +young hearts. A robin shook the dust of travel from his wings and bathed +publicly in a park basin. + +Here and there under the ten thousand roofs of the great city poets were +busy with inkpots, trying to say an old thing in a new way. Woe to the +pinched soul that did not expand this day, for it was spring. Expansion! +Nature--perhaps she was relenting a little, perhaps she saw that +humanity was sliding down the scale, withering, and a bit of extra +sunshine would serve to check the descension and breed a little +optimism. + +Cutty's study. The sunlight, thrown westward, turned windows and roofs +and towers into incomparable bijoux. The double reflection cast a white +light into the room, lifting out the blue and old-rose tints of the +Ispahan rug. + +Cutty shifted the chrysoprase, irresolutely for him. A dozen problems, +and it was mighty hard to decide which to tackle first. Principally +there was Kitty. He had not seen her in four days, deeming it advisable +for her not to call for the present. The Bolshevik agent who had +followed him from the banker's might decide, without the aid of some +connecting episode, that he had wasted his time. + +It did not matter that Kitty herself was no longer watched and followed +from her home to the office, from the office home. Was Karlov afraid +or had he some new trick up his sleeve? It was not possible that he +had given up Hawksley. He was probably planning an attack from some +unexpected angle. To be sure that Karlov would not find reason to +associate him with Kitty, Cutty had remained indoors during the daytime +and gone forth at night in his dungarees. + +Problem Two was quite as formidable. The secret agent who had passed +as a negotiator for the drums of jeopardy had disappeared. That had +sinister significance. Karlov did not intend to sell the drums; merely +wanted precise information regarding the man who had advertised for +them. If the secret-service man weakened under torture, Cutty recognized +that his own usefulness would be at an end. He would have to step aside +and let the great currents sweep on without him. In that event these +fifty-two years would pile upon his head, full measure; for the only +thing that kept him vigorous was action, interest. Without some great +incentive he would shrivel up and blow away--like some exhumed mummy. + +Problem Three. How the deuce was he going to fascinate Kitty if he +couldn't see her? But there was a bit of silver lining here. If +he couldn't see her, what chance had Hawksley? The whole sense and +prompting of this problem was to keep Kitty and Hawksley apart. How this +was accomplished was of no vital importance. Problem Three, then, hung +fire for the present. Funny, how this idea stuck in his head, that +Hawksley was a menace to Kitty. One of those fool ideas, probably, but +worth trying out. + +Problem Four. That night, all on his own, he would make an attempt +to enter that old house sandwiched between the two vacant warehouses. +Through pressure of authority he had obtained keys to both warehouses. +There would be a trap on the roof of that house. Doubtless it would be +covered with tin; fairly impregnable if latched below. But he could find +out. From the third-floor windows of either warehouse the drop was not +more than six feet. If anywhere in town poor old Stefani Gregor would be +in one of those rooms. But to storm the house frontally, without being +absolutely sure, would be folly. Gregor would be killed. The house was +in fact an insane asylum, occupied by super-insane men. Warned, they +were capable of blowing the house to kingdom come, themselves with it. + +Problem Five was a mere vanishing point. He doubted if he would ever see +those emeralds. What an infernal pity! + +He built a coronet and leaned back, a wisp of smoke darting up from the +bowl of his pipe. + +"I say, you know, but that's a ripping game to play!" drawled a tired +voice over his shoulder. + +Cutty turned his head, to behold Hawksley, shaven, pale, and handsome, +wrapped in a bed quilt and swaying slightly. + +"What the deuce are you doing out of your room?" growled Cutty, but with +the growl of a friendly dog. + +Hawksley dropped into a chair weakly. "End of my rope. Got to talk to +someone. Go dotty, else. Questions. Skull aches with 'em. Want to know +whether this is a foretaste of the life I have a right to live--or the +beginning of death. Be a good sport, and let's have it out." + +"What is it you wish to know?" asked Cutty, gently. The poor beggar! + +"Where I am. Who you are. What happened to me. What is going to happen +to me," rather breathlessly. "Don't want any more suspense. Don't want +to look over my shoulder any more. Straight ahead. All the cards on the +table, please." + +Cutty rose and pushed the invalid's chair to a window and drew another +up beside it. + +"My word, the top of the world! Bally odd roost." + +"You will find it safer here than you would on the shores of Kaspuskoi +More," replied Cutty, gravely. "The Caspian wouldn't be a healthy place +for you now." + +With wide eyes Hawksley stared across the shining, wavering roofs. A +pause. "What do you know?" he asked, faintly. + +"Everything. But wait!" Cutty fetched one of the photographs and laid it +upon the young man's knees. "Know who this is--Two-Hawks?" + +A strained, tense gesture as Hawksley seized the photograph; then his +chin sank slowly to his chest. A moment later Cutty was profoundly +astonished to see something sparkle on its way down the bed quilt. +Tears! + +"I'm sorry!" cried Cutty, troubled and embarrassed. "I'm terribly sorry! +I should have had the decency to wait a day or two." + +"On the contrary, thank you!" Hawksley flung up his head. "Nothing in +all God's muddied world could be more timely--the face of my mother! +I am not ashamed of these tears. I am not afraid to die. I am not even +afraid to live. But all the things I loved--the familiar earth, the +human beings, my dog--gone. I am alone." + +"I'm sorry," repeated Cutty, a bit choked up. This was honest misery and +it affected him deeply. He felt himself singularly drawn. + +"I want to live. Because I am young? No. I want to prove to the shades +of those who loved me that I am fit to go on. So my identity is known to +you?"--dejectedly. + +"Yes. You wish me to forget what I know?" + +"Will you?"--eagerly. "Will you forget that I am anything but a naked, +friendless human being?" + +"Yes. But your enemies know." + +"I rather fancy they will keep the truth to themselves. Let them publish +my identity, and a hundred havens would be offered. Your Government +would protect me." + +"It is doing so now, indirectly. But why do you not want it known?" + +"Freedom! Would I have it if known? Could I trust anybody? Would it not +be essentially the old life in a new land? I want a new life in a new +land. I want to be born again. I want to be what you patently are, an +American. That is why I risked life a hundred times in coming all these +miles, why I sit in this chair before you, with the room rocking because +they battered in my head. I do not offer a human wreck, an illiterate +mind, in exchange for citizenship. I bring a tolerably decent manhood. +Try me! Always I have admired you people. Always we Russians have. +But there is no Russia now that I can ever return to!" Hawksley's head +drooped again and his bloodshot eyes closed. + +Cutty sensed confusion, indecision; all his deductions were upset in +the face of this strange appeal. Russian, born of an Italian mother +and speaking Oxford English as if it were his birthright; and wanting +citizenship! Wasn't ashamed of his tears; wasn't afraid to die or to +live! Cutty searched quickly for a new handhold to his antagonism, but +he found only straws. He was honest enough to realize that he had built +this antagonism upon a want, a desire; there was no foundation for it. +Downright likeable. A chap who had gone through so much, who was in such +a pitiable condition, would not have the wit to manufacture character, +camouflage his soul. + +"Hang it!" he said, briskly. "You shall have your chance. Talk like that +will carry a man anywhere in this country. You shall stay here until +you are strong again. Then some night I'll put you on your train for +Montana. You want to ask questions. I'll save you the trouble by telling +you what I know." + +But his narrative contained no mention of the emeralds. Why? A bit +conscience-stricken because, if he could, he was going to rob his guest +on the basis that findings is keepings? Cutty wasn't ready to analyze +the omission. Perhaps he wanted Hawksley himself to inquire about the +stones; test him out. If he asked frankly that would signify that he +had brought the stones in honestly, paid his obligations to the Customs. +Otherwise, smuggling; and in that event conscience wouldn't matter; +the emeralds became a game anybody could take a hand in--anybody who +considered the United States Customs an infringement upon human rights. + +What a devil of a call those stones had for him! Did they mean anything +to Hawksley aside from their intrinsic value? But for the nebulous idea, +originally, that the emeralds were mixed up somewhere in this adventure, +Cutty knew that he would have sent Hawksley to a hospital, left him to +his fate, and never known who he was. + +All through the narration Hawksley listened motionless, with his eyes +closed, possibly to keep the wavering instability of the walls from +interfering with his assimilation of this astonishing series of fact. + +"Found you insensible on the floor," concluded Cutty, "hoisted you to my +shoulders, took you to the street--and here you are!" + +Hawksley opened his eyes. "I say, you know, what a devil of an old +Sherlock you must be! And you carried me on your shoulders across that +fire escape? Ripping! When I stepped back into that room I heard a +rushing sound. I knew! But I didn't have the least chance.... You and +that bully girl!" + +Cutty swore under his breath. He had taken particular pains to avoid +mentioning Kitty; and here, first off, the fat was in the fire. He +remembered now that he had told Hawksley that Kitty had saved his life. +Fortunately, the chap wasn't keen enough with that banged-up head of his +to apply reason to the omission. + +"Saved my life. Suppose she doesn't want me to know." + +Cutty jumped at this. "Doesn't care to be mixed up with the Bolshevik +end of it. Besides, she doesn't know who you are." + +"The fewer that know the better. But I'll always remember her kindness +and that bally pistol with the fan in it. But you? Why did you bother to +bring me up here?" + +"Couldn't decently leave you where Karlov could get to you again." + +"Is Stefani Gregor dead?" + +"Don't know; probably not. But we are hunting for him." Cutty had not +explained his interest in Gregor. Those plaguey stones again. They were +demoralizing him. Loot. + +"You spoke of Karlov. Who is he?" + +"Why, the man who followed you across half the world." + +"There were many. What is he like?" + +"A gorilla." + +"Ah!" Hawksley became galvanized and extended his fists. "God let me +live long enough to put my hands on him! I had the chance the other +day--to blot out his face with my boots! But I couldn't do it! I +couldn't do it!" He sagged in the chair. "No, no! Just a bit groggy. All +right in a moment." + +"By the Lord Harry, I'll see you through. Now buck up. Hear that?" cried +Cutty, throwing up a window. + +"Music." + +"Look through that street there. See the glint of bayonets? American +soldiers, marching up Fifth Avenue, thousands of them, freemen who broke +the vaunted Hindenburg Line. God bless 'em! Americans, every mother's +son of 'em; who went away laughing, who returned laughing, who will go +back to their jobs laughing. The ability to laugh, that's America. Do +you know how to laugh?" + +"I used to. I'm jolly weak just now. But I'll grin if you want me to." +And Hawksley grinned. + +"That's the way. A grin in this country will take you quite as far. All +right. In five years you'll be voting. I'll see to that. Now back to bed +with you, and no more leaving it until the nurse says so. What you need +is rest." + +Cutty sent a call to the nurse, who was standing undecidedly in the +doorway; and together they put the derelict back to bed. Then Cutty +fetched the photograph and set it on top of the dresser, where Hawksley +could see it. + +"Now, no more gallivanting about." + +"I promise, old top. This bed is a little bit of all right. I say!" + +"What?" + +"How long am I to be here?" + +"If you're good, two weeks," interposed the nurse. + +"Two weeks? I say, would you mind doing me a trifling favour? I'd like a +violin to amuse myself with." + +"A fiddle? I don't know a thing about 'em except that they sound good." +Cutty pulled at his chin. + +"Whatever it costs I'll reimburse you the day I'm up." + +"All right. I'll bring you a bundle of them, and you can do your own +selecting." + +Out in the corridor the nurse said: "I couldn't hold him. But he'll be +easier now that he's got the questions off his mind. He will have to be +humoured a lot. That's one of the characteristics of head wounds." + +"What do you think of him?" + +"He seems to be gentle and patient; and I imagine he's hard to resist +when he wants anything. Winning, you'd call it. I suppose I mustn't ask +who he really is?" + +"No. Poor devil. The fewer that know, the better. I'll be home round +three." + +Once in the street, Cutty was besieged suddenly with the irresistible +desire to mingle with the crowd over in the Avenue, to hear the military +bands, the shouts, to witness the gamut of emotions which he knew would +attend this epochal day. Of course he would view it all from the aloof +vantage of the historian, and store away commentaries against future +needs. + +And what a crowd it was! He was elbowed and pushed, jostled and trod +on, carried into the surges, relegated to the eddies; and always +the metallic taptap of steel-shod boots on the asphalt, the bayonets +throwing back the radiant sunshine in sharp, clear flashes. The keen, +joyous faces of those boys. God, to be young like that! To have come +through that hell on earth with the ability still to smile! Cutty felt +the tears running down his cheeks. Instinctively he knew that this was +to be his last thrill of this order. He was fifty-two. + +"Quit your crowding there!" barked a voice under his chin. + +"Sorry, but it's those behind me," said Cutty, looking down into a +florid countenance with a raggedy gray moustache and a pair of blue eyes +that were blinking. + +"I'm so damned short I can't see anything!" + +"Neither can I." + +"You could if you wiped your eyes." + +"You're crying yourself," declared Cutty. + +"Blinking jackass! Got anybody out there?" + +"All of 'em." + +"I get you, old son of a gun! No flesh and blood, but they're ours all +the same. Couple of old fools; huh?" + +"Sure pop! What right have two old codgers got here, anyhow? What +brought you out?" + +"What brought you?" + +"Same thing." + +"Damn it! If I could only see something!" + +Cutty put his hands upon the shoulders of this chance acquaintance and +propelled him toward the curb. There were cries of protest, curses, +catcalls, but Cutty bored on ahead until he got his man where he could +see the tin hats, the bayonets, and the colours; and thus they stood for +a full hour. Each time the flag went by the little man yanked off his +derby and turned truculently to see that Cutty did the same. + +"Say," he said as they finally dropped back, "I'd offer to buy a drink, +only it sounds flat." + +"And it would taste flat after a mighty wine like this," replied Cutty. +"Maybe you've heard of the nectar of the gods. Well, you've just drunk +it, my friend." + +"I sure have. Those kids out there, smiling after all that hell; and you +and me on the sidewalk, blubbering over 'em! What's the answer? We're +Americans!" + +"You said it. Good-bye." + +Cutty pressed on to the flow and went along with it, lighter in the +heart than he had been in many a day. These two million who lined Fifth +Avenue, who cheered, laughed, wept, went silent, cheered again, what +did their presence here signify? That America's day had come; that as a +people they were homogeneous at last; that that which laws had failed to +bring forth had been accomplished by an ideal. + +Bolshevism, socialism--call it what you will--would beat itself into +fragments against this Rock of Democracy, which went down to the centre +of the world and whose pinnacle touched the stars. Reincarnation; the +simple ideals of the forefathers restored. And with this knowledge +tingling in his thoughts--and perhaps there was a bit of spring in +his heart--Cutty continued on, without destination, chin jutting, eyes +shining. He was an American! + +He might have continued on indefinitely had he not seen obliquely a +window filled with musical instruments. + +Hawksley's fiddle! He had all but forgotten. All right. If the poor +beggar wanted to scrape a fiddle, scrape it he should. The least he, +Cutty, could do would be to accede to any and every whim Hawksley +expressed. Wasn't he planning to rob the beggar of the drums, happen +they ever turned up? But how the deuce to pick out a fiddle which would +have a tune in it? Of all the hypercritical duffers the fiddler was the +worst. Beside a fiddler of the first rank the rich old maid with the +poodle was a hail fellow well met. + +Of course Gregor had taught the chap. That meant he would know +instantly; just as his host would instantly observe the difference +between green glass and green beryl. + +Cutty turned into the shop, infinitely amused. Fiddles! What next? +Having constituted a guardianship over Kitty, he was now playing +impressario to Hawksley. As if he hadn't enough parts to play! Wouldn't +he be risking his life to-night trying to find where Stefani Gregor was? +Fiddles! Fiddles and emeralds! What a choice old hypocrite he was! + +Fate has a way of telling you all about it--afterward; conceivably, that +humanity might continue to reproduce its species. Otherwise humanity +would proceed to extinguish itself forthwith. Thus, Cutty was totally +unaware upon entering the shop that he was about to tear off its hinges +the door he was so carefully bolting and latching and padlocking between +Kitty Conover and this duffer who wanted to fiddle his way through +convalescence. + +Where there is fiddling there is generally dancing. If it be not the +feet, then it will be the soul. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +There are some men who know a little about all things and a great deal +about many. Such a man was Cutty. But as he approached the counter +behind which stood an expectant clerk he felt for once that he was in a +far country. There were fiddles and fiddles, just as there were emeralds +and emeralds. Never again would he laugh over the story of the man who +thought Botticelli was a manufacturer of spool thread. He attacked the +problem, however, like the thoroughbred he was--frankly. + +"I want to buy a violin," he began, knowing that in polite musical +circles the word fiddle was taboo. "I know absolutely nothing at all +about quality or price. Understand, though, while you might be able to +fool me, you wouldn't fool the man I'm buying it for. Now what would you +suggest?" + +The clerk--a salesman familiar with certain urban types, thinly +including the Fifth Avenue, which came in for talking-machine +records--recognized in this well-dressed, attractive elderly man that +which he designated the swell. Hateful word, yes, but having a perfectly +legitimate niche, since in the minds of the hoi polloi it nicely +describes the differences between the poor gentleman and the gentleman +of leisure. To proceed with the digression, to no one is the word more +hateful than to the individual to whom it is applied. Cutty would have +blushed at the clerk's thought. + +"Perhaps I'd better get the proprietor," was the clerk's suggestion. + +"Good idea," Cutty agreed. "Take my card along with you." This was +a Fifth Avenue shop, and Cutty knew there would be a Who's Who or a +Bradstreet somewhere about. + +In the interim he inspected the case-lined walls. Trombones. He +chuckled. Lucky that Hawksley's talent didn't extend in this direction. +True, he himself collected drums, but he did not play them. Something +odd about music; human beings had to have it, the very lowest in the +scale. A universal magic. He was himself very fond of good music; but +these days he fought shy of it; it had the faculty of sweeping him back +into the twenties and reincarnating vanished dreams. + +After a certain length of time, from the corner of his eye he saw the +clerk returning with the proprietor, the latter wearing an amiable +smile, which probably connoted a delving into the aforesaid volumes of +attainment and worth. Cutty hoped this was so, as it would obviate the +necessity of going into details as to who he was and what he had. + +"Your name is familiar to me," began the proprietor. "You collect +antique drums. My clerk tells me that you wish to purchase a good +violin." + +"Very good. I have in my apartment rather a distinguished guest who +plays the violin for his own amusement. He is ill and cannot select for +himself. Now I know a little about music but nothing about violins." + +"I suggest that I personally carry half a dozen instruments to your +apartment and let your guest try them. How much is he willing to pay?" + +"Top price, I should say. Shall I make a deposit?" + +"If you don't mind. Merely precautionary. Half a dozen violins will +represent quite a sum of money; and taxicabs are unreliable animals. A +thousand against accidents. What time shall I call?" The proprietor's +curiosity was stirred. Musical celebrities, as he had occasion to know, +were always popping up in queer places. Some new star probably, whose +violin had been broken and who did not care to appear in public before +the hour of his debut. + +"Three o'clock," said Cutty. + +"Very well, sir. I promise to bring the violins myself." + +Cutty wrote out his check for a thousand and departed, the chuckle still +going on inside of him. Versatile old codger, wasn't he? + +Promptly at three the dealer arrived, his arms and his hands gripping +violin cases. Cutty hurried to his assistance, accepted a part of the +load, and beckoned to the man to follow him. The cases were placed on +the floor, and the dealer opened them, putting the rosin on a single +bow. + +Hawksley, a fresh bandage on his head, his shoulders propped by pillows, +eyed the initial manoeuvres with frank amusement. + +"I say, you know, would you mind tuning them for me? I'm not top hole." + +The dealer's eyebrows went up. An Englishman? Bewildered, he bent to the +trifling labour of tuning the violins. Hawksley rejected the first two +instruments after thrumming the strings with his thumb. He struck up a +melody on the third but did not finish it. + +"My word! If you have a violin there why not let me have it at once?" + +The dealer flushed. "Try this, sir. But I do not promise you that I +shall sell it." + +"Ah!" Hawksley stretched out his hands to receive the instrument. + +Of course Cutty had heard of Amati and Stradivari, master and pupil. He +knew that all famous violinists possessed instruments of these schools, +and that such violins were practically beyond the reach of many. Only +through some great artist's death or misfortune did a fine violin return +to the marts. But the rejected fiddles had sounded musically enough for +him and looked as if they were well up in the society of select fiddles. +The fiddle Hawksley now held in his hands was dull, almost black. The +maple neck was worn to a shabby gray and the varnish had been sweated +off the chin rest. + +Hawksley laid his fingers on the strings and drew the bow with a +powerful flourishing sweep. The rich, sonorous tones vibrated after the +bow had passed. Then followed the tricks by which an artist seeks +to discover flaws or wolf notes. A beatific expression settled upon +Hawksley face. He nestled the violin comfortably under his chin and +began to play softly. Cutty, the nurse, and the dealer became images. + +Minors; a bit of a dance; more minors; nothing really begun, nothing +really finished--sketches, with a melancholy note running through them +all. While that pouring into his ears enchained his body it stirred +recollections in Cutty's mind: The fair at Novgorod; the fiddling +mountebanks; Russian. + +Perhaps the dealer's astonishment was greatest. An Englishman! Who ever +heard of an Englishman playing a violin like that? + +"I will buy it," said Hawksley, sinking back. + +"Sir," began the dealer, "I am horribly embarrassed. I cannot sell +that violin because it isn't mine. It is an Amati worth ten thousand +dollars." + +"I will give you twelve." + +"But, sir--" + +"Name a price," interrupted Hawksley, rather imperiously. "I want it." + +Cutty understood that he was witnessing a flash of the ancient blood. To +want anything was to have it. + +"I repeat, sir, I cannot sell it. It belongs to a Hungarian who is now +in Hungary. I loaned him fifteen hundred and took the Amati as security. +Until I learn if he is dead I cannot dispose of the violin. I am sorry. +But because you are a real artist, sir, I will loan it to you if you +will make a deposit of ten thousand against any possible accident, and +that upon demand you will return the instrument to me." + +"That's fair enough," interposed Cutty. + +"I beg pardon," said Hawksley. "I agree. I want it, but not at the price +of any one's dishonesty." + +He turned his head toward Cutty, "You're a thoroughbred, sir. This will +do more to bring me round than all the doctors in the world." + +"But what the deuce is the difference?" Cutty demanded with a gesture +toward the rejected violins. + +The dealer and Hawksley exchanged smiles. Said the latter: "The other +violins are pretty wooden boxes with tolerable tunes in their insides. +This has a soul." He put the violin against his cheek again. + +Massenet's "Elegie," Moszkowski's "Serenata," a transcription, and then +the aria from Lucia. Not compositions professional violinists would have +selected. Cutty felt his spine grow cold as this aria poured goldenly +toward heaven. He understood. Hawksley was telling him that the shade +of his glorious mother was in this room. The boy was right. Some fiddles +had souls. An odd depression bore down upon him. Perhaps this surprising +music, topping his great emotions of the morning, was a straw too much. +There were certain exaltations that could not be sustained. + +A whimsical forecast: This chap here, in the dingy parlour of his +Montana ranch, playing these indescribable melodies to the stars, +his cowmen outside wondering what was the matter with their "inards." +Somehow this picture lightened the depression. + +"My fingers are stiff," said Hawksley. "My hand is tired. I should like +to be alone." He lay back rather inertly. + +In the corridor Cutty whispered to the dealer: "What do you think of +him?" + +"As he says, his touch shows a little stiffness, but the wonderful fire +is there. He's an amateur, but a fine one. Practice will bring him to +a finish in no time. But I never heard an Englishman play a violin like +that before." + +"Nor I," Cutty agreed. "When the owner sends for that fiddle let me +know. Mr. Hawksley might like to dicker for it. If you know where the +owner is you might cable that you have an offer of twelve thousand." + +"I'm sorry, but I haven't the least idea where the owner is. However, +there is an understanding that if the loan isn't covered in eighteen +months the instrument becomes salable for my own protection. There is a +year still to run." + +Four o'clock found Cutty pacing his study, the room blue with smoke. +Of all the queer chaps he had met in his varied career this Two-Hawks +topped the lot. The constant internal turmoil that must be going on, the +instincts of the blood--artist and autocrat! And in the end, the owner +of a cattle ranch, if he had the luck to get there alive! Dizzy old +world. + +Something else happened at four o'clock. A policeman strolled into +Eightieth Street. He was at peace with the world. Spring was in his +whistle, in his stride, in the twirl of his baton. Whenever he passed a +shop window he made it serve as a mirror. No waistline yet--a comforting +thought. + +Children swarmed the street and gathered at corners. The older ones +played boldly in midstreet, while the toddlers invented games that kept +them to the sidewalk and curb. The policeman came stealthily upon one +of these latter groups--Italians. At the sight of his brass buttons they +fled precipitately. He laughed. Once in a month of moons he was able to +get near enough to touch them. Natural. Hadn't he himself hiked in the +old days at the sight of a copper? Sure, he had. + +A bit of colour on the sidewalk attracted his eye, and he picked up the +object. Something those kids had been playing with. A bit of red glass +out of a piece of cheap jewellery. Not half bad for a fake. He would put +one over on Maggie when he turned in for supper. Certainly this was the +age of imitation. You couldn't buy a brass button with any confidence. +He put the trinket in his pocket and continued on, soon to forget it. + +At six he was off duty. As he was leaving the precinct the desk sergeant +called him back. + +"Got change for a dollar, an' I'll settle that pinochle debt," offered +the sergeant. + +"I'll take a look." The policeman emptied his coin pocket. + +"What's that yuh got there?" + +"Which?" + +"The red stone?" + +"Oh, that? Picked it up on the sidewalk. Some Italian kids dropped it as +they skedaddled." + +"Let's have a look." + +"Sure." The policeman passed over the stone. + +"Gee! That looks like real money. Say, they can do anything with glass +these days." + +"They sure can." + +A man in civilian clothes--a detective from headquarters--went up to the +desk. "What you guys got there?" + +"A ruby this boob picks up off'n the sidewalk," said the sergeant, +winking at the finder, who grinned. + +"Let's have a squint at it." + +The stone was handed to him. The detective stared at it carefully, +holding it on his palm and rocking it gently under the desk light. +Crimson darts of flame answered to this treatment. He pushed back his +hat. + +"Well, you boobs!" he drawled. + +"What's the matter?" + +"Matter? Why, this is a ruby! A whale of a ruby, an' pigeon blood at +that! I didn't work in the' appraiser's office for nothing. But for +a broken point--kids probably tried to crack it--it would stack up +somewhere between three and four thousand dollars!" + +The sergeant and the policemen barked simultaneously: "What?" + +"A pigeon blood. Where was it you found it?" + +"Holy Moses! On Eightieth." + +"Any chance of finding that bunch of kids?" + +"Not a chance, not a chance! If I got the hull district here there +wouldn't be nothin' doin'. The kids'd be too scared t' remember +anything. A pigeon-blood ruby, an' I wasn't gonna pick it up at first!" + +"Lock it up, sergeant," ordered the detective. "I'll pass the word +to headquarters. Too big for a ring. Probably fallen from a pin. But +there'll be a holler in a few hours. Lost or stolen, there'll be some +big noise. You two boobs!" + +"Well, whadda yuh know about that?" whined the policeman. "An' me +thinkin' it was glass!" + +But there was no big noise. No one had reported the loss or theft of a +pigeon-blood ruby of unusual size and quality. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +Kitty came home at nine that night, dreadfully tired. She had that day +been rocked by so many emotions. She had viewed the parade from the +windows of a theatrical agency, and she had cheered and cried like +everybody else. Her eyes still smarted, and her throat betrayed her +every time she recalled what she had seen. Those boys! + +Loneliness. She had dined downtown, and on the way home the shadow had +stalked beside her. Loneliness. Never before had these rooms seemed so +empty, empty. If God had only given her a brother and he had marched in +that glorious parade, what fun they two would be having at this moment! +Empty rooms; not even a pet. + +Loneliness. She had been a silly little fool to stand so aloof, just +because she was poor and lived in a faded locality. She mocked herself. +Poor but proud, like the shopgirl in the movies. Denied herself +companionship because she was ashamed of her genteel poverty. And now +she was paying for it. Silly little fool! It wasn't as if she did not +know how to make and keep friends. She knew she had attractions. Just a +senseless false pride. The best friends in the world, after a series of +rebuffs, would drop away. Her mother's friends never called any more, +because of her aloofness. She had only a few girl friends, and even +these no doubt were beginning to think her uppish. + +She did not take off her hat and coat. She wandered through the empty +rooms, undecided. If she went to a movie the rooms would be just as +lonely when she returned. Companionship. The urge of it was so strong +that there was a temptation to call up someone, even someone she had +rebuffed. She was in the mood to confess everything and to make an +honest attempt to start all over again--to accept friendship and let +pride go hang. Impulsively she started for the telephone, when the +doorbell rang. + +Immediately the sense of loneliness fell away. Another chapter in +the great game of hide and seek that had kept her from brooding until +to-night? The doorbell carried a new message these days. Nine o'clock. +Who could be calling at that hour? She had forgotten to advise Cutty +of the fact that someone had gone through the apartment. She could not +positively assert the fact. Those articles in her bureau she herself +might have disturbed. She might have taken a handkerchief in a hurry, +hunted for something under the lingerie impatiently. Still she could +not rid herself of the feeling that alien hands had been rifling her +belongings. Not Bernini, decidedly. + +Remembering Cutty's advice about opening the door with her foot against +it, she peered out. No emissary of Bolshevisim here. A weary little +messenger boy with a long box in his arms called her name. + +"Miz Conover?" + +"Yes." + +The boy thrust the box into her hands and clumped to the stairhead. +Kitty slammed the door and ran into the living room, tearing open the +box as she ran. Roses from Cutty; she knew it. The old darling! Just +when she was on the verge of breaking down and crying! She let the +box fall to the floor and cuddled the flowers to her heart, her eyes +filling. Cutty. + +One of those ideas which sometime or another spring into the minds +of all pretty women who are poor sprang into hers--an idea such as an +honest woman might muse over, only to reject. Sinister and cynical. +Kitty was at this moment in rather a desperate frame of mind. Those two +inherent characteristics, which she had fought valiantly--love of good +times and of pretty clothes--made ingress easy for this sinister and +cynical idea. Having gained a foothold it pressed forward boldly. Cutty, +who had everything--strength, comeliness, wisdom, and money. To live +among all those beautiful things, never to be lonely again, to be waited +on, fussed over, made much of, taken into the high world. Never more to +add up accounts, to stretch five-dollar bills across the chasm of seven +days. An old man's darling! + +"No, no, no!" she burst out, passionately. She drew a hand across her +eyes. As if that gesture could rub out an evil thought! It is all very +well to say "Avaunt!" But if the idea will not? "I couldn't, I couldn't! +I'd be a liar and a cheat. But he is so nice! If he did want me!... No, +no! Just for comforts! I couldn't! What a miserable wretch I am!" + +She caught up the copper jug and still holding the roses to her heart, +the tears streaming down her cheeks, rushed out to the kitchen for +water. She dropped the green stems into the jug, buried her face in +the buds to cool the hot shame on her cheeks, and remembered--what a +ridiculous thing the mind was!--that she had three shirt waists to iron. +She set the jug on the kitchen table, where it remained for many hours, +and walked over to the range, to the flatiron shelf. As she reached for +a flatiron her hand stopped in midair. + +A fat black wallet! Instantly she knew who had placed it there. That +poor Johnny Two-Hawks! + +Kitty lifted out the wallet from behind the flatirons. No doubt of it, +Johnny Two-Hawks had placed it there when she had gone to the speaking +tube to summon the janitor. Not knowing if he would ever call for it! +Preferring that she rather than his enemies should have it. And without +a word! What a simple yet amazing hiding place; and but for the need of +a flatiron the wallet would have stayed there until she moved. Left it +there, with the premonition that he was heading into trouble. But +what if they had killed him? How would she have explained the wallet's +presence in her apartment? Good gracious, what an escape! + +Without direct consciousness she raised the flap. She saw the edges of +money and documents; but she did not touch anything. There was no +need. She knew it belonged to Johnny Two-Hawks. Of course there was +an appalling attraction. The wallet was, figuratively, begging to be +investigated. But resolutely she closed the flap. Why? Because it was +as though Two-Hawks had placed the wallet in her hands, charging her +to guard it against the day he reclaimed it. There was no outward proof +that the wallet was his. She just knew, that was all. + +Still, she examined the outside carefully. In one corner had been +originally a monogram or a crest; effectually obliterated by the +application of fire. + +Who he was and what he was, by a simple turn of the wrist. It was +Cutty's affair now, not hers. He had a legal right to examine the +contents. He was an agent of the Federal Government. The drums of +jeopardy and Stefani Gregor and Johnny Two-Hawks, all interwoven. She +had waited in vain for Cutty to mention the emeralds. What signified his +silence? She had indirectly apprised him of the fact that she knew +the author of that advertisement offering to purchase the drums, no +questions asked. Who but Cutty in New York would know about them? The +mark of the thong. Johnny Two-Hawks had been carrying the drums, and +Karlov's men had torn them from their victim's neck during the battle. +Was there any reason why Cutty should not have taken her completely into +his confidence? Palaces looted. If Stefani Gregor had lived in a palace, +why not his protege? Still, it was possible Cutty was holding back until +he could tell her everything. + +But what to do with it? If she called him up and made known her +discovery, Cutty would rush up as fast as a taxicab could bring him. +He had peremptorily ordered her not to come to his apartment for the +present. But to sit here and wait, to be alone again after he had gone! +It was not to be borne. Orders or no orders, she would carry the wallet +to him. He could lecture her as much as he pleased. To-night, at least, +she would lay aside her part as parlour maid in the drama. It would give +her something to do, keep her mind off herself. Nothing but excitement +would pull her out of this semi-hysterical doldrum. + +She hid the wallet in the pocket of her underskirt. Already her blood +was beginning to dance. She ran into her bedroom for two veils, a gray +automobile puggree and one of those heavy black affairs with butterflies +scattered over it, quite as effectual as a mask. She wound the puggree +about her hat. When the right moment came she would discard the +puggree and drop the black veil. Her coat was of dark blue, lined with +steel-gray taffeta. Turned inside out it would fool any man. She wore +spats. These she would leave behind when she made the change. + +Someone might follow her as far as the Knickerbocker, but beyond there, +never. She was sorry, but she dared not warn Bernini. He might object, +notify Cutty, and spoil everything. + +By the time she reached the street exhilaration suffused her. The +melancholia was gone. The sinister and cynical idea had vanished +apparently. Apparently. Merely it had found a hiding place and was +content to abide there for the present. Such ideas are not without +avenues of retreat; they know the hours of attack. Kitty was alive to +but one fact: The game of hide and seek was on again. She was going to +have some excitement. She was going into the night on an adventure, as +children play at bears in the dark. The youth in her still rejected the +fact that the woof and warp of this adventure were murder and loot and +pain. + +En route to the Subway she never looked back. At Forty-second Street she +detrained, walked into the Knickerbocker, entered the ladies dressing +room, turned her coat, redraped her hat, checked her gaiters, and sought +a taxi. Within two blocks of Cutty's she dismissed the cab and finished +the journey on foot. + +At the left of the lobby was an all-night apothecary's, with a door +going into the lobby. Kitty proceeded to the elevator through this +avenue. Number Four was down, and she stepped inside, raising her veil. + +"You, miss?" + +"Very important. Take me up." + +"The boss is out." + +"No matter. Take me up. + +"You're the doctor!" What a pretty girl she was. No come-on in her eyes, +though. "The boss may not get back until morning. He just went out in +his engineer's togs. He sure wasn't expecting you. + +"Do you know where he went?" + +"Never know. But I'll be in this bird cage until he comes back." + +"I shall have to wait for him." + +"Up she goes!" + +As Kitty stepped out into the corridor a wave of confusion assailed her. +She hadn't planned against Cutty's absence. There was nothing she could +say to the nurse; and if Johnny Two-Hawks was asleep--why, all she could +do would be to curl up on a divan and await Cutty's return. + +The nurse appeared. "You, Miss Conover?" + +"Yes." Kitty realized at once that she must take the nurse into her +confidence. "I have made a really important discovery. Did Cutty say +when he would return?" + +"No. I am not in his confidence to that extent. But I do know that you +assumed unnecessary risks in coming here." + +Kitty shrugged and produced the wallet. "Is Mr. Hawksley awake?" + +"He is." + +"It appears that he left this wallet in my kitchen that night. It might +buck him up if I gave it to him." + +The nurse, eyeing the lovely animated face, conceded that it might. +"Come, I've been trying futilely to read him asleep, but he is restless. +No excitement, please." + +"I'll try not to. Perhaps, after all, you had better give him the +wallet." + +"On the contrary, that would start a series of questions I could not +answer. Come along." + +When Kitty saw Hawksley she gave a little gasp of astonishment. Why, he +was positively handsome! His dark head, standing out boldly against the +bolstering pillows, the fine lines of his face definite, the pallor--he +was like a Roman cameo. Who and what could he be, this picturesque +foundling? + +His glance flashed into hers delightedly. For hours and hours the +constant wonder where she was, why no one mentioned her, why they evaded +his apparently casual questions. To burst upon his vision in the nadir +of his boredom and loneliness like this! She was glorious, this American +girl. She made him think of a golden scabbard housing a fine +Toledo blade. Hadn't she saved his life? More, hadn't she assumed a +responsibility in so doing? Instantly he purposed that she should not be +permitted to resign the office of good Samaritan. He motioned toward the +nurse's chair; and Kitty sat down, her errand in total eclipse. + +"Just when I never felt so lonely! Ripping!" + +His quick smile was so engaging that Kitty answered it--kindred spirits, +subconsciously recognizing each other. Fire; but neither of them +knew that; or that two lonely human beings of opposite sex, in touch, +constitute a first-rate combustible. + +Quietly the nurse withdrew. There would be a tonic in this meeting for +the patient. Her own presence might neutralize the effect. She had not +spent all those dreadful months in base hospitals without acquiring a +keen insight into the needs of sick men. No harm in letting him have +this pretty, self-reliant girl alone to himself for a quarter of an +hour. She would then return with some broth. + +"How--how are you?" asked Kitty, inanely. + +"Top-hole, considering. Quite ready to be killed all over again." + +"You mustn't talk like that!" she protested. + + +"Only to show you I was bucking up. Thank you for doing what you did." + +"I had to do it." + +"Most women would have run away and left me to my fate." + +"Not my kind." + +"Rather not! Your kind would risk its neck to help a stray cat. I say, +what's that you have in your hand?" + +"Good gracious!" Kitty extended the wallet. "It is yours, isn't it?" + +"Yes. I wanted you to bring it to me the way you have. If I hadn't come +back--out of that--it was to be yours." + +"Mine?"--dumfounded. "But----" + +"Why not? Gregor gone, there wasn't a soul in the world. I was hungry, +and you gave me food. I wanted that to pay you. I'll wager you've never +looked into it." + +"I had no right to." + +"See!" He opened the wallet and spread the contents on the counterpane. +"I wasn't so stony as you thought. What? Cash and unregistered bonds. +They would have been yours absolutely." + +"But I don't--I can't quite," Kitty stammered--"but I couldn't have kept +them!" + +"Positively yes. You would have shown them to that ripping guardian of +yours, and he would have made you see." + +"Indeed, yes! He would have been scared to death. You poor man, can't +you see? Circumstantial evidence that I had killed you!" + +"Good Lord! And you're right, too! So it goes. You can't do anything you +want to do. The good Samaritan is never requited; and I wanted to break +the rule. Lord, what a bally mix-up I'd have tumbled you in! I forgot +that you were you, that you would have gone straight to the authorities. +Of course I knew if I pulled through and you found the wallet you would +bring it to me." + +Kitty no longer had a foot on earth. She floated. Her brain floated, +too, because she could not make it think coherently for her. A +fortune--for a dish of bacon and eggs! The magnificence, the utter +prodigality of such generosity! For a dish of bacon and eggs and a +bottle of milk! Had she left home? Hadn't she fallen asleep, the victim +of another nightmare? A corner of the atmosphere cleared a little. +A desire took form; she wanted the nurse to come back and stabilize +things. In a wavering blur she saw the odd young man restore the money +and bonds and other documents to the wallet. + +"I want you to give this to your guardian when he comes in. I want him +to understand. I say, you know, I'm going to love that old thoroughbred! +He's fine. Fancy his carrying me on his shoulders and eventually +bringing me up here among the clouds! Americans.... Are you all like +that? And you!" + +Kitty's brain began to make preparations to alight, as it were. Cutty. +That gave her a touch of earth. She heard herself say faintly: "And what +about me?" + +"You were brave and kind. To help an unknown, friendless beggar like +that, when you should have turned him over to the police! Makes me feel +a bit stuffy. They left me for dead. I wonder--" + +"What?" + +"If--it wouldn't have been just as well!" + +"You mustn't talk like that! You just mustn't! You're with friends, +real friends, who want to help you all they can." And then with a little +flash of forced humour, because of the recurrent tightening in her +throat--"Who could be friendless, with all that money?" Instantly she +felt like biting her tongue. He would know nothing of the sad American +habit of trying to be funny to keep a wobbly situation on its legs. +He would interpret it as heartlessness. "I didn't mean that!" With the +Irish impulsiveness which generally weighs acts in retrospection, she +reached over and gripped his hand. + +"I say, you two!" Hawksley closed his eyes for a second. "Wanting to +buck up a chap because you re that sort! All right. I'll stick it out! +You two! And I might be the worst scoundrel unhung!" + +He drew her hand toward his lips, and Kitty had not the power to resist +him. She felt strangely theatrical, a character in a play; for American +men, except in playful burlesque, never kissed their women's hands. The +moment he released the hand the old wave of hysteria rolled over her. +She must fly. The desire to weep, little fool that she was! was breaking +through her defences. Loneliness. The two of them all alone but for +Cutty. She rose, crushing the wallet in her hand. + +Ah, never had she needed that darling mother of hers so much as +now. Tears did not seem to afford relief when one shed them into +handkerchiefs and pillows. But on that gentle bosom, to let loose this +brimming flood, to hear the tender voice consoling! + +"Oh, I say, now! Please!" she heard Johnny Two-Hawks cry out. + +But she rushed on blindly, knocking against the door jamb and almost +upsetting the nurse, who was returning. Somehow she managed to reach the +living room, glad it was dark. Alter sundry reaching about she found +the divan and flung herself upon it. What would he think? What would the +nurse think? That Kitty Conover had suddenly gone stark, raving crazy! +And now that she was in the dark, alone, the desire to weep passed over +and she lay quietly with her face buried in the pillow. But not for +long. + +She sat up. Music--violin music! A gay waltz that made her think of +flashing water, the laughter of children. Tschaikowsky. Thrilled, she +waited for the finale. Silence. Scharwenka's "Polish Dance," with a +swing and a fire beyond anything she had ever heard before. Another +stretch of silence--a silence full of interrogation points. Then a +tender little sketch, quite unfamiliar. But all at once she understood. +He was imploring her to return. She smiled in the dark; but she knew she +was going to remain right where she was. + +"Miss Conover?" It was the voice of the nurse. + +"Yes. I'm over here on the divan." + +"Anything wrong?" + +"Good gracious, no! I'm overtired. A little hysterical, maybe. The +parade to-day, with all those wounded boys in automobiles, the music and +colour and excitement--have rather done me up. And the way I rushed up +here. And not finding Cutty--" + +"Anything I can get for you?" + +"No, thanks. I'll try to snatch a little sleep before Cutty returns." + +"But he may be gone all night!" + +"Will it be so very scandalous if I stay here?" + +"You poor child! Go ahead and sleep. Don't hesitate to call me if you +want anything. I have a mild sedative if you would like it." + +"No, thanks. I did not know that Mr. Hawksley played." + +"Wonderfully! But does it bother you?" + +"It kind of makes me choky." + +"I'll tell him." + +Kitty, now strangely at peace, snuggled down among the pillows. +Some great Polish violinist, who had roused the bitter enmity of the +anarchist? But no; he was Russian. Cutty had admitted that. It struck +her that Cutty knew a great deal more than Kitty Conover; and so far as +she could see there was no apparent reason for this secrecy. She rather +believed she had Cutty. Either he should tell her everything or she +would run loose, Bolshevik or no Bolshevik. + +Sheep. She boosted one over the bars, another and another. Round +somewhere in the thirties the bars dissolved. The next thing she knew +she was blinking in the light, Cutty, his arms folded, staring down at +her sombrely. There was blood on his face and blood on his hands. + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +Karlov moodily touched the shoulder of the man on the cot. Stefani +Gregor puzzled him. He came to this room more often than was wise, +driven by a curiosity born of a cynical philosophy to discover what it +was that reenforced this fragile body against threats and thirst and +hunger. He knew what he wanted of Gregor--the fiddler on his knees +begging for mercy. And always Gregor faced him with that silent calm +which reminded him of the sea, aloof, impervious, exasperating. Only +once since the day he had been locked in this room had Gregor offered +speech. He, Karlov, had roared at him, threatened, baited, but his +reward generally had been a twisted wintry smile. + +He could not offer physical torture beyond the frequent omissions of +food and water; the body would have crumbled. To have planned this for +months, and then to be balked by something as visible yet as elusive +as quicksilver! Born in the same mudhole, and still Boris Karlov the +avenger could not understand Stefani Gregor the fiddler. Perhaps what +baffled him was that so valiant a spirit should be housed in so weak a +body. It was natural that he, Boris, with the body of a Carpathian bear, +should have a soul to match. But that Stefani, with his paper body, +should mock him! The damned bourgeoisie! + +The quality of this unending calm was understandable: Gregor was always +ready to die. What to do with a man to whom death was release? To hold +the knout and to see it turn to water in the hand! In lying he had +overreached. Gregor, having accepted as fact the reported death of Ivan, +had nothing to live for. Having brought Gregor here to torture he had, +blind fool, taken away the fiddler's ability to feel. The fog cleared. +He himself had given his enemy this mysterious calm. He had taken out +Gregor's soul and dissipated it. + +No. Not quite dissipated. What held the body together was the iron +residue of the soul. Venom and blood clogged Karlov's throat. He could +kill only the body, as he had killed the fiddle; he could not reach the +mystery within. Ah, but he had wrung Stefani's heart there. There +were pieces of the fiddle on the table where Gregor had placed them, +doubtless to weep over when he was alone. Why hadn't he thought to break +the fiddle a little each day? + +"Stefani Gregor, sit up. I have come to talk." This was formula. Karlov +did not expect speech from Gregor. + +Slowly the thin arms bore up the torso; slowly the legs swung to the +floor. But the little gray man's eyes were bright and quick to-night. + +"Boris, what is it you want?" + +"To talk"--surprised at this unexpected outburst. + +"No, no. I mean, what is it all about--these killings, these burnings?" + +Karlov was ready at all times to expound the theories that appealed to +his dark yet simple mind--humanity overturned as one overturned the sod +in the springtime to give it new life. + +"To give the proletariat what is his." + +"Ha!" said the little man on the cot. "What is his?" + +"That which capitalism has taken away from him." + +"The proletariat. The lowest in the human scale--and therefore the most +helpless. They shall rule, say you. My poor Russia! Beaten and robbed +for centuries, and now betrayed by a handful of madmen--with brains +atrophied on one side! You are a fool, Boris. Your feet are in strange +quicksands and your head among chimeras. You write some words on a piece +of paper, and lo! you say they are facts. Without first proving your +theories correct you would ram them down the throat of the world. The +world rejects you." + +"Wait and see, damned bourgeoisie!" thundered Karlov, not alive to the +fact that he was being baited. + +"Bourgeoisie? Yes, I am of the middle class; the rogue on top and the +fool below. I see. The rogue and the fool cannot combine unless the +bourgeoisie is obliterated. Go on. I am interested." + +"Under the soviet the government shall be everything." + +"As it was in Prussia." + +Karlov ignored this. "The individual shall never again become rich by +exploiting the poor." + +Karlov strove to speak calmly. Gregor's willingness to discuss the aims +of the proletariat confused him. He suspected some ulterior purpose +behind this apparent amiability. He must hold down his fury until this +purpose was in the open. + +"Well, that is good," Gregor admitted. "But somehow it sounds ancient on +my ear. Was there not a revolution in France?" + +"Fool, it is the world that is revolting!" Karlov paused. "And no man in +the future shall see his sister or his daughter made into a loose woman +without redress." + +"Your proletariat's sister and daughter. But the daughter of the noble +and the daughter of the bourgeoisie--fair game!" + +Sometimes there enters a man's head what might be called a sick idea; +when the vitality is at low ebb and the future holds nothing. Thus there +was a grim and sick idea behind Gregor's gibes. It was in his mind to +die. All the things he had loved had been destroyed. So then, to goad +this madman into a physical frenzy. Once those gorilla-like hands +reached out for him Stefani Gregor's neck would break. + +"Be still, fiddler! You know what I mean. There will be no upper class, +which is idleness and wastefulness; no middle class, the usurers, the +gamblers of necessities, the war makers. One great body of equals shall +issue forth. All shall labour." + +"For what?" + +"The common good." + +"Your Lenine offered peace, bread, and work for the overthrow of +Kerensky. What you have given--murder and famine and idleness. Can there +be common good that is based upon the blood of innocents? Did Ivan ever +harm a soul? Have I?" + +"You!" Karlov trembled. "You--with your damned green stones! Did you not +lure Anna to dishonour with the promise to show her the drums, the sight +of which would make all her dreams come true? A child, with a fairy +story in her head!" + +"You speak of Anna! If you hadn't been spouting your twaddle in taverns +you would have had time to instruct Anna against guilelessness and +superstition." + +"How much did they pay you? Did you fiddle for her to dance?... But I +left their faces in the mud!" + +A madman, with two obsessions. A pitiable Samson with his arms round +the pillars of society to drag it down upon his head because society had +defiled his sister! Ah, how many thousands in Russia like him! A great +yearning filled Gregor's heart, because he understood; but he suppressed +expression of it because the sick idea was stronger. + +"Yes, yes! I loved those green stones because it was born in me to love +beautiful things. Have you forgotten, Boris, the old days in Moscow, +when we were students and I made you weep with my fiddle? There was hope +for you then. You had not become a pothouse orator on the rights of the +proletariat--the red-combed rooster on the smouldering dungheap! Beauty, +no matter in what form, I loved it. Yes, I was mad about those emeralds. +I was always stealing in to see them, to hold them to the light, simply +because they were beautiful." Gregor's hands flew to his throat, which +he bared. "I lured her there! 'Twas I, Boris!... Those beautiful hands of +yours, fit for the butcher's block! Kill me! Kill me!" + +But Karlov shrank back, covering his eyes. "No! I see now! You wish to +die! You shall live!" He rushed toward the far wall, a huge grotesque +shadow rising to meet him--his own, thrown upon the wall by the wavering +candlelight. He turned shaking, for the temptation had been great. + +At once Gregor realized his failure. The tenseness went out of him. He +spoke calmly. "Yes, I wanted to die. I no longer possess anything. I +lied, Boris; but it is useless to tell you that. I knew nothing of Anna +until it was too late. I wanted to die." + +Karlov began to pace furiously, the candle flame springing after him +each time he passed it. + +There was a question in Gregor's mind. It rushed to his lips a dozen +times but he dared not voice it. Olga. Since Karlov could not be tempted +to murder, it would be futile to ask for an additional burden of mental +torture. Perhaps it had not happened--the terrible picture he drew in +his mind--since Karlov had not boasted of it. + +"Come, Boris. There is blood on your hands. What is one more daub of +it?" + +Karlov stopped, scowled, and ran his fingers through his hair. Perhaps +some ugly memory stirred the roots of it. "You wish to die!" + +Gregor bent his head to his hands and Karlov resumed his pacing. After a +while Gregor looked up. + +"Private vengeance. You begin your rule with private vengeance." + +"The vengeance of a people. All the breed. Did France stop at Louis? Do +we tear up the roots of the poisonous toadstool that killed someone we +loved and leave the other toadstools thriving?" + +"To cure the world of all its ills by tearing up the toadstools and the +flowers together--do you call that justice? The proletariat shall have +everything, and he begins by killing off noble and bourgeoisie and +dividing up the loot! Even with his oppression the noble had a right to +live. The bourgeoisie must die because of his benefactions to a people. +The world for the proletariat, and damnation for the rest!" + +"Let each become one of us," cried Karlov, hoarsely. "We give them that +right." + +"You lie! You have done nothing but assassinate them when they +surrendered. But tell me, have not you, Lenine, and Trotzky overlooked +something?" + +"What?" Karlov was vaguely grateful for this diversion. The lust to kill +was still upon him and he was fighting it. He must remember that Gregor +wished to die. "What have we overlooked?" + +"Human nature. Can you tear it apart and reconstruct it, as you would a +clock? What of creative genius in this proletariat millennium of yours?" + +"The state will carefully mother that." + +Gregor laughed sardonically. "Will there be creative genius under your +rule? Will you not suffocate it by taking away the air that energizes +it--ambition? You will have all the present marvels of invention to +start with, but will you ever go beyond? Have you read history and +observed the inexorable? I doubt it. What is progress? A series of +almost imperceptible steps." + +"Which capitalism has always obstructed," flung back Karlov. + +"Which capitalism has always made possible. Curb it, yes; but abolish +it, as you have done in unhappy Russia! Why do you starve there? +Poor fool, because you have assassinated those forces which created +food--that is to say, put it where you could get it. Three quarters of +Russia are against you. You read nothing in that? The efficient and the +inefficient, they shall lie down together as the lion and the ass, +to paraphrase. They shall become equal because you say so. What is, +fundamentally, this Bolshevism? The revolt of the inefficient. The +mantle of horror that was Germany's you have torn from her shoulders and +thrown upon yours. Fools!" + +The anarch's huge fists became knotted; wrinkles corrugated his +forehead; but he did not stir. Gregor wanted to die. + +Gregor pointed with trembling hand toward the brown litter on the table. +"To destroy. You shattered a soul there. You tore mine apart when +you did it. For what? To better humanity? No; to rend something, to +obliterate something that was beautiful. Demolition. Go on. You will +tear and rend until exhaustion comes, then some citizen king, some +headstrong Napoleon, will step in. The French Revolution taught you +nothing. You play 'The Marseillaise' in the Neva Prospekt and miss the +significance of that song. Liberty? You choose license. Equality? You +deny it in your acts. Fraternity? You slaughter your brothers." + +"Be silent!" roared Karlov, wavering. + +But Gregor continued with a new-found hope. He saw that his jeers +were wearing down the other's control. Perhaps the weak side was the +political. Karlov was a fanatic. There might yet be death in those +straining fingers. + +"To seize by confiscation, without justice, indiscriminately all that +the group efficient laboriously constructed. I enter your house, kill +your family and steal your silver. Are your acts fundamentally different +from mine? Remember, I am speaking from the point of view as three +quarters of Russia see it, and all the other civilized nations. There +may be something magnificent in that soviet constitution of yours; but +you have deluged it in blood and folly. Ostensibly you are dividing up +the great estates, but actually you are parcelling them out and charging +rent. You will not own anything. The state shall own all the property. +What will be the patriotism of the man who has nothing? Why defend +something that is only his government's, not his own? You are legalizing +women as cows. The sense of motherhood will vanish when a woman may not +select her mate. What is the greatest thing in the world? The human need +of possession. To own something, however little. The spur of creative +genius. Human beings will never be equal except in lawful privileges. +The skillful will outpace the unskillful; the thrifty will take from +the improvident; genius will overtop mediocrity. And you will change all +this with a scrape of your bloody pen!" + +Karlov's body began to rock and sway like an angry bear's; but still he +held his ground. Gregor wanted to die, to cheat him. + +"What of power?" went on his baiter. "Capitalism of might. Lenine and +Trotzky; are they--have they been--honest? Has Russia actually voted +them into office? They sit in the seats of the mighty by the capitalism +of force. For the capitalism of money, which is progress physical and +moral, you substitute the capitalism of force, which is terror. You +speak of yourselves as internationalists. Bats, that is the judgment +day of God--internationalism! For only on the judgment day will nations +become a single people." + +A short silence. Gregor was beginning to grow weak. Presently he picked +up the thread of his diatribe. + +"I have lived in England, France, Italy, and here. I am competent to +draw comparisons. Where you went to distill poison I went to absorb +facts. And I found that here in this great democracy is the true idea. +But you will not read the lesson." + +Sweat began to drop from Karlov's beetling eyebrows. + +"You will fail miserably here. Why? Because the Americans are the +greatest of individual property owners. The sense of possession is +satisfied. And woe to the fool who suggests they surrender this. Little +wooden houses, thousands and thousands of them, with a small plot of +ground in the rear where a man in the springtime may dig his hands into +the soil and say gratefully to God, 'Mine, mine!' I, too, am a Russ. I +thought in the beginning that you would take this country as an example, +a government of the people, by the people, for the people. Wrongs? Yes. +But day by day these wrongs are being righted. No lesson in this for +Trotzky, a beer-hall orator like yourself. Ten million men drafted to +carry arms. Did they revolt? Shoulder to shoulder the selected millions +marched to the great ships, shoulder to shoulder they pressed toward the +Rhine. No lesson in that! + +"Capitalism, seeking to save its loans, you rant! Capitalism of blood +and money that asked only for simple justice to mankind. The ideal of a +great people--a mixture of all bloods, even German! No lessons in these +tremendous happenings! And you babble about your damned proletariat who +represents the dregs of Russia. What is he? The inefficient, whining +that the other man has the luck, so kill him! Russia, the kindly +ox, fallen among wolves! You cannot tear down the keystone of +civilization--which took seven thousand years to construct--insert it +upside down, and expect the arch to stand. You have your chance to prove +your theories. Prove them in Petrograd and Moscow, and you will not have +to go forth with the torch. And what is this torch but the hidden fear +that you may be wrong?... To wreck the world before you are found out! +You are idiots, and you have turned Russia into a madhouse! Spawns from +the dung-heap!" + +"Damn you, Stefani Gregor!" Karlov rushed to the cot, raised his +terrible fists, his chest heaving. Gregor waited. "No, no! You wish to +die!" The madman swung on his heels and dashed toward the door, sweeping +the pieces of the violin to the floor as he passed the table. + +Gregor feebly drew himself back upon his cot and laid his face in the +pillow. + +"Ivan--my violin--all that I knew and loved--gone! And God will not let +me die!" + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +From a window in one of the vacant warehouses, twenty-odd feet away +Cutty, from an oblique angle, had witnessed the peculiar drama without +being able to grasp head or tail to it. For two hours he had crouched +behind his window, watching the man on the cot and wondering if he would +ever turn his face toward the candlelight. Then Karlov had entered. +Gregor's ironic calm--with the exception of the time he had bared his +throat--and Karlov's tempestuous exit baffled him. To the eye it had the +appearance of a victory for Gregor and a defeat for Karlov, but Cutty +had long ago ceased to believe his eyes without some corroborative +evidence of auricular character. + +He had recognized both men. Karlov answered to Kitty's description as +an old glove answers to the hand. And no man, once having seen Gregor, +could possibly forget his picturesque head. The old chap was alive! This +fact made the night's adventure tally one hundred per cent. How to get a +cheery word to him, to buck him up with, the promise of help? A hard +nut to crack; so many obstacles. Primarily, this was a Federal affair. +Yonder hid the werewolf and his pack, and it would be folly to send +them scattering just for the sake of advising Gregor that he was being +watched over. + +Underneath the official obligation there was a personal interest in not +risking the game to warn Gregor. Cutty was now positive that the drums +of jeopardy were hidden somewhere in this house. To perform three acts, +then: Save Gregor, capture Karlov and his pack, and privately confiscate +the emeralds. Findings were keepings. No compromise regarding those +green stones. It would not particularly hurt his reputation with St. +Peter to play the half rogue once in a lifetime. Besides, St. Peter, +hadn't he stolen something himself back there in the Biblical days; +or got into a scrape or something? The old boy would understand. Cutty +grinned in the dark. + +Any obsession is a blindfold. A straight course lay open to Cutty, +but he chose the labyrinthian because he was obsessed. He wanted +those emeralds. Nothing less than the possession of them would, to his +thinking, round out a varied and active career. Later, perhaps, he would +declare the stones to the customs and pay the duty; perhaps. Thus his +subsequent mishaps this night may be laid to the fact that he thought +and saw through green spectacles. + +The idea that the jewels were hidden near by made it imperative that he +should handle this affair exclusively. Coles, the operative he had sent +to negotiate with Karlov, was conceivably a prisoner upstairs or down. +Coles knew about the drums, and they must not turn up under his eye. +Federal property, in that event. + +If ever he laid his hands upon the drums he would buy something gorgeous +for Kitty. Little thoroughbred! + +Time for work. Without doubt Karlov had cellar exits through this +warehouse or the other. The job on hand would be first to locate these +exits, and then to the trap on the roof. With his pocket lamp blazing a +trail he went down to the cellar and carefully inspected the walls that +abutted those of the house. Nothing on this side. + +He left the warehouse and hugged the street wall for a space. The street +was deserted. Instead of passing Karlov's abode he wisely made a detour +of the block. He reached the entrance to the second warehouse without +sighting even a marauding tom. In the cellar of this warehouse he +discovered a newly made door, painted skillfully to represent the +limestone of the foundation. Tiptop. + +Immediately he outlined the campaign. There should be two drives--one +from the front and another from the roof--so that not an anarchist or +Bolshevik could escape. The mouth of the Federal sack should be held +at this cellar exit. No matter what kind of game he played offside, +the raid itself must succeed absolutely. Nothing should swerve him from +making these plans as perfect as it was humanly possible. He would be +on hand to search Karlov himself. If the drums were not on him he would +return and pick the old mansion apart, lath by lath. Gay old ruffian, +wasn't he? + +Another point worth considering: He would keep his discoveries under +cover until the hour to strike came. Some over-zealous subordinate might +attempt a coup on his own and spoil everything. + +He picked his way to the far end of the cellar, to the doors. Locks +gone. He took it for granted that the real-estate agent would not come +round with prospective tenants. These doors would take them into the +trucking alley, where there were a dozen feasible exits. There was no +way out of the house yard, as the brick wall, ten feet high and running +from warehouse to warehouse, was blind. Now for the trap on the roof. + +He climbed the three flights of stairs crisscrossed and festooned with +ancient cobwebs. Occasionally he sneezed in the crook of his elbow, +philosophizing over the fact that there was a lot of deadwood property +in New York. Americans were eternally on the move. + +The window from which he intended dropping to the house roof was +obdurate. Only the upper half was movable. With hardly any noise at all +he pulled this down, straddled it, balanced himself, secured a good grip +on the ledge, and let himself down. The tips of his shoes, rubber-soled, +just reached the roof. He landed silently. + +The glare of the street lamp at the corner struck the warehouse, and +this indirect light was sufficient to work by. He made the trap after a +series of extra-cautious steps. The roof was slanting and pebbled, and +the least turn of the foot might start a cascade and bell an alarm. A +comfort-loving dress-suiter like himself, playing Old Sleuth, when he +ought to be home and in bed! It was all of two-thirty. What the deuce +would he do when there were no more thrills in life? + +He stooped and caught hold of a corner of the trap to test it--and drew +back with a silent curse. Glass! He had cut his hand. The beggars had +covered the trap with cement and broken glass, sealing it. It would +take time to cut round the trap; and even then he wouldn't be sure; they +might have nailed it down from the inside. The worst of it was he would +have to do the work himself; and in the meantime Karlov would have a +fair wind for his propaganda gas, and perhaps the disposal of the drums +to some collector who wasn't above bargaining for smuggled emeralds. +Odd, though, that Karlov should have made a prisoner of Coles. What lay +behind that manoeuvre? Well, this trap must be liberated; no getting +round that. + +Hang it, he wasn't going to be dishonest exactly; it would be simply +a double play, half for Uncle Sam and half for himself. The idea of +offering freely his blood and money to Uncle Sam and at the same time +putting one over on the old gentleman had a novel appeal. + +He stood up and wiped a tickling cobweb from his cheek. As the window +from which he had descended came into range he stared, loose-jawed. Then +be chuckled, as thoroughbred adventurers generally chuckle when they +find themselves at the bottom of the sack, the mouth of which has +simultaneously and automatically closed. Wasn't he the brainy old top? +Wasn't he Sherlock Holmes plus? Old fool, how the devil was he going to +get back through that window? + +The drums of jeopardy--even to think of them was unlucky! Not to have +planned a retreat; to have climbed down a well and cut the bucket rope! +For in effect that was precisely what he had done. Only wings could +carry him up to that window. With sardonic humour he felt of his +shoulder blades. Not a feather in sight. Then he touched his ears. Ah, +here was something definite; they had grown several inches during the +past few hours. Monumental ass! + +Of course there would be the drain. He could escape; but, dear Lord! +with enough noise to wake the dead. And that would write "Finis" to this +particular adventure. The quarry and the emeralds would be gone before +he could return with help. When everything had gone so smoothly--a jolt +like this! + +A crowded day, and no mistake, as full of individual acts as a bill at +a vaudeville, trained-animal act last. Was it possible that he had +gone fiddle hunting that morning, netting an Amati worth ten thousand +dollars? Hawksley--no, he couldn't blame Hawksley. Still, if this young +Humpty-Dumpty hadn't been pushed off his wall he, Cutty, would not now +be marooned upon this roof 'twixt the devil and the deep blue sea. To +remain here until sunrise would be impossible; to slide down the drain +was equally impossible--that is, if he ever wanted to see Boris Karlov +again. The way of the transgressor was hard. + +He sat on his heels and let his gaze rove four-square, permitting no +object to escape. He saw a clothes pole leaning against the chimney. +Evidently the former tenants had hung up their laundry here. There was +no clothesline, however. Caught, jolly well, blooming well caught! If +ever this got abroad he would be laughed out of the game. He wasn't +going to put one over on Uncle Sam after all. There might be some kind +of a fire escape on the front of the house. No harm in taking a look; it +would serve to pass the time. + +There was the usual frontal parapet about three feet in height. Upturned +in the shadow lay a gift from the gods-a battered kitchen chair, +probably used to reach the clothesline in the happy days when the word +"Bolshevism" was known to only a select few dark angels. + +Cutty waved a hand cheerfully if vaguely toward his guiding star, picked +up the chair, commandeered the clothes pole, and silently manoeuvred to +the wall of the warehouse. Standing on the chair he placed the tip of +the pole against the top of the upper frame and pushed the frame halfway +up. He repeated this act upon the obdurate lower half. He heaved slowly +but with all his force. Glory be, the lower half went up far enough to +afford ingress! He would eat his breakfast in the apartment as usual. +To-morrow night he would establish his line of retreat by fetching a +light rope ladder. There was sweat at the roots of his hair, however, +when he finally gained the street. He was very tired. He observed +mournfully that the vigour which had always recharged itself, no +matter how recklessly he had drawn upon it, was beginning to protest. +Fifty-two. + +Well, his troubles were over for the night. So he believed. Arriving +home, dirty and spent, he had to find Kitty asleep on the divan! + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +"Kitty," he said, breaking the tableau, "what are you doing here?" + +"You've been hurt! There is blood on you!" + +"A trifling cut. But I'm hurt, nevertheless, that you should be so +thoughtless as to come here against my orders. It doesn't matter that +Karlov has given up the idea of having you followed. But for the sake +of us all you must be made to understand that we are dealing with high +explosives and poison gas. It's not what might happen to me or to Uncle +Sam's business. It's you. Any moment they may take it into their heads +to get at me and Hawksley through you. That's why we watch over you. You +don't want to see Hawksley done in, do you? It's real tragedy, Kitty, +and nobody can guess what the end is going to be." + +Kitty's lip quivered. "Cutty, if you talk like that to me I shall cry." + +"Good Lord, what about?"--bewildered. + +"About everything. I've been on the verge of hysterics all day." + +"Kitty, you poor child, what's happened?" + +"Nothing--everything. Lonesome. When I saw all those mothers and wives +and sisters and sweethearts on the curb to-day, watching their boys +march by, it hit me hard. I was alone. Nobody. So please don't be cross +with me. I'm on the ragged edge. Silly, I know. But we women often go +to pieces over nothing, without any logical reason. Ready to face murder +and battle and sudden death; and then to blow up, as you men say it, +over nothing. I had to move, go somewhere, do something; so I came +here. But I came on--what do you call it?--official business. Here!" She +offered him the wallet. + +"What's this?" + +"Belongs to Johnny Two-Hawks. He hid it that night behind my flatirons +on the range. Why, Cutty, he's rich!" + +"Did he show the contents?" + +"Only the money and the bonds. He said if he had died the money and +bonds would have been mine. + +"Providing Gregor was also dead." Cutty looked into the wallet, but +disturbed nothing. "I imagine these funds are actually Gregor's." + +"He told me to give the wallet to you. And so I waited. I fell asleep. +So please don't scold me." + +"I'm a brute! But it's because you've become so much to me that I was +angry. You're Tommy and Molly's girl, and I've got to watch out for you +until you reach some kind of a port." + +"Thank you for the flowers. You'll never know just what they did for me. +There was somebody who gave me a thought." + +"Kitty, I honestly don't get you. A beauty like you, lonesome!" + +"That's it. I am pretty. Why should I deny it? If I'd been homely I +shouldn't have been ashamed to invite my friends to my shabby home. I +shouldn't have cold shouldered everybody through false pride. But where +have you been, and what have you been doing?" + +"Official business. But I just missed being a fine jackass. I'll look +into the wallet after I've cleaned up. I'm a mess of gore and dust. Is +it interesting stuff?" dreading her answer. + +"The wallet? I did not look into it. I had no right." + +"Ah! Well, I'll be back in two jigs." + +He hurried off, relieved to learn that the secret was still beyond +Kitty's knowledge. Of course Hawksley wouldn't carry anything in the +wallet by which his true identity might be made known. Still, there +would be stuff to excite her interest and suspicion. Hawksley had shown +her some of that three hundred thousand probably. What a game! + +He would say nothing about his own adventures and discoveries. He worked +on the theory that the best time to tell about something was after it +had become a fact. But no theory is perfect; and in this instance his +reticence was going to cost him intolerable agony in the near future. + +Within a quarter of an hour he was back in the living room. Kitty was +out of sight; probably had curled up on the divan again. He would not +disturb her. Hawksley's wallet! He drew a chair under the reading lamp +and explored the wallet. Money and bonds he rather expected, but the +customs appraiser's receipt was like a buffet. The emeralds belonged +honorably to his guest! All his own plans were knocked galley-west by +this discovery. + +An odd sense of indignation blazed up in him, as though someone had +imposed upon him. The sport was gone, the fun of the thing; it became +merely official business. To appropriate a pair of smuggled emeralds was +a first-class sporting proposition, with a humorous twist. As it stood +now, he would be picking Hawksley's pocket; and he wasn't rogue enough +for that. Hang the luck! + +Emeralds, rubies, sapphires, pearls, and diamonds! No doubt many of them +with histories--in a bag hung to his neck--and all these thousands of +miles! Not since the advent of the Gaekwar of Baroda into San Francisco, +in 1910, had so many fine stones passed through that port of entry. + +But why hadn't Hawksley inquired about them? Stoic indifference? A good +loser? How had he got through the customs without a lot of publicity? +The Russian consul of the old regime probably; and an appraiser who was +a good sport. To have come safely to his destination, and then to have +lost out! The magnificent careless generosity of putting the wallet +behind Kitty's flatirons, to be hers if he didn't pull through! Why, +this fiddling derelict was a man! Stood up and fought Karlov with his +bare fists; wasn't ashamed to weep over his mother's photograph; +and fiddled like Heifetz. All right. This Johnny Two-Hawks, as Kitty +persisted in calling him, was going to reach his Montana ranch. His +friend Cutty would take it upon himself to see to that. + +It struck him that after all he would have to play the game as he had +planned it. Those gems falling into the hands of the Federal agents +would surely bring to light Hawksley's identity; and Hawksley should +have his chance. + +Cutty then came upon the will. Somehow the pathos of it went deep into +his heart. The poor devil!--a will that hadn't been witnessed, the +handwriting the same as that on the passport. If he had fallen into +the hands of the police they would have justifiably locked him up as +a murder suspect. Two-Hawks! It was a small world. He returned the +contents to the wallet, leaving out the will, however. This he thrust +into a drawer. + +"Coffee?" said Kitty at his elbow. + +"Kitty? I'd forgotten you! I thought I smelt coffee. Just what I wanted, +too, only I hadn't brains enough left to think of it. Smells better than +anything Kuroki makes.... Tastes better, too. You're going to make some +lucky duffer a fine wife." + +"Is there anything you can tell me, Cutty?" + +"A whole lot, Kitty; only I'm twenty years too old." + +"I mean the wallet. Who is he?" + +Cutty drained the cup slowly. A good coherent lie, to appease Kitty's +curiosity; half a truth, something hard to nail. He set down the empty +cup, building. By the time he had filled his pipe and lit it he was +ready. + +Something bored up through the subconscious, however--a query. Why +hadn't he told her the plain truth at the start? Wasn't on account of +the drums. He hadn't kept her in the dark because of the drums. He could +have trusted her with that part of it--his tentative piracy. That to +divulge Hawksley's identity would be a menace to her peace of mind now +appeared ridiculous; and yet he had worked forward from this assumption. +No answer to the query. Generally he thought clearly enough; but +somewhere along this route he had made a muddle of things and couldn't +find the spot. The only point clearly defined was that he should wish +to keep her out of the affair because there were elements of positive +danger. But somewhere inside of him was a question asking for +recognition, and it eluded him. Nothing could be solved until this +question got out of the fog. Even now he might risk the whole truth; but +the lie he had woven appeared too good to waste. + +Human frailty. The most accomplished human being is the finished liar. +Never to forget a detail, to remember step by step the windings, over a +ticklish road. And Cutty, for all his wide newspaper experience, was a +poor liar because he had been brought up on facts. Perhaps his lie might +have passed had he not been so fagged. The physical labours of the night +had dulled his perceptions. + +"Ab, but that tastes good!"--as he blew forth a wavering ring of smoke. + +"It ought to have at least one merit," replied Kitty, wrinkling her +nose. What a fine profile Cutty had! "Now, who and what is he? I'm dying +to know." + +"An odd story; probably hundreds like it. You see, the Bolsheviki have +driven out of the country or killed all the nobles and bourgeoisie. Some +of them have escaped--into China, Sweden, India, wherever they could +find an open route. To his story there are many loose ends, and Hawksley +is not the talking kind. You mustn't repeat what I tell you. Hawksley, +with all that money and a forged English passport, would have a good +deal of trouble explaining if he ran afoul the police. There is no real +proof that the money is his or Gregor's. As a matter of fact, it is +Gregor's, and Hawksley was bringing it to him. Hawksley is Gregor's +protege." + +Kitty nodded. This dovetailed with what Johnny Two-Hawks had told her +that night. + +"How the two came together originally I don't know. Gregor was in his +younger days a great violinist, but unknown to the American public. +Early in his career he speculated with his concert earnings and turned +a pot of money. He dropped the professional career for that of a +country gentleman. He had a handsome estate, and lived sensibly. He sent +Hawksley to England to school and spent a good deal of time there with +him, teaching him how to play the fiddle, for which it seems Hawksley +had a natural bent. He had to Anglicize his name; for Two-Hawks would +have made people laugh. To be a gentleman, Kitty, one does not have to +be a prince or a grand duke. Gregor was a polished gentleman, and he +turned Hawksley into one." + +Again Kitty nodded, her eyes sparkling. + +"The Russ--the educated Russ--is a queer biscuit. Got to have a finger +in some political pie, and political pies in Russia before the war were +lese-majesty. The result--Gregor got in wrong with his secret society +and the political police and was forced to fly to save his life. But +before he fled he had all his convertible funds transferred. Only his +estate was confiscated. Hawksley was in London when the war broke out. +There was a lot of red tape, naturally, regarding the funds. I shan't +bother you with that, Hawksley, hoping to better his protector's future, +returned to Russia and joined his regiment and fought until the Czar +abdicated. Foretasting the trend of events, he tried to get back to +England, but that was impossible. He was permitted to retire to the +Gregor estate, where he remained until the uprising of the Bolsheviki. +Then he started across the world to join Gregor." + +"That was brave." + +"It certainly was. I imagine that Hawksley's journey has that of Ulysses +laid away on the shelf. Karlov was the head of the society which had +voted Gregor's death. So he had agents watching Hawksley. And Karlov +himself undertook the chase across Russia, China, and the Pacific." + +"I'm glad I gave him something to eat. But Gregor, a valet in a hotel, +with all that money!" + +"The red tape." + +"What a dizzy world we live in, Cutty!" + +"Dizzy is the word." Cutty sighed. His yarn had passed a very shrewd +censor. "Karlov feels it his duty to kill off all his countryman who do +not agree with his theories. He wanted these funds here, but Hawksley +was too clever for him. Remember, now, not a word of this to Hawksley. I +tell you this in confidence." + +"I promise." + +"You'll have to spend the night here. It's round four, and the power has +been shut off. There's the stairs, but it would be dawn before you reach +the street." + +"Who cares?" + +"I do. I don't believe you're in a good mood to send back to that +garlicky warren. I wish to the Lord you'd leave it!" + +"It's difficult to find anything desirable within my means. Rents are +terrifying. I'll sleep on the divan. A rug or a blanket. I'm a silly +fool, I suppose." + +"You can have a guest room." + +"I'd rather the divan; less scandalous. Cutty, I forgot. He played for +me." + +"What? He did?" + +"I had to run out of the room because some things he said choked me up. +Didn't care whether he died or not. He was even lonelier than I. I lay +down on the divan, and then I heard music. Funny, but somehow I fancied +he was calling me back; and I had to hang on to the divan. Cutty, he is +a great violinist." + +"Are you fond of music?" + +"I am mad about it! I'm always running round to concerts; and I'd walk +from Battery to Bronx to hear a good violinist." + +Fiddles and Irish hearts. Swiftly came the vision of Hawksley fiddling +the heart out of this lonely girl--if he had the chance. And he, Cutty, +was going to fascinate her--with what? He rose and took her by the +shoulders, bringing her round so that the light was full in her face. +Slate-blue eyes. + +"Kitty, what would you say if I kissed you?" Inwardly he asked: "Now, +what the devil made me say that?" + +The sinister and cynical idea leaped from its ambush. "Why, Cutty, I--I +don't believe I should mind. It's--it's you!" Vile wretch that she was! + +Cutty, noting the lily succeeding the rose, did not kiss her. Fate has +a way of reversing the illogical and giving it logical semblance. It was +perfectly logical that he should not kiss her; and yet that was exactly +what he should have done. The fatherliness of the salute--and he +couldn't have made it anything else--would have shamed Kitty's peculiar +state of mind out of existence and probably sent back to its eternal +sleep that which was strangely reawaking in his lonely heart. + +"Forgive me, Kitty. That wasn't exactly nice of me, even if I was trying +to be funny." + +She tore away from him, flung herself upon the divan, her face in the +pillows, and let down the dam. + +This wild sobbing--apparently without any reason terrified Cutty. He +put both hands into his hair, but he drew them out immediately without +retaining any of the thinning gray locks. Done up, both of them; that +was the matter. He longed to console her, but knew not what to say or +how to act. He had not seen a woman weep like this in so many years that +he had forgotten the remedies. + +Should he call the nurse? But that would only add to Kitty's +embarrassment, and the nurse would naturally misinterpret the situation. +He couldn't kneel and put his arms round her; and yet it was a situation +that called for arms and endearments. He had sense enough to recognize +that. Molly's girl crying like that, and he able to do nothing! It was +intolerable. But what was she weeping about? + +Covering the divan was a fine piece of Bokhara embroidery. He drew this +down over Kitty and tucked her in, turned off the light, and proceeded +to his bedroom. + +Kitty's sobs died eventually. There was an occasional hiccup. That, too, +disappeared. To play--or even think of playing--a game like that! She +was despicable. A silly little fool, too, to suppose that so keen a mind +as Cutty's would not see through the artifice! What was happening to her +that she could let such a thought into her head? + +By and by she was able to pick up Cutty's narrative and review it. Not a +word about the drums of jeopardy, the mark of the thong round Hawksley's +neck. Hadn't she let him know that she knew the author of that +advertisement offering to buy the drums, no questions asked? Very well, +then; if he would not tell her the truth she would have to find it out +herself. + +Meanwhile, Cutty sat on the edge of his bed staring blankly at the +rug, trying to find a pick-up to the emotions that beset him. One thing +issued clearly: He had wanted to kiss the child. He still wanted to kiss +her. Why hadn't he? Unanswerable. It was still unanswerable even when +the pallor of dawn began slowly to absorb the artificial light of his +bed lamp. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +When Cutty awoke--having had about two hours' sleep--he was instantly +conscious that the zest had gone from the adventure. It had resolved +itself into official business into which he had projected himself +gratuitously; and having assumed the offices of chief factor, he would +have to see the affair through, victim of his own greediness. It did not +serve to marshal excuses. He had frankly entered the affair in the role +of buccaneer; and here he was, high and dry on the reef. + +The drums of jeopardy, so far as he was concerned, had been shot into +the moon two hundred thousand miles out of reach. He found himself +resenting Hawksley's honesty in the matter of the customs. + +But immediately this sense of resentment caused him to chuckle. +Certainly some ancestor of his had been a Black Bart or a Galloping +Dick. + +He would put a few straight questions to Hawksley, however. To have lost +all those precious stones and not to have inquired about them was a +bit foggy, wasn't normal, human. Unless--bang on the plexus came the +thought!--the beggar had hidden them himself. He had been exceedingly +clever in hiding the wallet. Come to think of it, he hadn't mentioned +that, either. Of course he had hidden the stones--either in Gregor's +apartment or in Kitty's. Blind as a bat. Now he understood why Karlov +had made a prisoner of Coles. The old buzzard had sensed a trap and had +countered it. The way of the transgressor was hard. His punishment for +entertaining a looter's idea would be work when he wanted to loaf and +enjoy himself. + +Arriving at Hawksley's door he was confronted by a spectacle not without +its humorous touch: The nurse extending a bowl and Hawksley staring at +the sky beyond the window, stonily. + +"But you must!" insisted Miss Frances. + +"Chops or beefsteak!" + +"It will give you nausea." + +"Permit me to find out. Dash it, I'm hungry!" Hawksley declared. "I'm no +fever patient. A smart rap on the head; nothing more than that. Healthy +food will draw the blood down from there. Haven't lost anything but a +few hours of consciousness, and you treat me as though I'd been jolly +well peppered with shrapnel and gassed. Touch that stuff? Rather not! +Chops or beefsteak!" + +"Let him have it, Miss Frances," advised Cutty from the doorway. + +"But it's unusual," replied the nurse as a final protest. + +"Give it a try. Is he strong enough to sit up through breakfast?" + +"He's really not fit. But if he insists on doing the one he might as +well do the other." + +"Righto!"--from the patient. + +"Will you tell Kuroki to make it a beefsteak breakfast for four? I know +how Mr. Hawksley feels. Been through the same bout." Cutty wanted Miss +Frances out of the room. + +"Very well. Only, I've warned him." Miss Frances left, somewhat miffed. + +"Thanks," said Hawksley, smiling. "She thinks I'm a canary." + +"Whereas you're an eagle." + +"Or a vulture." + +Cutty chew up a chair. "Frankly, I believe a good breakfast will put you +a peg up." + +"A beefsteak!" Hawksley stared ecstatically at the ceiling. "You see, +I'm naturally tough. Always went in for rough sports--football, rowing, +boxing. Poor old Stefani's idea; and not so bad, either. Of course he +was always worrying about my hands; but I always took great care to keep +them soft and pliant. Which sounds rummy, considering the pounding I +used to give and take. My word, I used to go to bed with my hands done +up in ointments like a professional beauty! Of course I'm dizzy yet, and +the bally spot is sore; but solid food and some exercise will have me +off your hands in no time. I don't fancy being coddled, y'know. I've +been trouble enough." + +"Don't let that worry you. I'll bring some togs in; flannels and soft +shirts. We're about the same height. Anyhow, the difference won't be +noticeable in flannels. I've had to tell Miss Conover a bit of fiction. +I'll tell you, so if need arises you can back me up." + +When Cutty finished his romance Hawksley frowned. "All said and done, +if I'm not that splendid old chap's protege, what am I? But for his +patience and kindness I'd have run true to the blood. He was with me at +the balancing age, when a chap becomes a man or a rotter. He actually +gave up a brilliant career because of me. He is a great musician, with +that strange faculty of taking souls out of people and untwisting them. +I have the gift, too, in a way; but there's always a bit of the devil in +me when I play. Natural bent, I fancy. And they've killed him!" + +"No," said Cutty, slowly. "But this is for your ear alone: He's alive; +and one of these days I'll bring him to you. So buck up." + +"Alive! Stefani alive!" whispered Hawksley. He stretched out his hand +rather blindly, and Cutty was surprised at the strength of the grip. +"Makes me feel choky. I say, are all Americans good Samaritans?" + +Cutty put this aside because he did not care to disillusion Hawksley. +"I found an appraiser's receipt in your wallet. You carried some fine +jewels. Did you hide them or did Karlov get them? It struck me as +odd that you haven't inquired about them." The change that came into +Hawksley's face alarmed Cutty. The rich olive skin became chalky and the +eyes closed. "What is it? Shall I call Miss Frances?" + +"No." Hawksley opened his eyes, but looked dully straight ahead. "The +stones! I was trying to forget! My God, I was trying to forget!" + +"But they were yours?" Cutty was mystified beyond expression. + +"Yes, mine, mine, mine!"--panting. "Damn them! Some day I'll tell you. +But just now I can't toe the mark. I was trying to forget them! +Against my heart, gnawing into my soul like the beetle of the Spanish +Inquisition!" Silence. "But they were future bread and butter--for +Gregor as well as for myself. They got them, and may they damn Karlov as +they have damned me! I had no chance when I returned to Gregor's. They +were on me instantly. I put up a fight, but I'd come from a lighted room +and was practically blind. Let them go. Most of those stones came out +of hell, anyhow. Let them go. There is an unknown grave between those +stones and me." + +The level despair of the tone appalled Cutty. A crime somewhere? There +was still a bottom to this affair he had not plumbed? He rose, deeply +agitated. + +"I'll fetch those togs for you. Miss Conover will breakfast with us, and +the sight of her will give you a brace. I'm sorry. I had to ask you." + +"Beefsteak and a pretty girl! That's something. I suppose she was +trapped by the lift not running." Hawksley was trying to meet Cutty +halfway to cover up the tragedy. "I say, why the deuce do you let her +live where she does?" + +"Because I'm not legally her guardian. She is the daughter of the man +and woman I loved best. All I can do is to watch over her. She lives on +her earnings as a newspaper writer. I'd give her half of all I have if I +had the least idea she would accept it." + +"Fond of her?" + +"Fond of her!" repeated Cutty. "Why, of course I'm fond of her!" There +was a touch of indignation in his tone. + +"Is she fond of you?" + +"I suppose so." What was the chap driving at? + +"Then marry her," suggested Hawksley with a cynical smile; "make a +settlement and give her her freedom. Simple enough. What?" + +Cutty stepped back, stunned and terrified. "She would laugh at me!" + +"You never can tell," replied Hawksley, maintaining the crooked smile. +The devil was blazing in his eyes now. "Try it. It's being done every +day; even here in this big America of yours. From the European point +of view you have compromised her--or she has compromised herself, by +spending the night here. Convention has been disregarded. A ripping good +chance, I call it. You tell me she wouldn't accept benefits, and you +want to help her. If she's the kind I believe her to be, even if she +refuses you she will not be angry. You never can tell what woman will or +won't do." + +An old and forgotten bit of mental machinery began to set up a +ditter-datter in Cutty's brain. Marry Kitty? Make a settlement, and +then give her her freedom? Rot! Girls of Kitty's calibre were above +such expediencies. He tried to resurrect his interest in the drums of +jeopardy, which he might now appropriate without having to shanghai his +conscience. The clitter-clatter smothered it; indeed, this new racket +upset and demoralized the well-ordered machinery of his thinking +apparatus as applied daily. Marry Kitty! + +"I'm old enough to be her father." + +"What's that to do with it so long as convention is satisfied?" + +Cutty was so shaken and confused that he missed the tragic irony of the +voice. All the receptive avenues to his brain seemed to have shut down +suddenly. He was conscious only of the clitter-clatter. Marry Kitty! + +"You can't settle money on her," went on Hawksley, "without scandal. You +can't offer her anything without offending her. And you can't let her go +to rust without having her bit of good times." + +"Utterly impossible," said Cutty, to the idea rather than to his +tormentor. + +"Oh, of course, if you have an affair--No, God forgive me, I don't +mean that! I'm a damned ingrate! But your bringing up those stones and +knocking off the top of all the misery piling up in my heart! I was +only trying to hurt you, hurt myself, everybody. Please have a little +patience with me, for I've come out of hell!" Hawksley turned aside his +head. + +"Buck up," said Cutty, his blazing wrath dropping to a smoulder. "I'll +fetch those togs." + +What had the boy done to fill him with such tragic bitterness? Was he +Two-Hawks? Cutty dismissed this doubt instantly. He recalled the episode +of the boy's conduct when confronted by the photograph of his mother. +No human being could be a play actor in such a moment. The boy's emotion +had been deep and real. Cutty recognized the fact that he had become as +a block in the middle of a Chinese puzzle; only Fate could move him to +his appointed place. + +But offer marriage to Kitty so that he could provide for her! +Mechanically he rummaged his clothes press for the suit he was to take +to Hawksley. Well, why not? He could settle five thousand a year on her. +His departure for the Balkans--he might be gone a year or more--could be +legally construed as desertion. And with pretty clothes and freedom she +would soon find some young chap to her liking. But would a girl like +Kitty see it from his point of view? The marriage could take place an +hour or two before he went aboard his ship. Hang it, Hawksley wasn't +so far off. Kitty couldn't possibly be offended if he laid the business +squarely on the table. To provide for Molly's girl! + +When Kuroki announced that breakfast was ready, Cutty went into the +living room for Kitty, whom he had not yet seen. He found her by a +window fascinated by the splendour of the panorama as seen in the +morning light. Not a vestige of the tears and disorder in which he had +left her. What had been behind those tears? Dainty and refreshing; to +the eye as though she had stepped out of a bandbox. Compromised? +That was utter rot! Wasn't Miss Frances here? Clitter-clatter, +clitter-clatter. But Cutty was not aware that it was no longer in his +head but in his heart. + +"Breakfast is served, Your Highness," he announced with a grave salaam. + +Kitty pirouetted. For some reason she could not explain to herself +she wanted to laugh, sing, dance. Perhaps it was because she was only +twenty-four. Or it might have had its origin in the tonicky awakening +among all these beautiful furnishings. + +She assumed a haughty expression--such as the Duchess of +Gerolstein assumes when she appoints the private to the office of +generalissimo--and with a careless wave of the hand said: "Summon His +Highness!" + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +Between Cutty's heart and his throat there was very little space at that +moment for the propelment of sound. Kitty Conover had innocently--he +understood that almost immediately and recovered his mental +balance--Kitty had innocently thrown a bomb at his feet. It did not +matter that it was a dud. The result was the same. For a second, then, +all the terror, all the astounding suspension of thought and action +attending the arrival of a shell on the battlefield were his. As +an aftermath he would have liked very much to sit down. Instead, +maintaining the mock gravity of his expression, he offered his arm, +which Kitty accepted, still the Grand Duchess of Gerolstein. Pompously +they marched into the dining room. But as Kitty saw Hawksley she dropped +the air confusedly, and hesitated. "Good gracious!" she whispered. + +"What's the matter?" Cutty whispered in turn. + +"My clothes!" + +"What's the matter with 'em?" + +"I slept in them!" + +If that wasn't like a woman! It did not matter how she might look to +an old codger, aetat. fifty-two; he didn't count. But a handsome +young chap, now, in white flannels and sport shirt, his head bound +picturesquely-- + +"Don't let that bother you," he said. "Those duds of his are mine." + +Still, Cutty was grateful for this little diversion. As he drew back +Kitty's chair he was wholly himself again. At once he dictated the trend +of the conversation, moved it whither he willed, into strange channels, +gave them all a glimpse of his amazing versatility, with vivid shafts of +humour to light up corners. + +Kuroki, who had travelled far with his master these ten years, sometimes +paused in his rounds to nod affirmatively. + +Hawksley listened intently, wondering a bit. What was the dear old +beggar's idea, throwing such fireworks round at breakfast? He stole a +glance at Kitty to see how she was taking it--and caught her stealing a +glance at him. Instantly both switched back to Cutty. Shortly the little +comedy was repeated because neither could resist the invisible force of +some half-conscious inquiry. Third time, they smiled unembarrassedly. +Mind you, they were both hanging upon Cutty's words; only their eyes +were like little children at church, restless. It was spring. + +Without being exactly conscious of what he was doing, Hawksley began +to dress Kitty--that is, he visualized her in ball gowns, in sports, in +furs. He put her on horses, in opera boxes, in limousines. But in none +of these pictures could he hold her; she insisted upon returning to her +kitchen to fry bacon and eggs. + +Then came a twisted thought, rejected only to return; a surprising +thought, so alluring that the sense of shame, of chivalry, could not +press it back. Cutty's words began to flow into one ear and out of +the other, without sense. There was in his heart--put there by the +recollection of the jewels--an indescribable bitterness, a desperate +cynicism that urged him to strike out, careless of friend or foe. Who +could say what would happen to him when he left here? A flash of spring +madness, then to go forth devil-may-care. + +She was really beautiful, full of unsuspected fire. To fan it into white +flame. The whole affair would depend upon whether she cared for music. +If she did he would pluck the soul out of her. She had saved his life. +Well, what of that? He had broken yonder man's bread and eaten his +salt. Still, what of that? Hadn't he come from a race of scoundrels? +The blood--he had smothered and repressed it all his life--to unleash it +once, happen what might. If she were really fond of music! + +Once again Kitty's glance roved back to Hawksley. This time she +encountered a concentration in his unwavering stare. She did not +quite like it. Perhaps he was only thinking about something and wasn't +actually seeing her. Still, it quieted down the fluttering gayety of her +mood. There was a sun spot of her own that became visible whenever her +interest in Cutty's monologue lagged. Perhaps Hawksley had his sun spot. + +"And so," she heard Cutty say. "Mr. Hawksley is going to become an +American citizen. Kitty, what are some of the principles of good +citizenship?" + +"To be nice to policemen. Not to meddle with politics, because it is +vulgar. To vote perfunctorily. To 'let George do it' when there are +reforms to be brought about. To keep your hat on when the flag goes +by because otherwise you will attract attention. To find fault without +being able to offer remedies. To keep in debt because life here in +America would be monotonous without bill collectors." + +Cutty interrupted with a laugh. "Kitty, you'll 'scare Hawksley off the +map!" + +"Let him know the worst at once," retorted Kitty, flashing a smile at +the victim. + +"Spoofing me--what?" said Hawksley, appealing to his host. + +This quality of light irony in a woman was a distinct novelty to +Hawksley. She had humour, then? So much the better. An added zest to the +game he was planning. He recalled now that she was not of the clinging +kind either. A woman with a humorous turn of mind was ten times more +elusive than a purely sentimental one. Give him an hour or two with that +old Amati--if she really cared for music! She would be coming to the +apartment again--some afternoon, when his host was out of the way. +Better still, he would call her by telephone; the plea of loneliness. +Scoundrel? Of course he was. He was not denying that. He would embark +upon this affair without the smug varnish of self-lies. Fire--to play +with it! + +He ate his portion of beefsteak, potatoes, and toast, and emptied his +coffee cup. It was really the first substantial meal he had had in many +hours. A feeling of satisfaction began to permeate him. He smiled at +Miss Frances, who shook her head dubiously. She could not quite make him +out pathologically. Perhaps she had been treating him as shell-shocked +when there was nothing at all the matter with his nerves. + +Presently Kuroki came in with a yellow envelope, which he laid at the +side of Cutty's plate. + +"Telegrams!" exploded Cutty. "Hang it, I don't want any telegrams!" + +"Open it and have it over with," suggested Kitty. + +"If you don't mind." + +It was the worst kind of news--a summons to Washington for conference. +Which signified that the Government's plans were completed and that +shortly he would be on his way to Piraeus. + +A fine muddle! Hawksley in no condition to send upon his way; Kitty's +affair unsettled; the emeralds still in camera obscura; Karlov at +liberty with his infernal schemes, and Stefani Gregor his prisoner. Wild +horses, pulling him two ways. A word, and Karlov would come to the end +of his rope suddenly. But if he issued that word the whole fabric he +had erected so painstakingly would blow away like cardboard. If those +emeralds turned up in the possession of any man but himself the ensuing +complications would be appalling. For he himself would be forced to tell +what he knew about the stones: Hawksley would be thrust conspicuously +into the limelight, and sooner or later some wild anarch would kill him. +Known, Hawksley would not have one chance in a thousand. Kitty would +be dragged into the light and harassed and his own attitude toward +her misunderstood. All these things, if he acted upon his oath. +Nevertheless, he determined to risk suspension of operations until he +returned from Washington. There was one sound plank to cling to. He had +first-hand information that anarchistic elements would remain in their +noisome cellars until May first. If he were not ordered abroad until +after that, no harm would follow his suspension of operations. + +"Bad news?" asked Kitty, anxiously. + +"Aggravating rather than bad. I am called to Washington. May be gone +four or five days. Official business. Leaves things here a bit in the +air." + +"I'll stay as long as you need me," said Miss Frances. + +"I'd rather a man now. You've been a brick. You need rest. I've a chap +in mind. He'll make our friend here toe the mark. A physical instructor, +ex-pugilist; knows all about broken heads." + +"I say, that's ripping!" cried Hawksley. "Give me your man, and I'll be +off your hands within a week. The sooner you stop fussing over me the +sooner the crack in my head will cease to bother me. + +"Kuroki will cook for you and Ryan will put you through the necessary +stunts. The roof, when the weather permits, makes a good exercising +ground. If you'll excuse me I'll do some telephoning. Kuroki, pack my +bag for a five-day trip to Washington. I'll take you down to the office, +Kitty." + +"I don't fancy I ever will quite understand you," said Hawksley, leaning +back in his chair, listlessly. "Honestly, now, you'd be perfectly +justified in bundling me off to some hotel. I have funds. Why all this +pother about me?" + +Cutty smiled. "When I tackle anything I like to carry it through. I want +to put you on your train." + +"To be reasonably sure that I shan't come back?" + +"Precisely"--but without smiling. With a vague yet inclusive nod Cutty +hurried off. + +"It is because he is such a thorough sportsman. Mr. Hawksley," Kitty +explained. "Having accepted certain obligations he cannot abrogate them +off hand." + +"Did I bother you last night? I mean, did my fiddling?" + +"Mercy, no! From the hurdy-gurdy of my childhood, down to Kubelik +and his successors, I have been more or less music-mad. You +play--wonderfully!" Sudden, inexplicable shyness. + +Hawksley smiled. An hour or two with that old Amati. + +"I am only an unconventional amateur. You should hear Stefani Gregor +when the mood is on. He puts something into your soul that makes you +wish to go forth at once to do some fine, unselfish act." + +Stefani Gregor! He thought of the clear white soul of the man who had +surrendered imperishable fame to stand between him and the curse of his +blood; who had for ten years stood between his mother and the dissolute +man whom irony had selected for the part of father. Ten years of +diplomacy, tact, patience. Stefani Gregor! There was the blood, +predatory and untamed; and there was the spirit which the old musician +had moulded. He could not harm this girl. Dead or alive, Stefani Gregor +would not permit it. + +Hawksley rose slowly and without further speech walked to the corridor +door. He leaned against the jamb for a moment, then went on to his +bedroom. + +"I'm afraid that breakfast was too much for him," the nurse ventured. +"An odd young man." + +"Very," replied Kitty, rather absently. She was trying to analyze that +flash of shyness. + +Meantime, Cutty sat down before the telephone. He wanted Kitty out of +town during his absence. In her present excitable mood he was afraid +to trust her. She might surrender to any mad impulse that stirred her +fancy. So he called up Burlingame. Kitty's chief, and together they +manufactured an assignment that was always a pleasant recollection to +Kitty. + +Next, Cutty summoned Professor Billy Ryan to the wire, argued and +cajoled for ten minutes, and won his point. He was always dealing in +futures--banking his favours here and there and drawing checks against +them when needed. + +Then he tackled his men and issued orders suspending operations +temporarily. He was asked what they should do in case Karlov came out +into the open. He answered in such an event not to molest him but to +watch and take note of those with whom he associated. There were big +things in the air, and only he himself had hold of all the threads. He +relayed this information to the actual chief of the local service, from +whom he had borrowed his men. There was no protest. Green spectacles. + +Quarter to nine he and Kitty entered a subway car and found a corner to +themselves, while Karlov's agent was content with a strap in the crowded +end of the car. + +Karlov for once had outthought Cutty. He had withdrawn his watchers, +confident that after a day or so his unknown opponent would withdraw +his. During the lull Karlov matured his plans, then resumed operations, +calculating that he would have some forty-odd hours' leeway. + +His agent was clever. He had followed Kitty from Eightieth Street to +the Knickerbocker Hotel. There he had lost her. He had loitered on +the sidewalk until midnight, and was then convinced that the girl had +slipped by. So he had returned to Eightieth Street; but as late as five +in the morning she had not returned. + +This agent had followed the banker after his visit to Kitty. He had +watched the banker's house, seen Cutty arrive and depart. Taking a +chance shot in the dark, he had followed Cutty to the office building, +learned that Cutty was the owner and lived in the loft. As Kitty had not +returned home by five he proceeded to take a second chance shot in the +dark, stationing himself across the street from the entrance to the +office building, thereby solving the riddle uppermost in Karlov's mind. +He had found the man in the dress suit. + +"Cutty, I'm sorry I was such a booby last night. But it was the best +thing that could have happened. The pentupness of it was simply killing +me. I hadn't any one to come to but you--any one who would understand. +I don't know of any man who has a better right to kiss me. I know. You +were just trying to buck me up." + +Clitter-clatter! Clitter-clatter! Cutty stared hard at the cement floor. +Marry her, settle a sum on her, and give her her freedom. Molly's girl. +Give her a chance to play. He turned. + +"Kitty, do you trust me?" + +"Of all the foolish questions!" She pressed his arm. "Why shouldn't I +trust you?" + +"Will you marry me? Wait! Let me make clear to you what I have in mind. +I'm all alone. I loved your mother. It breaks my heart that while I have +everything in the way of luxuries you have nothing. I can't settle a sum +on you--an income. The world wouldn't understand. Your friends would be +asking questions among themselves. This telegram from Washington means +but one thing: that in a few weeks I shall be on my way to the East. I +shall be mighty unhappy if I have to go leaving you in the rut. This is +my idea: marry me an hour or so before the ship sails. I will leave you +a comfortable income. Lord knows how long I shall be gone. Well, I +won't write. After a year you can regain your freedom on the grounds of +desertion. Simple as falling off a log. It's the one logical way I can +help you. Will you?" + +Station after station flashed by. Kitty continued stare through the +window across the way, by and by she turned her face toward him, her +eyes shining with tears. + +"Cutty, there is going to be a nice place in heaven for you some day. I +understand. I believe Mother understands, too. Am I selfish? I can't say +No to you and I can't say Yes. Yet I should be a liar if I did not say +that everything in me leaps toward the idea. It is both hateful and +fascinating. Common sense says Yes; and something else in me says No. +I like dainty things, dainty surroundings. I want to travel, to see +something of the world. I once thought I had creative genius, but I +might as well face the fact that I haven't. Only by accident will I ever +earn more than I'm earning now. In a few years I'll grow old suddenly. +You know what the newspaper game does to women. The rush and hurry of +it, the excitements, the ceaseless change. It is a furnace, and women +shrivel up in it quicker than men." + +"There won't be any nonsense, Kitty. An hour before I go aboard my ship. +I'll go back to the job the happiest of men. Molly's girl taken care of! +Just before your father died I promised him I'd keep an eye on you. I +never forgot, but conditions made it impossible. The apartment will +be yours as long as you need it. Kuroki, of course, goes with me. It's +merely going by convention on the blind side. To leave you something in +my will wouldn't serve at all, I'm a tough old codger and may be +marked down for a hale old ninety. All I want is to make you happy and +carefree." + +"Cutty, I'd like to curl up in some corner and cry, gratefully. I didn't +know there were such men. I just don't know what to do. It isn't as +if you were asking me to be your wife. And as you say, I can't accept +money. There is a pride in me that rejects the whole thing; but it may +be the same fool pride that has cut away my friends. I ought to fall on +your neck with joy: and here I am trying to look round corners! You +are my father's friend, my mother's, mine. Why shouldn't I accept the +proposition? You are alone, too. You have a perfect right to do as you +please with your money, and I have an equally perfect right to accept +your gifts. We are all afraid of the world, aren't we? That's probably +at the bottom of my doddering. Cutty, what is love?" she broke off, +whimsically. + +"Looking into mirrors and hunting for specks," he answered, readily. + +"I mean seriously." + +"So do I. Before I went round to the stage entrance to take your mother +out to supper I used to preen an hour before the mirror. My collar, my +cravat, my hair, the nap on my stovepipe, my gloves--terrible things! +And what happened? Your dad, dressed in his office clothes, came along +like a cyclone, walked all over my toes, and swooped up your mother +right from under my nose. Now just look the proposition over from all +angles. Think of yourself; let the old world go hang. They'll call +it alimony. In a year or so you'll be free; and some chap like Tommy +Conover will come along, and bang! You'll know all about love. Here's +old Brooklyn Bridge. I'll see you to the elevator. All nonsense that you +should have the least hesitance." + +Fifteen minutes later he was striding along Park Row. By the swing of +his stride any onlooker would have believed that Cutty was in a hurry to +arrive somewhere. Instead, one was only walking. Suddenly he stopped in +the middle of the sidewalk with the two currents of pedestrians flowing +on each side of him, as a man might stop who saw some wonderful cloud +effect. But there was nothing ecstatical in his expression; on the +contrary, there was a species of bewildered terror. The psychology of +all his recent actions had in a flash become vividly clear. + +An unbelievable catastrophe had overtaken him. He loved Kitty, loved her +with an intense, shielding passion, quite unlike that which he had given +her mother. Such a thing could happen! He offered not the least combat; +the revelation was too smashing to admit of any doubt. It was not +a recrudescence of his love for Molly, stirred into action by the +association with Molly's daughter. He wanted Kitty for himself, wanted +her with every fibre in his body, fiercely. And never could he tell +her--now. + +The tragic irony of it all numbed him. Fate hadn't played the game +fairly. He was fifty-two, on the far side of the plateau, near sunset. +It wasn't a square deal. + +Still he stood there on the sidewalk, like a rock in the middle of a +turbulent stream, rejecting selfish thoughts. Marry Kitty, and tell her +the truth afterward. He knew the blood of her--loyalest of the loyal. +He could if he chose play that sort of game--cheat her. He could not +withdraw his proposition. If she accepted it he would have to carry it +through. Cheat her. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +Kitty hung up her hat and coat. She did not pat her hair or tuck in the +loose ends before the mirror--a custom as invariable as sunrise. The +coat tree stood at the right of the single window, and out of this +window Kitty stared solemnly, at everything and at nothing. + +Burlingame eyed her seriously. Cutty had given him a glimmer of the +tale--enough to make known to him that this pretty, sensible girl, +though no fault of her own, was in the shadow of some actual if unknown +danger. And Cutty wanted her out of town for a few days. Burlingame had +intended sending Kitty out of town on an assignment during Easter week. +An exchange of telegrams that morning had closed the gap in time. + +"Well, you might say 'Good morning.'" + +"I beg your pardon, Burly!" In newspaper offices you belong at once or +you never belong; and to belong is to have your name sheared to as +few syllables as possible. You are formal only to the city editor, the +managing editor, and the auditor. + +"What's the matter?" + +"I've been set in the middle of a fairy story," said Kitty, "and I'm +wondering if it's worth the trouble to try to find a way out. A Knight +of the Round Table, a prince of chivalry. What would you say if you saw +one in spats and a black derby?" + +"Why," answered Burlingame, "I suppose I'd consider July first as the +best thing that could happen to me." + +Kitty laughed; and that was what he wanted. + +What had that old rogue been doing now--offering Kitty his +eighteen-story office building? + +"It's odd, isn't it, that I shouldn't possess a little histrionic +ability. You'd think it would be in my blood to act." + +"It is, Kitty; only not to mimic. You're an actress, but the Big +Dramatist writes your business for you. Now, I've got some fairly good +news for you. An assignment." + +"Work! What is it?" + +"I am going to send you on a visit to the most charming movie queen in +the business. She is going to return to Broadway this autumn, and she +has a trunkful of plays to read. I have found your judgment ace-high. +Mornings you will read with her; afternoons you will visit. She +remembers your mother, who was the best comedienne of her day. So she +will be quite as interested in you as you are in her. I want you to note +her ways, how she amuses herself, eats, exercises. I want you to note +the contents of her beautiful home; if she likes dogs or cats or horses. +You will take a camera and get half a dozen good pictures, and a page +yarn for Easter Sunday. Stay as long as she wants you to." + +"But who?" + +Burlingame jerked his thumb toward a photograph on the wall. + +"Oh! This will be the most scrumptious event in my life. I'm wild about +her! But I haven't any clothes!" + +Burlingame waved his hands. "I knew I'd hear that yodel. Eve didn't have +anything to speak of, but she travelled a lot. Truth is, Kitty, you'd +better dress in monotones. She might wake up to the fact that you're a +mighty pretty young woman and suddenly become temperamental. She has +a husband round the lot somewhere. Make him think his wife is a lucky +woman. Here's all the dope--introduction, expenses, and tickets. Train +leaves at two-fifty. Run along home and pack. Remember, I want a page +yarn. No flapdoodle or mush; straight stuff. She doesn't need any +advertising. If you go at it right you two will react upon each other as +a tonic." + +Kitty realized that this little junket was the very thing she +needed--open spaces, long walks in which to think out her problem. +She hurried home and spent the morning packing. When this heartrending +business was over she summoned Tony Bernini. + +"I am going out of town, Mr. Bernini. I may be gone a week." + +"All right, Miss Conover." Bernini hid a smile. He knew all about this +trip, having been advised by Cutty over the wire. + +"Am I being followed any more?" + +"Not that we know of. Still, you never can tell. What's your +destination?" Kitty told him. "Better not go by train. I can get a fast +roadster and run you out in a couple of hours. Right after lunch you go +to the boss's garage and wait for me. I'll take care of your grips and +camera. I'll follow on your heels." + +"Anybody would consider that Karlov was after me instead of Hawksley." + +Bernini smiled. "Miss Conover, the moment Karlov puts his hands on you +the whole game goes blooey. That's the plain fact. There is death in +this game. These madmen expect to blow up the United States on May +first. We are easing them along because we want the top men in our net. +But if Karlov takes it into his head to get you, and succeeds, he'll +have a stranglehold on the whole local service; because we'd have to +make great concessions to free you." + +"Why wasn't I told this at the start?" + +"You were told, indirectly. We did not care to frighten you." + +"I'm not frightened," said Kitty. + +"Nope. But we wish to the Lord you were, Miss Conover. When you want to +come home, wire me and I'll motor out for you." + +Another fragment. Karlov's agent sought his chief and found him in the +cellar of the old house, sinisterly engaged. The wall bench was littered +with paraphernalia well known to certain chemists. Had the New York bomb +squad known of the existence of this den, the short hair on their necks +would have risen. + +"Well?" greeted Karlov, moodily. + +"I have found the man in the dress suit." + +"He and the Conover girl left that office building together this +morning, and I followed them to Park Row. This man uses the loft of the +building for his home. No elevator goes up unless you have credentials. +Our man is hiding there, Boris." + +Karlov dry-washed his hands. "We'll send him one of the samples if we +fail in regard to the girl. You say she arrives daily at the newspaper +office about nine and leaves between five and six?" + +"Every day but Sunday." + +"Good news. Two bolts; one or the other will go home." + +About the same time in Cutty's apartment rather an amusing comedy took +place. Professor Ryan, late physical instructor at one of the aviation +camps, stood Hawksley in front of him and ran his hard hands over the +young man's body. Miss Frances stood at one side, her arms folded, her +expression skeptical. + +"Nothin' the matter with you, Bo, but the crack on the conk." + +"Right-o!" agreed Hawksley. + +"Lemme see your hands. Humph. Soft. Now stand on that threshold. That's +it. Walk t' the' end o' the hall an' back. Step lively." + +"But," began Miss Frances in protest. This was cruelty. + +"I'm the doctor, miss," interrupted Ryan, crisply. "If he falls down he +goes t' bed, an' you stay. If he makes it, he follows my instructions." + +When Hawksley returned to the starting line the walls rocked, there were +two or three blinding stabs of pain; but he faced this unusual Irishman +with never a hint of the torture. A wild longing to be gone from this +kindly prison--to get away from the thought of the girl. + +"All right," said Ryan. "Now toddle back t' bed." + +"Bed?" + +"Yep. Goin' t' give you a rub that'll start all your machinery workin'." + +Docilely Hawksley obeyed. He wasn't going to let them know, but that bed +was going to be tolerably welcome. + +"Well!" said Miss Frances. "I don't see how he did it." + +"I do," said the ex-pugilist. "I told him to. Either he was a false +alarm, or he'd attempt the job even if he fell down. The hull thing +is this: Make a guy wanta get well an' he'll get well. If he's got any +pride, dig it up. Go after 'em. He hasn't lost any blood. No serious +body wound. A crack on the conk. It mighta killed him. It didn't. He +didn't wabble an' fall down. So my dope is right. Drop in in a few days +an' I'll show yuh." + +Miss Frances held out her hand. "You've handled men," she said, with +reluctant admiration. + +"Oh, boy!--millions of 'em, an' each guy different. Believe me! Make 'em +wanta." + +Cutty attended his conferences. He learned immediately that he was +booked to sail the first week in May. His itinerary began at Piraeus, +in Greece, and might end in Vladivostok. But they detained him +in Washington overtime because he was a fount of information the +departments found it necessary to draw upon constantly. The political +and commercial aspects of the polyglot peoples, what they wanted, what +they expected, what they needed; racial enmities. The bugaboo of the +undesirable alien was no longer bothering official heads in Washington. +Stringent immigration laws were in the making. What they wanted to +know was an American's point of view, based upon long and intimate +associations. + +Washington reminded him of nothing so much as a big sheep dog. The +hazardous day was over; the wolves had been driven off and the sheep +into the fold; and now the valiant guardian was turning round and round +and round preparatory to lying down to sleep. For Washington would go to +sleep again, naturally. + +Often it occurred to him what a remarkable piece of machinery the human +brain was. He could dig up all this dry information with the precise +accuracy of an economist, all the while his actual thoughts upon Kitty. +His nights were nightmares. And all this unhappiness because he had been +touched with the lust for loot. Fundamentally, this catastrophe could be +laid to the drums of jeopardy. + +The alluring possibility of finding those damnable green stones--the +unsuspected kink in his moral rectitude--had tumbled him into this pit. +Had not Kitty pronounced the name Stefani Gregor--in his mind always +linked with the emeralds--he would have summoned an ambulance and had +Hawksley carried off, despite Kitty's protests; and perhaps he would +have seen her but two or three times before sailing, seen her in +conventional and unemotional parts. At any rate, there would have been +none of this peculiar intimacy--Kitty coming to him in tears, opening +her young heart to him and discovering all its loneliness. If she +loved some chap it would not be so hard, the temptation would not be +so keen--to cheat her. Marry her, and then tell her. This dogged his +thoughts like a murderer's deed, terrible in the watches of the night. +Marry her, and then tell her. Cheat her. Break her heart and break his +own. + +Fifty-two. Never before had he thought old. His splendid health and +vigorous mentality were the results of thinking young. But now he heard +the avalanche stirring, the whispering slither of the first pebbles. He +would grow old swiftly, thunderously. Kitty's youth would shore up the +debacle, suspend it indefinitely. Marry her, cheat her, and stay young. +Green stones, accursed. + +Kitty's days were pleasant enough, but her nights were sieges. One +evening someone put Elman's rendition of Schubert's "Ave Maria" on the +phonograph. Long after it was over she sat motionless in her chair. +Echoes. The Tschaikowsky waltz. She got up suddenly, excused herself, +and went to her room. + +Six days, and her problem was still unsolved. Something in +her--she could not define it, she could not reach it, it defied +analysis--something, then, revolted at the idea of marrying Cutty, +divorcing him, and living on his money. There was a touch of horror in +the suggestion. It was tearing her to pieces, this hidden repellence. +And yet this occult objection was so utterly absurd. If he died and left +her a legacy she would accept it gratefully enough. Cutty's plan was +only a method of circumventing this indefinite wait. + +Comforts, the good things of life, amusements--simply by nodding her +head. Why not? It wasn't as if Cutty was asking her to be his wife; +he wasn't. Just wanted to dodge convention, and give her freedom and +happiness. He was only giving her a mite out of his income. Because +he had loved her mother; because, but for an accident of chance, she, +Kitty, might have been his daughter. Why, then, this persistent and +unaccountable revulsion? Why should she hesitate? The ancient female +fear of the trap? That could not be it. For a more honourable, a +more lovable man did not walk the earth. Brave, strong, handsome, +whimsical--why, Cutty was a catch! + +Comfy. Never any of that inherent doubt of man when she was with him. +Absolute trust. An evil thought had entered her head; fate had made it +honourably possible. And still this mysterious repellence. + +Romance? She was not surrendering her right to that. What was a year out +of her life if afterward she would be in comfortable circumstances, free +to love where she willed? She wasn't cheating herself or Cutty: she was +cheating convention, a flimsy thing at best. + +Windows. We carry our troubles to our windows; through windows we see +the stars. We cannot visualize God, but we can see His stars pinned +to the immeasurable spaces. So Kitty sought her window and added her +question to the countless millions forlornly wandering about up there, +and finding no answer. + +But she would return to New York on the morrow. She would not summon +Bernini as she had promised. She would go back by train, alone, +unhampered. + +And in his cellar Boris Karlov spun his web for her. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +Hawksley heard the lift door close, and he knew that at last he was +alone. He flung out his arms, ecstatically. Free! He would see no more +of that nagging beggar Ryan until tomorrow. Free to put into execution +the idea that had been bubbling all day long in his head, like a fine +champagne, firing his blood with reckless whimsicality. + +Quietly he stole down the corridor. Through a crack in the kitchen door +he saw Kuroki's back, the attitude of which was satisfying. It signified +that the Jap was pegging away at his endless studies and that only the +banging of the gong would rouse him. The way was as broad and clear as +a street at dawn. Not that Kuroki mattered; only so long as he did not +know, so much the better. + +With careful step Hawksley manoeuvred his retreat so that it brought +him to Cutty's bedroom door. The door was unlocked. He entered the room. +What a lark! They would hide his own clothes; so much the worse for the +old beggar's wardrobe. Street clothes. Presently he found a dark suit, +commendable not so much for its style as for the fact that it was the +nearest fit he could find. He had to roll up the trouser hems. + +Hats. Chuckling like a boy rummaging a jam closet, he rifled the shelves +and pulled down a black derby of an unknown vintage. Large; but a runner +of folded paper reduced the size. As he pressed the relic firmly down +on his head he winced. A stab over his eyes. He waited doubtfully; but +there was no recurrence. Fit as a fiddle. Of course he could not stoop +without a flash of vertigo; but on his feet he was top-hole. He was +gaining every day. + +Luck. He might have come out of it with the blank mind of a newborn +babe; and here he was, keen to resume his adventures. Luck. They had not +stopped to see if he was actually dead. Some passer-by in the hall +had probably alarmed them. That handkerchief had carried him round the +brink. Perhaps Fate intended letting him get through--written on his +pass an extension of his leave of absence. Or she had some new torture +in reserve. + +Now for a stout walking stick. He selected a blackthorn, twirled it, +saluted, and posed before the mirror. Not so bally rotten. He would +pass. Next, he remembered that there were some flowers in the dining +room--window boxes with scarlet geraniums. He broke off a sprig and drew +it through his buttonhole. + +Outside there was a cold, pale April sky, presaging wind and rain. +Unimportant. He was going down into the streets for an hour or so. The +colour and action of a crowded street; the lure was irresistible. Who +would dare touch him in the crowd? These rooms had suddenly become +intolerable. + +He leaned against the side of the window. Roofs, thousands of them, +flat, domed, pinnacled; and somewhere under one of these roofs Stefani +Gregor was eating his heart out. It did not matter that this queer old +eagle whom everybody called Cutty had promised to bring Stefani home. +It might be too late. Stefani was old, highly strung. Who knew what +infernal lies Karlov had told him? Stefani could stand up under physical +torture; but to tear at his soul, to twist and rend his spirit! + +The bubble in the champagne died down--as it always will if one permits +it to stand. He felt the old mood seep through the dikes of his gayety. +Alone. A familiar face--he would have dropped on his knees and thanked +God for the sight of a familiar face. These people, kindly as they +were--what were they but strangers? Yesterday he had not known them; +to-morrow he would leave them behind forever. All at once the mystery +of this bubbling idea was bared: he was going to risk his life in the +streets in the vague hope of seeing some face he had known in the days +before the world had gone drunk on blood. One familiar face. + +Of course he would never forget--at any rate, not the girl whose courage +had made possible this hour. Those chaps, scared off temporarily, might +have returned. What had become of her? He was always seeing her lovely +face in the shadows, now tender, now resolute, now mocking. Doubtless he +thought of her constantly because his freedom of action was limited. +He hadn't diversion enough. Books and fiddling, these carried him but +halfway through the boredom. Where was she? Daily he had called her by +telephone; no answer. The Jap shook his head; the slangy boy in the lift +shook his. + +She was a thoroughbred, even if she had been born of middle-class +parentage. He laughed bitterly. Middle class. A homeless, countryless +derelict, and he had the impudence to revert to comparisons that no +longer existed in this topsy-turvy old world. He was an upstart. The +final curtain had dropped between him and his world, and he was still +thinking in the ancient make-up. Middle class! He was no better than a +troglodyte, set down in a new wilderness. + +He heard the curtain rings slither on the pole. Believing the intruder +to be Kuroki he turned belligerently. And there she stood--the girl +herself! The poise of her reminded him of the Winged Victory in +the Louvre. Where there had been a cup of champagne in his veins +circumstance now poured a magnum. + +"You!" he cried. + +"What has happened? Where are you going in those clothes?" demanded +Kitty. + +"I am running away--for an hour or so." + +"But you must not! The risks--after all the trouble we've had to help +you!" + +"I shall be perfectly safe, for you are going with me. Aren't you +my guardian angel? Well, rather! The two of us--people, lights, shop +windows! Perfectly splendiferous! Honestly, now, where's the harm?" He +approached her rapidly as he spoke, and before the spell of him could be +shaken off Kitty found her hands imprisoned in his. "Please! I've been +so damnably bored. The two of us in the streets, among the crowds! +No one will dare touch us. Can't you see? And then--I say, this is +ripping!--we'll have dinner together here. I will play for you on the +old Amati. Please!" + +The fire of him communicated to the combustibles in Kitty's soul. A +wild, reckless irony besieged her. This adventure would be exactly what +she needed; it would sweep clear the fog separating one side of her +brain from the other. For it was plain enough that part of her brain +refused to cooperate with the other. A break in the trend of thought: +she might succeed in getting hold of the puzzle if she could drop it +absolutely for a little while and then pick it up again. + +She had not gone home. She had not notified Bernini. She had checked her +luggage in the station parcel room and come directly here. For what? To +let the sense of luxury overcome the hidden repugnance of the idea of +marrying Cutty, divorcing him, and living on his money. To put herself +in the way of visible temptation. What fretted her so, what was wearing +her down to the point of fatigue, was the patent imbecility of her +reluctance. There would have been some sense of it if Cutty had proposed +a real marriage. All she had to do was mumble a few words, sign her name +to a document, live out West for a few months, and be in comfortable +circumstances all the rest of her life. And she doddered! + +She would run the streets with Johnny Two-Hawks, return, and dine with +him. Who cared? Proper or improper, whose business was it but Kitty +Conover's? Danger? That was the peculiar attraction. She wanted to rush +into danger, some tense excitement the strain of which would lift her +out of her mood. A recurrent touch of the wild impulsiveness of her +childhood. Hadn't she sometimes flown out into thunderstorms, after +merited punishment, to punish the mother whom thunder terrorized? And +now she was going to rush into unknown danger to punish Fate--like a +silly child! Nevertheless, she would go into the streets with Johnny +Two-Hawks. + +"But are you strong enough to venture on the streets?" + +"Rot! Dash it all, I'm no mollycoddle! All nonsense to keep me pinned in +like this. Will you go with me--be my guide?" + +"Yes!" She shot out the word and crossed the Rubicon before reason +could begin to lecture. Besides, wasn't reason treating her shabbily in +withholding the key to the riddle? "Johnny Two-Hawks, I will go as far +as Harlem if you want me to." + +"Johnny Two-Hawks!" He laughed joyously, then kissed her hands. But he +had to pay for this bending--a stab that filled his eyes with flying +sparks. He must remember, once out of doors, not to stoop quickly. "I +say, you're the jolliest girl I ever met! Just the two of us, what?" + +"The way you speak English is wonderful!" + +"Simple enough to explain. Had an English nurse from the beginning. +Spoke English and Italian before I spoke Russian." + +He seized the wooden mallet and beat the Burmese gong--a flat piece of +brass cut in the shape of a bell. The clear, whirring vibrations filled +the room. Long before these spent themselves Kuroki appeared on the +threshold. He bobbed. + +"Kuroki, Miss Conover is dining here with me to-night. Seven o'clock +sharp. The best you have in the larder." + +"Yes, sair. You are going out, sair?" + +"For a bit of fresh air." + +"And I am going with him, Kuroki," said Kitty. Kuroki bobbed again. +"Dinner at seven, sair." Another bob, and he returned to the kitchen, +smiling. The girl was free to come and go, of course, but the ancient +enemy of Nippon would not pass the elevator door. Let him find that out +for himself. + +When the elevator arrived the boy did not open the door. He noted the +derby on Hawksley's head. + +"I can take you down, Miss Conover, but I cannot take Mr. Hawksley. When +the boss gives me an order I obey it--if I possibly can. On the day the +boss tells me you can go strolling, I'll give you the key to the city. +Until then, nix! No use arguing, Mr. Hawksley." + +"I shan't argue," replied Hawksley, meekly. "I am really a prisoner, +then?" + +"For your own good, sir. Do you wish to go down, Miss Conover?" + +"No." + +The boy swung the lever, and the car dropped from sight. + +"I'm sorry," said Kitty. + +Hawksley smiled and laid a finger on his lips. "I wanted to know," he +whispered. "There's another way down from this Matterhorn. Come with +me. Off the living room is a storeroom. I found the key in the lock the +other day and investigated. I still have the key. Now, then, there's +a door that gives to the main loft. At the other end is the stairhead. +There is a door at the foot of the first flight down. We can jolly well +leave this way, but we shall have to return by the lift. That bally +young ruffian can't refuse to carry us up, y' know!" + +Kitty laughed. "This is going to be fun!" + +"Rather!" + +They groped their way through the dim loft--for it was growing dark +outside--and made the stairhead. The door to the seventeenth floor +opened, and they stepped forth into the lighted hallway. + +"Now what?" asked Kitty, bubbling. + +"The floor below, and one of the other lifts, what?" Twenty minutes +later the two of them, arm in arm, turned into Broadway. + +"This, sir," began Kitty with a gesture, "is Broadway--America's +backyard in the daytime and Ali Baba's cave at night. The way of the +gilded youth; the funnel for papa's money; the chorus lady; the starting +point of the high cost of living. We New Yorkers despise it because we +can't afford it." + +"The lights!" gasped Hawksley. + +"Wreckers' lights. Behold! Yonder is a highly nutritious whisky blinking +its bloomin' farewell. Do you chew gum? Even if you don't, in a few +minutes I'll give you a cud for thought. Chewing gum was invented by a +man with a talkative wife. He missed the physiological point, however, +that a body can chew and talk at the same time. Come on!" + +They went on uptown, Hawksley highly amused, exhilarated, but frequently +puzzled. The pungent irony of her observations conveyed to him that +under this gayety was a current of extreme bitterness. "I say, are all +American girls like you?" + +"Heavens, no! Why?" + +"Because I never met one like you before. Rather stilted--on their good +behaviour, I fancy." + +"And I interest you because I'm not on my good behaviour?" Kitty whipped +back. + +"Because you are as God made you--without camouflage." + +"The poor innocent young man! I'm nothing but camouflage to-night. Why +are you risking your life in the street? Why am I sharing that risk? +Because we both feel bound and are blindly trying to break through. What +do you know about me? Nothing. What do I know about you? Nothing. But +what do we care? Come on, come on!" + +Tumpitum--tump! tumpitum--tump! drummed the Elevated. Kitty laughed. The +tocsin! Always something happened when she heard it. + +"Pearls!" she cried, dragging him toward a jeweller's window. + +"No!" he said, holding back. "I hate--jewels! How I hate them!" He broke +away from her and hurried on. + +She had to run after him. Had she hesitated they might have become +separated. Hated jewels? No, no! There should be no questions, verbal or +mental, this night. She presently forced him to slow down. "Not so fast! +We must never become separated," she warned. "Our safety--such as it +is--lies in being together." + +"I'm an ass. Perhaps my head is ratty without my realizing it. I fancy +I'm like a dog that's been kicked; I'm trying to run away from the pain. +What's this tomb?" + +"The Metropolitan Opera House." + +As they were passing a thin, wailing sound came to the ears of both. +Seated with his back to the wall was a blind fiddler with a tin cup +strapped to a knee. He was out of bounds; he had no right on Broadway; +but he possessed a singular advantage over the law. He could not be +forced to move on without his guide--if he were honestly blind. Hundreds +of people were passing; but the fiddler's "Last Rose of Summer" wasn't +worth a cent. His cup was empty. + +"The poor thing!" said Kitty. + +"Wait!" Hawksley approached the fiddler, exchanged a few words with him, +and the blind man surrendered his fiddle. + +"Give me your hat!" cried Kitty, delighted. + +Carefully Hawksley pried loose his derby and handed it to Kitty. No stab +of pain; something to find that out. He turned the instrument, tucked it +under his chin and began "Traumerei." Kitty, smiling, extended the hat. +Just the sort of interlude to make the adventure memorable. She knew +this thoroughfare. Shortly there would be a crowd, and the fiddler's cup +would overflow--that is, if the police did not interfere too soon. + +As for the owner of the wretched fiddle, he raised his head, his mouth +opened. Up there, somewhere, a door to heaven had opened. + +True to her expectations a crowd slowly gathered. The beauty of the girl +and the dark, handsome face of the musician, his picturesque bare head, +were sufficient for these cynical passers-by. They understood. Operatic +celebrities, having a little fun on their own. So quarters and dimes and +nickels began to patter into Cutty's ancient derby hat. Broadway will +always contribute generously toward a novelty of this order. Famous +names were tossed about in undertones. + +Entered then the enemy of the proletariat. Kitty, being a New Yorker +born, had had her weather eye roving. The brass-buttoned minion of the +law was always around when a bit of innocent fun was going on. As +the policeman reached the inner rim of the audience the last notes of +Handel's "Largo" were fading on the ear. + +"What's this?" demanded the policeman. + +"It's all over, sir," answered Kitty, smiling. + +"Can't have this on Broadway, miss. Obstruction." He could not speak +gruffly in the face of such beauty--especially with a Broadway crowd at +his back. + +"It's all over. Just let me put this money in the blind man's cup." +Kitty poured her coins into the receptacle. At the same time Hawksley +laid the fiddle in the blind man's lap. Then he turned to Kitty and +boomed a long Russian phrase at her. Her quick wit caught the intent. +"You see, he doesn't understand that this cannot be done in New York. I +couldn't explain." + +"All right, miss; but don't do it again." The policeman grinned. + +"And please don't be harsh with the blind man. Just tell him he mustn't +play on Broadway again. Thank you!" + +She linked her arm in Hawksley's, and they went on; and the crowd +dissolved; only the policeman and the blind man remained, the one +contemplating his duty and the other his vision of heaven. + +"What a lark!" exclaimed Hawksley. + +"Were you asking me for your hat?" + +"I was telling the bobby to go to the devil!" + +They laughed like children. + +"March hares!" he said. + +"No. April fools! Good heavens, the time! Twenty minutes to seven. Our +dinner!" + +"We'll take a taxi.... Dash it!" + +"What's wrong?" + +"Not a bally copper in my pockets!" + +"And I left my handbag on the sideboard! We'll have to walk. If we hurry +we can just about make it." + +Meantime, there lay in wait for them--this pair of April fools--a +taxicab. It stood snugly against the curb opposite the entrance to +Cutty's apartment. The door was slightly ajar. + +The driver watched the south corner; the three men inside never took +their gaze off the north corner. + +"But, I say, hasn't this been a jolly lark?" + +"If we had known we could have borrowed a dollar from the blind man; +he'd never have missed it." + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +Champagne in the glass is a beautiful thing to see. So is water, +the morning after. That is the fault with frolic; there is always an +inescapable rebound. The most violent love drops into humdrum tolerance. +A pessimist is only a poor devil who has anticipated the inevitable; he +has his headache at the start. Mental champagnes have their aftermaths +even as the juice of the grape. + +Hawksley and Kitty, hurrying back, began to taste lees. They began to +see things, too--menace in every loiterer, threat in every alley. They +had had a glorious lark; somewhere beyond would be the piper with an +appalling bill. They exaggerated the dangers, multiplied them; perhaps +wisely. There would be no let-down in their vigilance until they reached +haven. But this state of mind they covered with smiling masks, banter, +bursts of laughter, and flashes of wit. + +They were both genuinely frightened, but with unselfish fear. Kitty's +fear was not for herself but for Johnny Two-Hawks. If anything happened +the blame would rightly be hers. With that head he wasn't strictly +accountable for what he did; she was. A firm negative on her part and +he would never have left the apartment. And his fear was wholly for this +astonishing girl. He had recklessly thrust her into grave danger. Who +knew, better than he, the implacable hate of the men who sought to kill +him? + +Moreover, his strength was leaving him. There was an alarming weakness +in his legs, purely physical. He had overdone, and if need rose he would +not be able to protect her. Damnable fool! But she had known. That was +the odd phase of it. She hadn't come blindly. What mood had urged her +to share the danger along with the lark? Somehow, she was always just +beyond his reach, this girl. He would never forget that fan popping out +of the pistol, the egg burning in the pan. + +The apartment was only three blocks away when Kitty decided to drop her +mask. "I'd give a good deal to see a policeman. They are never around +when you really want them. Johnny Two-Hawks, I'm a little fool! You +wouldn't have left the apartment but for me. Will you forgive me?" + +"It is I who should ask forgiveness. I say, how much farther is it?" + +"Only about two blocks; but they may be long ones. Let's step into this +doorway for a moment. I see a taxicab. It looks to be standing opposite +the building. Don't like it. Suppose we watch it for a few minutes?" + +Hawksley was grateful for the respite; and together they stared at the +unwinking red eye of the tail light. But no man approached the cab or +left it. + +"I believe I've hit upon a plan," said Kitty. "Certainly we have not +been followed. In that event they would have had a dozen chances. If +someone saw us leave together, naturally they will expect us to return +together. We'll walk to the corner of our block, then turn east; but +I shall remain just out of sight while you will go round the block. +Fifteen minutes should carry you to the south corner. I'll be on watch +for you. The moment you turn I'll walk toward you. It will give us a bit +of a handicap in case that taxi is a menace. If any one appears, run for +it. Where's the cane you had?" + +"What a jolly ass I am! I remember now. I left the stick against the +wall of the opera house. Blockhead! With a stick, now!... I'm hopeless!" + +"Never mind. Let's start. That taxi may be perfectly honest. It's our +guilty consciences that are peopling the shadows with goblins. What +really bothers us is that we have broken our word to the kindliest man +in all this world." + +Hawksley wondered if he could walk round the block without falling down. +He saw that he was facing a physical collapse, hastened by the knowledge +that the safety of the girl depended largely upon himself. What he +had accepted at the beginning as strength had been nothing more than +exhilaration and nerve energy. There was now nothing but the latter, and +only feeble straws at that. Oh, he would manage somehow; he jolly well +had to; and there was a bare chance of falling in with a bobby. But run? +Honestly, now, how the devil was a chap to run on a pair of spools? + +Arriving at the appointed spot they separated. He waved his hand airily +and marched off. If he fell it would be out of sight, where the girl +could not see him. Clever chap--what? Damned rotter! For himself he did +not care. He was weary of this game of hide and seek. But to have lured +the girl into it! When he turned the first corner of his journey he +paused and leaned against the wall, his eyes shut. When he opened them +the sidewalk and the street lamps were normal again. + +As soon as he disappeared a new plan came to Kitty. She put it into +execution at once, on the basis that yonder taxicab was an enemy +machine. She left her retreat and walked boldly down the street, her +eyes alert for the least suspicious sign. If she could make the entrance +before they suspected the trick, she could obtain help before Johnny +Two-Hawks made the south turn. She reached her objective, pushed through +the revolving doors, and turned. Dimly she could see the taxi driver; +but he appeared to be dozing on the seat. + +As a matter of fact, one of the three men in the taxi recognized +Kitty, but too late to intercept her. Her manoeuvre had confused him +temporarily. And while he and his companions were debating, Kitty had +time to summon Cutty's man from Elevator Four. + +"Step into the car!" he roughly ordered, after she had given him a gist +of her suspicions. He turned off the lights, stepped out, and shut the +gates with a furious bang. "And stick to the corner! I'll attend to the +other fool." + +He rushed into the street, his automatic ready, eyed the taxicab +speculatively, wheeled suddenly, and ran south at a dog-trot. He rounded +the south corner, but he did not see Hawksley anywhere. The dog-trot +became a dead run. As he wheeled round the corner of the parallel street +he almost bumped into Hawksley, who had a policeman in tow. + +"Officer," said the man with the boy's face, "this is Federal business. +Aliens. Come along. There may be trouble. If there should be any +shooting don't bother with the atmosphere. Pick out a real target." + +"Anarchists?" + +"About the size of it." + +"Miss Conover?" asked Hawksley. + +"Safe. No thanks to you, though. I'd like to knock your block off, if +you want to know!" + +"Do it! Damned little use to me," declared Hawksley, sagging. + +"Here, what's the matter with you?" cried the policeman, throwing his +arm round Hawksley. + +"They nearly killed him a few days gone. A crack on the bean; but he +wasn't satisfied. Help him along. I'll be hiking back." + +But the taxicab was gone. + +Before Cutty's lieutenant opened the gate to the apartment he spoke to +Hawksley. "The boss is doing everything he can to put you through, sir. +Miss Conover's wit saved you. For if you hadn't separated they'd have +nailed you. I've been running round like a chicken with its head cut +off. I forgot that door on the seventeenth floor. I tell you honestly, +you've been playing with death. It wasn't fair to Miss Conover." + +"It was my fault," volunteered Kitty. + +"Mine," protested Hawksley. + +"Well, they know where you roost now, for a fact. You've spilled the +beans. I'm sorry I lost my temper. The devil fly away with you both!" +The boy laughed. "You're game, anyhow. But darn it all, if anything had +happened to you the boss would never have forgiven me. He's the whitest +old scout God ever put the breath of life into. He's always doing +something for somebody. He'd give you the block if you had the gall to +ask for it. Play the game fifty-fifty with him and you'll land on both +feet. And you, Miss Conover, must not come here again." + +"I promise." + +"I'll tell you a little secret. It was the boss who sent you out of +town. He was afraid you'd do something like this. When you are ready to +go home you'll find Tony Bernini downstairs. Sore as a crab, too, I'll +bet." + +"I'll be glad to go home with him," said Kitty, thoroughly chastened in +spirit. + +"That's all for to-night." + +Kitty and Hawksley stepped out into the corridor, the problem they +had sought to shake off reestablished in their thoughts, added too, if +anything. + +"How do you feel?" + +"Top-hole," lied Hawksley. "My word, though, I wobbled a bit going +round that block. I almost kissed the bobby. I say, he thought I'd been +tilting a few. But it was a lark!" + +"Dinner is served," announced Kuroki at their elbows. His expression was +coldly bland. + +"Dinner!" cried Hawksley, brightening. "What does the American soldier +say?" + +"Eats!" answered Kitty. + +All tension vanished in the double laughter that followed. They +approached dinner with something of the spirit that had induced Hawksley +to fiddle and Kitty to pass the hat in front of the Metropolitan Opera +House. Hawksley's recuperative powers promised well for his future. By +the time coffee was served his head had cleared and his legs had resumed +their normal functions of support. + +"I was so infernally bored!" + +"And now?" asked Kitty, recklessly. + +"Fancy asking me that!" + +"Do you realize that all this is dreadfully improper?" + +"Oh, I say, now! Where's the harm? If ever there was a young woman +capable of taking care of herself--" + +"That isn't it. It's just being here alone with you." + +"But you are not alone with me!" + +"Kuroki?" Kitty shrugged. + +"No. At my side of the table is Stefani Gregor; at yours the man who has +befriended me." + +"Thank you for that. I don't know of anything nicer you could say. But +the outside world would see neither of our friends. I did not come here +to see you." + +"No need of telling me that." + +"I had a problem--a very difficult one--to solve; and I believed that I +might solve it if I came to these rooms. I had quite forgotten you." + +Instantly, upon receiving this blunt explanation, he determined that she +should never cease to remember him after this night. His vanity was not +touched; it was something far more elusive. It was perhaps a recurrence +of that inexplicable desire to hurt. Somehow he sensed the flexible +steel behind which lay the soul of this baffling girl. He would +presently find a chink in the armour with that old Amati. + +Blows on the head have few surgical comparisons. That which kills one +man only temporarily stuns another. One man loses his identity; another +escapes with all his faculties and suffers but trifling inconvenience. +In Hawksley's case the blow had probably restricted some current +of thought, and that which would have flowed normally now shot out +obliquely, perversely. It might be that the natural perverseness of his +blood, unchecked by the noble influence of Stefani Gregor and liberated +by the blow, governed his thoughts in relation to Kitty. The subjugation +of women, the old cynical warfare of sex--the dominant business of his +rich and idle forbears, the business that had made Boris Karlov a deadly +and implacable enemy--became paramount in his disordered brain. + +She had forgotten him! Very well. He would stir the soul of her, play +with it, lift it to the stars and dash it down--if she had a soul. +Beautiful, natural, alone. He became all Latin under the pressure of +this idea. + +"I will play for you," he said, quietly. + +"Please! And then I'll go home where I belong. I'll be in the living +room." + +When he returned he found her before a window, staring at the myriad +lights. + +"Sit here," he said, indicating the divan. "I shall stand and walk about +as I play." + +Kitty sat down, touching the pillows, reflectively. She thought of +the tears she had wept upon them. That sinister and cynical thought! +Suddenly she saw light. Her problem would have been none at all if Cutty +had said he loved her. There would have been something sublime in making +him happy in his twilight. He had loved and lost her mother. To pay +him for that! He was right. Those twenty-odd years--his seniority--had +mellowed him, filled him with deep and tender understanding. To be with +him was restful; the very thought of him now was resting. No matter how +much she might love a younger man he would frequently torture her by +unconscious egoism; and by the time he had mellowed, the mulled wine +would be cold. If only Cutty had said he loved her! + +"What shall I play?" + +Kitty raised her eyes in frank astonishment. There was a fiercely proud +expression on Hawksley's face. It was not the man, it was the artist who +was angry. + +"Forgive me! I was dreaming a little," she apologized with quick +understanding. "I am not quite--myself." + +"Neither am I. I will play something to fit your dream. But wait! When +I play I am articulate. I can express myself--all emotions. I am what +I play--happy, sad, gay, full of the devil. I warn you. I can speak all +things. I can laugh at you, weep with you, despise you, love you! All +in the touch of these strings. I warn you there is magic in this Amati. +Will you risk it?" + +Ordinarily--had this florid outburst come from another man--Kitty would +have laughed. It had the air of piqued vanity; but she knew that this +was not the interpretation. On the streets he had been the most amusing +and surprising comrade she had ever known, as merry and whimsical as +Cutty--young and handsome--the real man. He had been real that night +when he entered through her kitchen window, with the drums of jeopardy +about his neck. He had been real that night she had brought him his +wallet. + +Electric antagonism--the room seemed charged with it. The man had +stepped aside for a moment and the great noble had taken his place. It +was not because she had been reared in rather a theatrical atmosphere +that she transcribed his attitude thus. She knew that he was noble. +That she did not know his rank was of no consequence. Cutty's narrative, +which she had pretended to believe, had set this man in the middle +class. Never in this world. There was only one middle class out of which +such a personality might, and often did, emerge--the American middle +class. In Europe, never. No peasant blood, no middle-class corpuscle, +stirred in this man's veins. The ancient boyar looked down at her. + +"Play!" said Kitty. There was a smile on her lips, but there was fiery +challenge in her slate-blue eyes. The blood of Irish kings--and what +Irishman dares deny it?--surged into her throat. + +We wear masks, we inherit generations of masks; and a trivial incident +reveals the primordial which lurks in each one of us. Savages--Kitty +with her stone hatchet and Hawksley swinging the curved blade of Hunk. + +He began one of those tempestuous compositions, brilliant and +bewildering, that submerge the most appreciative lay mentality--because +he was angry, a double anger that he should be angry over he knew not +what--and broke off in the middle of the composition because Kitty sat +upright, stonily unimpressed. + +Tschaikowsky's "Serenade Melancolique." Kitty, after a few measures, +laid aside her stone hatchet, and her body relaxed. Music! She began to +absorb it as parched earth absorbs the tardy rain. Then came the waltz +which had haunted her. Her face grew tenderly beautiful; and Hawksley, a +true artist, saw that he had discovered the fifth string; and he played +upon it with all the artistry which was naturally his and which had been +given form by the master who had taught him. + +For the physical exertions he relied upon nerve energy again. Nature +is generous when we are young. No matter how much we draw against the +account she always has a little more for us. He forgot that only an hour +gone he had been dizzy with pain, forgot everything but the glory of +the sounds he was evoking and their visible reaction upon this girl. The +devil was not only in his heart, but in his hand. + +Never had Kitty heard such music. To be played to in this +manner--directly, with embracing tenderness, with undivided fire--would +have melted the soul of Gobseck the money lender; and Kitty was +warm-blooded, Irish, emotional. The fiddle called poignantly to the +Irish in her. She wanted to go roving with this man; with her hand on +his shoulder to walk in the thin air of high places. Through it all, +however, she felt vaguely troubled; the instinct of the trap. The +sinister and cynical idea which had clandestinely taken up quarters +in her mind awoke and assailed her from a new angle, that of youth. +Something in her cried out: "Stop! Stop!" But her lips were mute, her +body enchained. + +Suddenly Hawksley laid aside the fiddle and advanced. He reached +down and drew her up. Kitty did not resist him; she was numb with +enchantment. He held her close for a second, then kissed her--her hair, +eyes, mouth--released her and stepped back, a bantering smile on his +lips and cold terror in his heart. The devil who had inspired this phase +of the drama now deserted his victim, as he generally does in the face +of superior forces. + +Kitty stood perfectly still for a full minute, stunned. It was that +smile--frozen on his lips--that brought her back to intimacy with cold +realities. Had he asked her pardon, had he shown the least repentance, +she might have forgiven, forgotten. But knowing mankind as she did she +could give but one interpretation to that smile--of which he was no +longer conscious. + +Without anger, in quiet, level tones she said: "I had foolishly thought +that we two might be friends. You have made it impossible. You have also +abused the kindly hospitality of the man who has protected you from your +enemies. A few days ago he did me the honour to ask me to marry him. I +am going to. I wish you no evil." She turned and walked from the room. + +Even then there was time. But he did not move. It was not until he +heard the elevator gate crash that he was physically released from +the thraldom of the inner revelation. Love--in the blinding flash of a +thunderbolt! He had kissed her not because he was the son of his father, +but because he loved her! And now he never could tell her. He must let +her go, believing that the man she had saved from death had repaid her +with insult. On top of all his misfortunes, his tragedies--love! There +was a God, yes, but his name was Irony. Love! He stepped toward the +divan, stumbled, and fell against it, his arms spread over the pillows; +and in this position he remained. + +For a while his thoughts were broken, inconclusive; he was like a man in +the dark, groping for a door. Principally, his poor head was trying to +solve the riddle of his never-ending misfortunes. Why? What had he +done that these calamities should be piled upon his head? He had lived +decently; his youth had been normal; he had played fair with men and +women. Why make him pay for what his forbears had done? He wasn't fair +game. + +He! A singular revelation cleared one corner. Kitty had spoken of a +problem; and he, by those devil-urged kisses, had solved it for her. She +had been doddering, and his own act had thrust her into the arms of that +old thoroughbred. That cynical suggestion of his the other morning +had been acted upon. God had long ago deserted him, and now the devil +himself had taken leave. Hawksley buried his face in the pillow once +made wet with Kitty's tears. + +The great tragedy in life lies in being too late. Hawksley had learned +this once before; it was now being driven home again. Cutty was to find +it out on the morrow, for he missed his train that night. + +The shuttles of the Weaver in this pattern of life were two green stones +called the drums of jeopardy, inanimate objects, but perfect tools +in the hands of Destiny. But for these stones Hawksley would not +have tarried too long on a certain red night; Cutty would not now be +stumbling about the labyrinths into which his looting instincts had +thrust him; and Kitty Conover would have jogged along in the humdrum +rut, if not happy at least philosophically content with her lot. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +Decision is always a mental relief, hesitance a curse. Kitty, having +shifted her burdens to the broad shoulders of Cutty, felt as she reached +the lobby as if she had left storm and stress behind and entered calm. +She would marry Cutty; she had published the fact, burned her bridges. + +She had stepped into the car, her heart full of cold fury. Now she began +to find excuses for Hawksley's conduct. A sick brain; he was not really +accountable for his acts. Her own folly had opened the way. Of course +she would never see him again. Why should she? Their lives were as far +apart as the Volga and the Hudson. + +Bernini met her in the lobby. "I've got a cab for you, Miss Conover," he +said as if nothing at all had happened. + +"Have you Cutty's address?" + +"Yes." + +"Then take me at once to a telegraph office. I have a very important +message to send him." + +"All right, Miss Conover." + +"Say: 'Decision made. It is yes.' And sign it just Kitty." + +Without being conscious of it her soul was still in the clouds, where it +had been driven by the music of the fiddle; thus, what she assumed to be +a normal sequence of a train of thought was only a sublime impulse. She +would marry Cutty. More, she would be his wife, his true wife. For his +tenderness, his generosity, his chivalry, she would pay him in kind. +There would be no nonsense; love would not enter into the bargain; +but there would be the fragrance of perfect understanding. That he +was fifty-two and she was twenty-four no longer mattered. No more +loneliness, no more genteel poverty; for such benefits she was ready to +pay the score in full. A man she was genuinely fond of, a man she could +look up to, always depend upon. + +Was there such a thing as perfect love? She had her doubts. She reasoned +that love was what a body decided was love, the psychological moment +when the physical attraction became irresistible. Who could tell before +the fact which was the true and which the false? Lived there a woman, +herself excepted, who had not hesitated between two men--a man who had +not doddered between two women--for better or for worse? What did the +average woman know of the man, the average man know of the woman--until +afterward? To stake all upon a guess! + +She knew Cutty. Under her own eyes he had passed through certain proving +fires. There would be no guessing the manner of man he was. He was +fifty-two; that is to say, the grand passion had come and gone. There +would be mutual affection and comradeship. + +True, she had her dreams; but she could lay them away without any +particular regret. She had never been touched by the fire of passion. +Let it go. But she did know what perfect comradeship was, and she would +grasp it and never loose her hold. Something out of life. + +"A narrow squeak, Miss Conover," said Berumi, breaking the long silence. + +"A miss is as good as a mile," replied Kitty, not at all grateful for +the interruption. + +"We've done everything we could to protect you. If you can't see +now--why, the jig is up. A chain is as strong as its weakest link. And +in a game like this a woman is always the weakest link." + +"You're quite a philosopher." + +"I have reason to be. I'm married." + +"Am I expected to laugh?" + +"Miss Conover, you're a wonder. You come through these affairs with a +smile, when you ought to have hysterics. I'll bet a doughnut that when +you see a mouse you go and get it a piece of cheese." + +"Do you want the truth? Well, I'll tell it to you. You have all kept me +on the outer edge of this affair, and I've been trying to find out why. +I have the reportorial instinct, as they say. I inherited it from my +father. You put a strange weapon in my hands, you tell me it is deadly, +but you don't tell me which end is deadly. Do you know who this Russian +is?" + +"Honestly, I don't." + +"Does Cutty?" + +"I don't know that, either." + +"Did you ever hear of a pair of emeralds called the drums of jeopardy?" + +"Nope. But I do know if you continue these stunts you'll head the whole +game into the ditch." + +"You may set your mind at ease. I'm going to marry Cutty. I shall not go +to the apartment again until Hawksley, as he is called, is gone." + +"Well, well; that's good news! But let me put you wise to one fact, +Miss Conover: you have picked some man! I'm not much of a scholar, but +knowing him as I do I'm always wondering why they made Faith, Hope, and +Charity in female form. But this night's work was bad business. They +know where the Russian is now; and if the game lasts long enough they'll +reach the chief, find out who he is; and that'll put the kibosh on his +usefulness here and abroad. Well, here's home, and no more lecture from +me." + +"Sorry I've been so much trouble." + +"Perhaps we ought to have shown you which end shoots." + +"Good-night." + +If Kitty had any doubt as to the wisdom of her decision, the cold, +gloomy rooms of her apartment dissipated them. She wandered through the +rooms, musing, calling back animated scenes. What would the spirit of +her mother say? Had she doddered between Conover and Cutty? Perhaps. +But she had been one of the happy few who had guessed right. Singular +thought: her mother would have been happy with Cutty, too. + +Oh, the relief of knowing what the future was going to be! She took off +her hat and tossed it upon the table. The good things of life, and a +good comrade. + +Food. The larder would be empty and there was her breakfast to consider. +She passed out into the kitchen, wrote out a list of necessities, and +put it on the dumb waiter. Now for the dishes she had so hurriedly left. +She rolled up her sleeves, put on the apron, and fell to the task. After +such a night--dish-washing! She laughed. It was a funny old world. + +Pauses. Perhaps she should have gone to a hotel, away from all familiar +objects. Those flatirons intermittently pulled her eyes round. Her fancy +played tricks with her whenever her glance touched the window. Faces +peering in. In a burst of impatience she dropped the dish towel, hurried +to the window, and threw it up. Black emptiness!... Cutty, crossing the +platform with Hawksley on his shoulders. She saw that, and it comforted +her. + +She finished her work and started for bed. But first she entered the +guest room and turned on the lights. Olga. She had intended to ask him +who Olga was. + +A great pity. They might have been friends. The back of her hand went +to her lips but did not touch them. She could not rub away those burning +kisses--that is, not with the back of her hand. Vividly she saw him +fiddling bareheaded in front of the Metropolitan Opera House. It seemed, +though, that it had happened years ago. A great pity. The charm of that +frolic would abide with her as long as she lived. A brave man, too. +Hadn't he left her with a gay wave of the hand, not knowing, for want of +strength, if he could make the detour of the block? That took courage. +His journey halfway across the world had taken courage. Yet he could so +basely disillusion her. It was not the kiss; it was the smile. She had +seen that smile before, born of evil. If only he had spoken! + +The heavenly magic of that fiddle! It made her sad. Genius, the ability +to play with souls, soothe, tantalize, lift up; and then to smile at her +like that! + +She shut down the curtain upon these cogitations and summoned Cutty, +visualized his handsome head, shot with gray, the humour of his smile. +She did care for him; no doubt of that. She couldn't have sent that +telegram else. Cutty--name of a pipe, as the Frenchmen said! All at once +she rocked with laughter. She was going to marry a man whose given name +she could not recall! Henry, George, John, William? For the life of her +she could not remember. + +And with this laughter still bubbling in a softer note she got into bed, +twisted about from side to side, from this pillow to that, the tired +body seeking perfect relaxation. + +A broken melody entered her head. Sleepily she sought one channel of +thought after another to escape; still the melody persisted. As her +consciousness dodged hither and thither the bars and measures joined.... +She sat up, chilled, bewildered. That Tschaikowsky waltz! She could +hear it as clearly as if Johnny Two-Hawks and the Amati were in the very +room. She grew afraid. Of what? She did not know. + +And while she sat there in bed threshing out this fear to find the +grain, Cutty was tramping the streets of Washington, her telegram +crumpled in his hand. From time to time he would open it and reread it +under a street lamp. + +To marry her and then to cheat her. It wasn't humanly possible to marry +her and then to let her go. He thought of those warm, soft arms round +his neck, the absolute trust of that embrace. Molly's girl. No, he could +not do it. He would have to back down, tell her he could not put the +bargain through, invent some other scheme. + +The idea had been repugnant to her. It had taken her a week to fight it +out. It was a little beyond his reach, however, why the idea should have +been repugnant to her. It entailed nothing beyond a bit of mummery. The +repugnance was not due to religious training. The Conover household, as +he recalled it, had been rather lax in that respect. Why, then, should +Kitty have hesitated? + +He thought of Hawksley, and swore. But for Hawksley's suggestion no +muddle like this would have occurred. Devil take him and his infernal +green stones! + +Cutty suddenly remembered his train. He looked at his watch and saw that +his lower berth was well on the way to Baltimore. Always and eternally +he was missing something. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +Not unusually, when we burn our bridges, we have in the back of our +minds the dim hope that there may be a shallow ford somewhere. Thus, +bridges should not be burned impulsively; there may be no ford. + +The idea of retreat pushed forward in Kitty's mind the moment she awoke; +but she pressed it back in shame. She had given her word, and she would +stand by it. + +The night had been a series of wild impulses. She had not sent that +telegram to Cutty as the result of her deliberations in the country. +Impulse; a flash, and the thing was done, her bridges burned. To crush +Johnny Two-Hawks, fill his cup with chagrin, she had told him she was +going to marry Cutty. That was the milk in the cocoanut. Morning has a +way of showing up night-gold for what it is--tinsel. Kitty saw the stage +of last night's drama dismantled. If there was a shallow ford, she would +never lower her pride to seek it. She had told Two-Hawks, sent that wire +to Cutty, broke the news to Bernini. + +But did she really want to go back? Not to know her own mind, to swing +back and forth like a pendulum! Was it because she feared that, having +married Cutty, she might actually fall in love with some other man +later? She could still go through the mummery as Cutty had planned; but +what about all the sublime generosity of the preceding night? + +A queer feeling pervaded her: She was a marionette, a human manikin, +and some invisible hand was pulling the wires that made her do all +these absurd things. Her own mind no longer controlled her actions. The +persistence of that waltz! It had haunted her, broken into her dreams, +awakened her out of them. Why should she be afraid? What was there to be +afraid of in a recurring melody? She had heard a dozen famed +violinists play it. It had never before affected her beyond a flash of +emotionalism. Perhaps it was the romantic misfortune of the man, the +mystery surrounding him, the menace which walled him in. + +Breakfast. Human manikins had appetites. So she made her breakfast. +Before leaving the kitchen she stopped at the window. The sun filled +the court with brilliant light. The patches of rust on the fire-escape +ladder, which was on the Gregor side of the platform, had the semblance +of powdered gold. + +Half an hour later she was speeding downtown to the office. All through +the day she walked, worked, talked as one in the state of trance. +There were periods of stupefaction which at length roused Burlingame's +curiosity. + +"Kitty, what's the matter with you? You look dazed about something." + +"How do you clean a pipe?" she countered, irrelevantly. + +"Clean a pipe?" he repeated, nearly overbalancing his chair. + +"Yes. You see, I may make up my mind to marry a man who smokes a pipe," +said Kitty, desperately, eager to steer Burlingame into another channel; +"and certainly I ought to know how to clean one." + +"Kitty, I'm an old-timer. You can't sidetrack me like this. Something +has happened. You say you had a great time in the country, and you come +in as pale as the moon, like someone suffering from shell shock. Ever +since Cutty came in here that day you've been acting oddly. You may not +know it, but Cutty asked me to send you out of town. You've been in some +kind of danger. What's the yarn?" + +"So big that no newspaper will ever publish it, Burly. If Cutty wants to +tell you some day he can. I haven't the right to." + +"Did he drag you into it or did you fall into it?" + +"I walked into it, as presently I shall walk out of it--all on my own. + +"Better keep your eyes open. Cutty's a stormy petrel; when he flies +there's rough weather." + +"What do you know about him?" + +"Probably what he has already told you--that he is a foreign agent of +the Government. What do you know?" + +"Everything but one thing, and that's a problem particularly my own." + +"Alien stuff, I suppose. Cutty's strong on that. Well, mind your step. +The boys are bringing in queer scraps about something big going to +happen May Day--no facts, just rumours. Better shoot for home the +shortest route each night and stick round there." + +There are certain spiritual exhilarants that nullify caution, warning +the presence of danger. The boy with his first pay envelope, the lover +who has just been accepted, the debutante on the way to her first ball; +the impetus that urges us to rush in where angels fear to tread. + +At a quarter after five Kitty left the office for home, unaware that +the attribute designated as caution had evaporated from her system. She +proceeded toward the Subway mechanically, the result of habit. Casually +she noted two taxicabs standing near the Subway entrance. That she +noted them at all was due to the fact that Subway entrances were not +fortuitous hunting grounds for taxicabs. Only the unusual would have +attracted her in her present condition of mind. It takes time and +patience to weave a good web--observe any spider--time in finding a +suitable place for it; patience in the spinning. All that worried Karlov +was the possibility of her not observing him. If he could place +his taxicabs where they would attract her, even casually, the main +difficulty would be out of the way. The moment she turned her head +toward the cabs he would step out into plain view. The girl was +susceptible and adventuresome. + +Kitty saw a man step out of the foremost taxicab, give some instructions +to the chauffeur, and get back into the cab, immediately to be driven +off at moderate speed. She recognized the man at once. Never would she +forget that squat, gorilla-like body. Karlov! Yonder, in that cab! She +ran to the remaining cab; wherein she differed from angels. + +"Are you free?" + +"Yes, miss." + +"See that taxi going across town? Follow it and I will give you ten +extra fare." + +"You're on, miss." + +Karlov peered through the rear window of his cab. If she had in tow a +Federal agent the manoeuvre would fail, at a great risk to himself. But +he would soon be able to tell whether or not she was being followed. + +As a matter of fact, she was not. She had returned to New York a day +before she was expected. Her unknown downtown guardian would not turn +up for duty until ordered by Cutty to do so. She entered the second cab +with no definite plan in her head. Karlov, the man who wanted to kill +Johnny Two-Hawks, the man who held Stefani Gregor a prisoner! For the +present these facts were sufficient. "Don't get too near," said Kitty +through the speaking tube. "Just keep the cab in sight." + +A perfectly logical compensation. She herself had set in motion the +machinery of this amazing adventure; it was logically right that she +should end it. Poor dear old Cutty--to fancy he could pull the wool over +Kitty Conover's eyes! Cutty, the most honest man alive, had set his foot +upon an unethical bypath and now found himself among nettles. To keep +Johnny Two-Hawks prisoner in that lofty apartment while he hunted for +the drums of jeopardy! Hadn't he said he had seen emeralds he would +steal with half a chance? Cutty, playing at this sort of game, +his conscience biting whichever way he turned! He had been hunting +unsuccessfully for the stones that night he had come in with his face +and hands bloody. Why hadn't he kissed her? + +Johnny Two-Hawks--bourgeois? Utter nonsense! Of course it did not matter +now what he was; he had dug a bridgeless chasm with that smile. Sometime +to-morrow he and Stefani Gregor would be on their way to Montana; and +that would be the last of them both. To-morrow would mark the fork in +the road. But life would never again be humdrum for Kitty Conover. + +The taxicabs were bumping over cobbles, through empty streets. It was +six by now; at that hour this locality, which she recognized as the +warehouse district, was always dead. The deserted streets, how ever, set +in motion a slight perturbation. Supposing Karlov grew suspicious and +turned aside from his objective? Even as this disturbing thought +took form Karlov's taxicab stopped. Kitty's stopped also, but without +instructions from her. She had intended to drive on and from the rear +window observe if Karlov entered that old red-brick house. + +"Go on!" she called through the tube. + +The chauffeur obeyed, but he stopped again directly behind Karlov's +taxicab. He slid off his seat and opened the door. His face was grim. + +Tumpitum-tump! Tumpitum-tump! She did not hear the tocsin this time; she +felt it on her spine--the drums of fear. If they touched her! + +"Come with me, miss. If you are sensible you will not be harmed. If you +cut up a racket I'll have to carry you." + +"What does this mean?" faltered Kitty. + +"That we have finally got you, miss. You can see for yourself that there +isn't any help in sight. Better take it sensibly. We don't intend to +hurt you. It's somebody else we want. There's a heavy score against you, +but we'll overlook it if you act sensibly. You were very clever last +night; but the game depends upon the last trick." + +"I'll go sensibly," Kitty agreed. They must not touch her! + +Karlov did not speak as he opened the door of the house for her. His +expression was Buddha-like. + +"This way, miss," said the chauffeur, affably. + +"You are an American?" + +"Whenever it pays." + +Presently Kitty found herself in the attic, alone. They hadn't touched +her; so much was gained. Poor little fool that she was! It was fairly +dark now, but overhead she could see the dim outlines of the scuttle +or trap. The attic was empty except for a few pieces of lumber and some +soap boxes. She determined to investigate the trap at once, before they +came again. + +She placed two soap boxes on end and laid a plank across. After testing +its stability she mounted. She could reach the trap easily, with plenty +of leverage to spare. She was confident that she could draw herself +up to the roof. She sought for the hooks and liberated them, then she +placed her palms against the trap and heaved. Not even a creak answered +her. She pressed upward again and again. The trap was immovable. + +Light. She turned, to behold Karlov in the doorway, a candlestick in his +hand. "The scuttle is covered with cement, Miss Conover. Nobody can get +in or out." + +Kitty got down, her knees uncertain. If he touched her! Oh, the fool she +had been! + +"What are you going to do with me?" she asked through dry lips. + +"You are to me a bill of exchange, payable in something more precious +to me than gold. I am going to keep you here until you are ransomed. The +ransom is the man you have been shielding. If he isn't here by midnight +you vanish. Oh, we shan't harm you. Merely you will disappear until my +affairs in America are terminated. You are clever and resourceful for so +young a woman. You will understand that we are not going to turn aside. +You are not a woman to me; you are a valuable pawn. You are something to +bargain for." + +"I understand," said Kitty, her heart trying to burst through. It seemed +impossible that Karlov should not hear the thunder. To placate him, to +answer his questions, to keep him from growing angry! + +"I thought you would." Karlov set the candle on Kitty's impromptu +stepladder. "We saw your interest in the affair, and attacked you on +that side. You had seen me once. Being a newspaper writer--the New York +kind--you would not rest until you learned who I was. You would not +forget me. You were too well guarded uptown. You have been out of +the city for a week. We could not find where. You were reported seen +entering your office this morning; and here you are. My one fear was +that you might not see me. Personally you will have no cause to worry. +No hand shall touch you. + +"Thank you for that." + +"Don't misunderstand. There is no sentiment behind this promise. I +imagine your protector will sacrifice much for your sake. Simply it is +unnecessary to offer you any violence. Do you know who the man is your +protector is shielding?" + +Kitty shook her head. + +"Has he played the fiddle for you?" + +"Yes." + +Karlov smiled. "Did you dance?" + +"Dance? I don't understand." + +"No matter. He can play the fiddle nearly as well as his master. The two +of them have gone across the world fiddling the souls of women out of +their bodies." + +Kitty sat down weakly on the plank. Terror from all points. Karlov's +unexcited tones--his lack of dramatic gesture--convinced her that this +was deadly business. Terror that for all the promise of immunity they +might lay hands on her. Terror for Johnny Two-Hawks, for Cutty. + +"Has he injured you?" she asked, to gain time. + +"He is an error in chronology. He represents an idea which no longer +exists." He spoke English fluently, but with a rumbling accent. + +"But to kill him for that!" + +"Kill him? My dear young lady, I merely want him to fiddle for me," said +Karlov with another smile. + +"You tried to kill him," insisted Kitty, the dryness beginning to leave +her throat. + +"Bungling agents. Do know what became of them--the two who invaded your +bedroom?" + +"They were taken away the police." + +"So I thought. What became of the wallet?" + +"I found it hidden on the back of my stove." + +"I never thought to look there," said Karlov, musingly. "Who has the +drums?" + +"The emeralds? You haven't them!" cried Kitty, becoming her mother's +daughter, though her heart never beat so thunderously as now. "We +thought you had them!" + +Karlov stared at her, moodily. "What is that button for, at the side of +your bed?" + +Kitty comprehended the working of the mind that formulated this +question. If she answered truthfully he would accept her statements. "It +rings an alarm in the basement." + +Karlov nodded. "You are truthful and sensible I haven't the emeralds." + +"Perhaps one of your men betrayed you." + +"I have thought of that. But if he had betrayed me the drums would have +been discovered by the police.... Damn them to hell!" Kitty wondered +whether he meant the police or the emeralds. + +"Later, food and a blanket will be brought to you. If your ransom does +not appear by midnight you will be taken away. If you struggle we may +have to handle you roughly. That is as you please." + +Karlov went out, locking the door. + +Oh, the blind little fool she had been! All those constant warnings, and +she had not heeded! Cutty had warned her repeatedly, so had Bernini; and +she had deliberately walked into this trap. As if this cold, murderous +madman would risk showing himself without some grim and terrible +purpose. She had written either Cutty's or Johnny Two-Hawks' death +warrant. She covered her eyes. It was horrible. + +Perhaps not Cutty, but assuredly Two-hawks. His life for her liberty. + +"And he will come!" she whispered. She knew it. How, was not to be +analyzed. She just knew that he would come. What if he had smiled like +that! The European point of view and her own monumental folly. He would +come quietly, without protest, and give himself up. + +"God forgive me! What can I do? What can I do?" + +She slid to the floor and rocked her body. Her fault! He would +come--even as Cutty would have come had he been the man demanded. And +Karlov would kill him--because he was an error in chronology! She sensed +also that the anarchist would not look upon his act as murder. He would +be removing an obstacle from the path of his sick dreams. + +Comparisons! She saw how much alike the two were. Cutty was only Johnny +Two-Hawks at fifty-two--fearless and whimsical. Had Cutty gone through +life without looking at some woman as, last night, Two-Hawks had looked +at her? All the rest of her life she would see Two-Hawks' eyes. + +Abysmal fool, to pit her wits against such men as Karlov! Because +she had been successful to a certain extent, she had overrated her +cleverness, with this tragic result... He had fiddled the soul out of +her. But death! + +She sprang up. It was maddening to sit still, to feel the approach +of the tragedy without being able to prevent it. She investigated the +windows. No hope in this direction. It was rapidly growing dark outside. +What time was it? + +The door opened. A man she had not seen before came in with a blanket, +a pitcher of water, and some graham crackers. His fingers were stained a +brilliant yellow and a peculiar odour emanated from his clothes. He did +not speak to her, but set the articles on the floor and departed. + +Kitty did not stir. An hour passed; she sat as one in a trance. The +tallow dip was sinking. By and by she became conscious of a faint +sound, a tapping. Whence it came she could not tell. She moved about +cautiously, endeavouring to locate it. When she finally did the blood +drummed in her ears. The trap! Someone was trying to get in through the +trap! + +Cutty! Thus soon! Who else could it be? She hunted for a piece of lumber +light enough to raise to the trap. She tapped three times, and waited. +Silence. She repeated the signal. This time it was answered. Cutty! In a +little while she would be free, and Two-Hawks would not have to pay for +her folly with his life. Terror and remorse departed forthwith. + +She took the plank to the door and pushed one end under the door knob. +Then she piled the other planks against the butt. The moment she heard +steps on the stairs she would stand on the planks. It would be difficult +to open that door. She sat down on the planks to wait. From time to time +she built up the falling tallow. Cutty must have light. The tapping on +the trap went on. They were breaking away the cement. Perhaps an hour +passed. At least it seemed a very long time. + +Steps on the stairs! She stood up, facing the door, the roots of her +hair tingling. She heard the key turn in the lock; and then as in a +nightmare she felt the planks under her feet stir slightly but with +sinister persistence. She presently saw the toe of a boot insert, itself +between the door and the jamb. The pressure increased; the space between +the door and the jamb widened. Suddenly the boot vanished, the door +closed, and the plank fell. Immediately thereafter Karlov stood inside +the room, scowling suspiciously. + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +Cutty arrived at the apartment in time to share dinner with Hawksley. +He had wisely decided to say nothing about the escapade of Hawksley +and Kitty Conover, since it had terminated fortunately. Bernini had +telegraphed the gist of the adventure. He could readily understand +Hawksley's part; but Kitty's wasn't reducible to ordinary terms of +expression. The young chap had run wild because his head still wobbled +on his shoulders and because his isolation was beginning to scratch +his nerves. But for Kitty to run wild with him offered a blank wall to +speculation. (As if he could solve the riddle when Kitty herself could +not!) So he determined to shut himself up in his study and shuffle the +chrysoprase. Something might come of it. Looking backward, he recognized +the salient, at no time had he been quite sure of Kitty. She seemed to +be a combination of shallows and unfathomable deeps. + +From the Pennsylvania Station he had called up the office. Kitty had +gone. Bernini informed him that Kitty was dining at a cafe on the way +home. Cutty was thorough. He telephoned the restaurant and was advised +that Miss Conover had reserved a table. He had forgotten to send down +the operative who guarded Kitty at that end. But the distance from the +office to the Subway was so insignificant! + +"You are looking fit," he said across the table. + +"Ought to be off your hands by Monday. But what about Stefani Gregor? I +can't stir, leaving him hanging on a peg." + +"I am going into the study shortly to decide that. Head bother you?" + +"Occasionally." + +"Ryan easy to get along with?" + +"Rather a good sort. I say, you know, you've seen a good deal of +life. Which do you consider the stronger, the inherited traits or +environment?" + +"Environment. That is the true mould. There is good and bad in all of +us. It is brought into prominence by the way we live. An angel cannot +touch pitch without becoming defiled. On the other hand, the worst +gutter rats in the world saved France. Do you suppose that thought will +not always be tugging at and uplifting those who returned from the first +Marne?" + +"There is hope, then, for me!" + +"Hope?" + +"Yes. You know that my father, my uncle, and my grandfather were fine +scoundrels." + +"Under their influence you would have been one, too. But no man could +live with Stefani Gregor and not absorb his qualities. Your environment +has been Anglo-Saxon, where the first block in the picture is fair +play. You have been constantly under the tutelage of a fine and lofty +personality, Gregor's. Whatever evil traits you may have inherited, they +have become subject to the influences that have surrounded you. Take +me, for instance. I was born in a rather puritanical atmosphere. My +environments have always been good. Yet there lurks in me the taint of +Macaire. Given the wrong environment, I should now have my picture in +the Rogues' Gallery." + +"You?" + +"Yes." + +Hawksley played with his fork. "If you had a daughter would you trust me +with her?" + +"Yes. Any man who can weep unashamed over the portrait of his mother may +be trusted. Once you are out there in Montana you'll forget all about +your paternal forbears." + +Handsome beggar, thought Cutty; but evidently born under the opal. An +inexplicable resentment against his guest stirred his heart. He resented +his youth, his ease of manner, his fluency in the common tongue. He was +theoretically a Britisher; he thought British; approached subjects from +a British point of view. A Britisher--except when he had that fiddle +tucked under his chin. Then Cutty admitted he did not know what he was. +Devil take him! + +There must have been something electrical in Cutty's resentment, for +the object of it felt it subtly, and it fired his own. He resented the +freedom of action that had always been denied him, resented his host's +mental and physical superiority. Did Cutty care for the girl, or was he +playing the game as it had been suggested to him? Money and freedom. But +then, it was in no sense a barter; she would be giving nothing, and the +old beggar would be asking nothing. His suggestion! He laughed. + +"What's the joke?" asked Cutty, looking up from his coffee, which he was +stirring with unnecessary vigour. + +"It isn't a joke. I'm bally well twisted. I laugh now when I think of +something tragic. I am sorry about last night. I was mad, I suppose." + +"Tell me about it." + +Cutty listened intently and smiled occasionally. Mad as hatters, both of +them. He and Kitty couldn't have gone on a romp like this, but Kitty and +Hawksley could. Thereupon his resentment boiled up again. + +"Have you any idea why she took such a risk? Why she came here, knowing +me to be absent?" + +"She spoke of a problem. I fancy it related to your approaching +marriage. She told me." + +Cutty laid down his spoon. "I'd like to dump Your Highness into the +middle of East River for putting that idea into my head. She has +consented to it; and now, damn it, I've got to back out of it!" Cutty +rose and flung down his napkin. + +"Why?" asked the bewildered Hawksley. + +"Because there is in me the making of a first-rate scoundrel, and I +never should have known it if you and your affairs hadn't turned up." + +Cutty entered his study and slammed the door, leaving Hawksley prey to +so many conflicting emotions that his head began to bother him. Back +out of it! Why? Why should Kitty have a problem to solve over such a +marriage of convenience, and why should the old thoroughbred want to +back out? + +Kitty would be free, then? A flash of fire, which subsided quickly under +the smothering truth. What if she were free? He could not ask her to be +his wife. Not because of last night's madness. That no longer troubled +him. She was the sort who would understand, if he told her. She had +a soul big with understanding. It was that he walked in the shadow of +death, and would so long as Karlov was free; and he could not ask any +woman to share that. + +He pushed back his chair slowly. In the living room he took the Amati +from its case and began improvising. What the chrysoprase did for Cutty +the fiddle did for this derelict--solved problems. + +He reviewed all the phases as he played. That dish of bacon and eggs, +the resolute air of her, that popping fan! [Allegretto.] She had found +him senseless on the floor. She had had the courage to come to his +assistance. [Andante con espressione.] What had been in her mind that +night she had taken flight from his bedroom, after having given him the +wallet? Something like tears. What about? An American girl, natural, +humorous, and fanciful. Somehow he felt assured that it had not been his +kisses; she had looked into his eyes and seen the taint. Always there, +the beast that old Stefani had chained and subdued. He knew now that +this beast would never again lift its head. And he had let her go +without a sign. [Dolorosomente.] To have gone through life with a woman +who would have understood his nature. The test of her had been last +night in the streets. His mood had been hers. [Allegretto con amore.] + +"Love," he said, lowering the bow. + +"Love," said Cutty, shifting his chrysoprase. There was no fool like an +old fool. It did not serve to recall Molly in all her glory, to reach +hither and yon for a handhold to pull him out of this morass. Molly had +become an invisible ghost. He loved her daughter. Double sunset; the +phenomenon of the Indian Ocean was now being enacted upon his own +horizon. Double sunset. + +But why should Kitty have any problem to solve? Why should she dodder +over such a trifle as this prospective official marriage? It was only +a joke which would legalize his generosity. She had sent that telegram +after leaving this apartment. What had happened here to decide her? Had +Hawksley fiddled? There was something the matter with the green stones +to-night; they evoked nothing. + +He leaned back in his chair, listening, the bowl of his pipe touching +the lapel of his coat. Music. Queer, what you could do with a fiddle if +you knew how. + +After all there was no sense in venting his anger on Hawksley. He was +hoist by his own petard. Why not admit the truth? He had had a crack +on the head the same night as Hawksley; only, he had been struck by an +idea, often more deadly than the butt of a pistol. He would apologize +for that roaring exit from the dining room. The poor friendless devil! +He bent toward the green stones again. In the living room Hawksley sat +in a chair, the fiddle across his knees. He understood now. The old +chap was in love with the girl, and was afraid of himself; couldn't +risk having her and letting her go.... A curse on the drums of jeopardy! +Misfortune followed their wake always. The world would have been +different this hour if he--The break in the trend of thought was caused +by the entrance of Kuroki, who was followed by a man. This man dropped +into a chair without apparently noticing that the room was already +tenanted, for he never glanced toward Hawksley. A haggard face, dull +of eye. Kuroki bobbed and vanished, but returned shortly, beckoning the +stranger to follow him into the study. + +"Coles?" cried Cutty delightedly. Here was the man he had sent to +negotiate for the emeralds, free. "How did you escape? We've combed the +town for you." + +"They had me in a room on Fifteenth Street. Once in a while I got +something to eat. But I haven't escaped. I'm still a prisoner." + +"What do you mean by that?" + +"I am here as an emissary. There was nothing for me to do but accept the +job." + +"Did he have the stones?" asked Cutty, without the least suspicion of +what was coming. + +"That I don't know. He pretended to have them in order to get me where +he wanted me. I've been hungry a good deal because I wouldn't talk. I'm +here as a negotiator. A rotten business. I agreed because I've hopes +you'll be able to put one over on Karlov. It's the girl." + +"Kitty?" + +"Karlov has her. The girl wasn't to blame. Any one in the game would +have done as she did. Karlov is bugs on politics; but he's shrewd enough +at this sort of game. He trapped the girl because he'd studied her +enough to learn what she would or would not do. Now they are not going +to hurt her. They merely propose exchanging her for the man you've been +hiding up here. There's a taxi downstairs. It will carry me back to +Fifteenth; then it will return and wait. If the man is not at the +appointed place by midnight--he must go in this taxi--the girl will be +carried off elsewhere, and you'll never lay eyes on her again. Karlov +and his gang are potential assassins; all they want is excuse. Until +midnight they will not touch the girl; but after midnight, God knows! +What message am I to take back?" + +"Do you know where she is?" + +Cutty spoke without much outward emotion. + +"Not the least idea. Whenever Karlov wanted to quiz me, he appeared late +at night from some other part of the town. But he never got much." + +"You saw him this evening?" + +"Yes. It probably struck him as a fine joke to send me." + +"And if you don't go back?" + +"The girl will be taken away. I'm honestly afraid of the man. He's too +quiet spoken. That kind of a man always goes the limit." + +"I see. Wait here." + +At Cutty's approach Hawksley looked up apathetically. + +"Want me?" + +"Perhaps." + +"You are pale. Anything serious?" + +"Yes. Karlov has got Kitty." + +For a minute Hawksley did not stir. Then he got up, put away the Amati, +and came back. He was pale, too. + +"I understand," he said. "They will exchange her for me. Am I right?" + +"Yes. But you are not obliged to do anything like that, you know." + +"I am ready." + +"You give yourself up?" + +"Why not?" + +"You're a man!" Cutty burst out. + +"I was brought up by one. Honestly, now, could I ever look a white man +in the face again if I didn't give myself up? I did begin to believe +that I might get through. But Fate was only playing with me. May I use +your desk to write a line?" + +"Come with me," said Cutty, unsteadily. This was not the result +of environment. Quiet courage of this order was race. No questions +demanding if there wasn't some way round the inevitable. Cutty's heart +glowed; the boy had walked into it, never to leave it. "I'm ready." It +took a man to say that when the sequence was death. + +"Coles," said Cutty upon reentering the study, "tell Karlov that His +Highness will give himself up. He will be there before midnight." + +"That's enough for me. But if there's the least sign that you're not +playing straight it will be all off. Two men will be watching the taxi +and the entrance. If you appear, it's good-night. They told me to warn +you." + +"I promise not to appear." + +Coles smiled enigmatically and reached for his hat. He held his hand out +to Hawksley. "You're a white man, sir." + +"Thanks," said Hawksley, absently. To have it all over with! + +As soon as the captive Federal agent withdrew Hawksley sat down at the +desk and wrote. + +"Will this hold legally?" he asked, extending the written sheet to +Cutty. + +Cutty saw that it was a simple will. In it Hawksley gave half of his +possessions to Kitty and half to Stefani Gregor. In case the latter was +dead the sum total was to go to Kitty. + +"I got you into a muddle; this will take you out of it. Karlov will kill +me. I don't know how. I am his obsession. He will sleep better with me +off his mind. Will this hold legally?" + +"Yes. But why Kitty Conover, a stranger?" + +"Is a woman who saves your life a stranger?" + +"Well, not exactly. This is what we might call zero hour. I gave you a +haven here not particularly because I was sorry for you, but because I +wanted those emeralds. Once upon a time Gregor showed them to me. Until +I examined your wallet I supposed you had smuggled in the stones; and +that would have been fair game. But you had paid your way in honestly. +Now, what did you do to Kitty Conover last night that decided her to +accept that fool proposition? She sent her acceptance after she left +you. + +"I did not know that. I played for her. She became music-struck, and +I took advantage of it--kissed her. Then she told me she was going to +marry you." + +"And that is why you asked me if I would trust you with a daughter of +mine?" + +"Yes." + +"Conscience. That explains this will." + +"No. Why did you accept my suggestion to marry her?" + +"To make her comfortable without sidestepping the rules of convention." + +"No. Because you love her--the way I do." + +Cutty's pipe slipped from his teeth. It did not often do that. He +stamped out the embers and laid the pipe on the tray. + +"What makes you think I love her?" + +"What makes me tell you that I do?" + +"Yes, death may be at the end of to-night's work; so I'll admit that I +love her. She is like a forest stream, wild at certain turns, but always +sweet and clear. I'm an old fool, old enough to be her father. I loved +her mother. Can a man love two women with all his heart, one years after +the other?" + +"It is the avatar; she is the reincarnation of the mother. I understand +now. What was a beautiful memory takes living form again. You still love +the mother; the daughter has revived that love." + +"By the Lord Harry, I believe you've struck it! Walked into the fog and +couldn't find the way out. Of course. What an old ass I've been! Simple +as daylight. I've simply fallen in love with Molly all over again, +thinking it was Kitty. Plain as the nose on my face. And I might have +made a fine mess of it if you hadn't waked me up." + +All this gentle irony went over Hawksley's head. "When do you wish me to +go down to the taxi?" + +"Son, I'm beginning to like you. You shall have your chance. In fact, +we'll take it together. There'll be a taxi but I'll hire it. I'm quite +positive I know where Kitty is. If I'm correct you'll have your chance. +If I'm wrong you'll have to pay the score. We'll get her out or we'll +stay where she is. In any event, Karlov will pay the price. Wouldn't you +prefer to go out--if you must--in a glorious scrap?" + +"Fighting?" Hawksley was on his feet instantly. "Do you mean that? I can +die with free hands?" + +"With a chance of coming out top-hole." + +"I say, what a ripping thing hope is--always springing back!" + +Cutty nodded. But he knew there was one hope that would never warm his +heart again. Molly!... Well, he'd let the young chap believe that. Kitty +must never know. Poor little chick, fighting with her soul in the dark +and not knowing what the matter was! Such things happened. He had loved +Molly on sight. He had loved Kitty on sight. In neither case had he +known it until too late to turn about. Mother and daughter; a kind +of sacrilege, as if he had betrayed Molly! But what a clear vision +acknowledged love lent to the mind! He understood Kitty, who did not +understand herself. Well, this night's adventure would decide things. + +He smiled. Neither Kitty nor the drums of jeopardy; nothing. The gates +of paradise again--for somebody else! Whoever heard of a prompter +receiving press notices? + +"Let's look alive! We haven't any time to waste. We'll have to change +to dungarees--engineer togs. There'll be some tools to carry. We go +straight down to the boiler room. We come up the ash exit on the street +side. Remember, no suspicious haste. Two engineers off for their evening +swig of beer at the corner groggery. Through the side door there, and +into my taxi. Obey every order I give. Now run along to Kuroki and say +night work for both of us. He'll understand what's wanted. I'll set the +machinery in motion for a raid. How do you feel? I want the truth. I +don't want to turn to you for help and not get it." + +Hawksley laughed. "Don't worry about me. I'll carry on. Don't you +understand? To have an end of it, one way or the other! To come free or +to die there!" + +"And if Kitty is not where I believe her to be?" + +"Then I'll return to the taxi outside." + +To be young like that! thought Cutty, feeling strangely sad and old. "To +come free or to die there!" That was good Anglo-Saxon. He would make a +good American citizen--if he were in luck. + +At half after nine the two of them knelt on the roof before the cemented +trap. Nothing but raging heat disintegrates cement. So the liberation of +this trap, considering the time, was a Herculean task, because it had to +be accomplished with little or no noise. Cold chisels, fulcrums, prying, +heaving, boring. To free the under edge; the top did not matter. Not +knowing if Kitty were below--that was the worst part of the job. + +The sweat of agony ran down Hawksley's face; but he never faltered. He +was going to die to-night, somehow, somewhere, but with free hands, the +way Stefani would have him die, the way the girl would have him die. All +these thousands of miles--to die in a house he had never seen before, +just when life was really worth something! + +An hour went by. Then they heard Kitty's signal. Instinctively the two +of them knew that the taps came from her. They were absolutely certain +when her signal was repeated. She was below, alone. + +"Faster!" whispered Cutty. + +Hawksley smiled. To say that to a chap when he was digging into his +tomb! + +When the sides of the trap were free Cutty tapped to Kitty again. There +was a long, agonizing wait. Then three taps came from below. Cutty +flashed a signal to the warehouse windows. In five minutes the raid +would be in full swing--from the roof, from the street, from the cellar. + +With their short crowbars braced by stout fulcrums the two men heaved. +Noise did not matter now. Presently the trap went over. + +"Look out for your hands; there's lots of loose glass. And together when +we drop." + +"Right-o!" whispered Hawksley, assured that when he dropped through the +trap the result would be oblivion. Done in. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +Karlov, upon forcing his way past Kitty's barricade, stared at her +doubtfully. This was a clever girl; she had proved her cleverness +frequently. She might have some reason other than fear in keeping him +out. So he put a fresh candle in the sconce and began to prowl. He +pierced the attic windows with a ranging glance; no one was in the yard +or on the Street. The dust on the windows had not been disturbed. + +To Kitty the suspense was intolerable. At any moment Cutty might tap a +query to her. How to warn him that all was not well? A scream would +do it; but in that event when Cutty arrived there would be no Kitty +Conover. Something that would sound unusual to Cutty and accidental to +Karlov. She hit upon it. She seized a plank from her barricade, raised +it to a perpendicular position, then flung it down violently. Would +Cutty hear and comprehend that she was warning him? As a matter of +fact, Cutty never heard the crash, for at that particular minute he was +standing up to get the kinks out of his knees. + +Karlov whirled on his heels, ran to Kitty, and snatched her wrist. "Why +did you do that?" + +Kitty remained mute. "Answer!"--with a cruel twist. + +"You hurt!" she gasped. Anything to gain time. She tried to break away. + +"Why did you do that?" + +"I was going to thrust it through a window to attract attention. It was +too heavy." + +This explanation was within bounds of reason. It is possible that +Karlov--who had merely come up with a fresh candle--would have departed +but for a peculiarly grim burst of humour on the part of Fate. + +Tap--tap--tap? inquired the unsuspecting man on the roof--exactly to +Kitty like some innocent, inquisitive child embarrassing the family +before company. + +Karlov flung her aside roughly, stepped under the trap, and cupped an +ear. He required no explanations from Kitty, who shrank to the wall and +remained pinned there by terror. Karlov's intuition was keen. Men on +the roof held but one significance. The house was surrounded by Federal +agents. For a space he wavered between two desires, the political and +the private vengeance. + +A call down the stairs, and five minutes afterward there would be +nothing on the spot but a jumble of smoking wood and brick. But not to +see them die! + +His subsequent acts, cold and methodical, fascinated Kitty. He took a +step toward her. The scream died in her throat. But he did not go beyond +that step. The picture of her terror decided his future actions. He +would see them die, here, with the girl looking on. A full measure. Well +enough he knew who were digging away the cement of the trap. What gave +lodgment to this conviction he did not bother to analyze. The man he had +not yet seen, who had balked him, now here, now there, from that first +night; and who but the last of that branch of the hated house should be +with him? To rend, batter, crush, kill! If he were bound for hell, to +go there with the satisfaction of knowing that his private vengeance +had been cancelled. The full reckoning for Anna's degradation: Stefani +Gregor, broken and dying, and all the others dead! + +He would shoot them as they dropped through the trap. Not to kill, but +to maim, render helpless; then he would taunt them and grind his heels +in their faces. Up there, the two he most hated of all living men! + +First he restored Kitty's barricade--to keep assistance from entering +before his work was completed. The butt of the first plank he pushed +under the door knob. The other planks he laid flat, end to end, with the +butt of the last snug against the brick chimney. The door would never +give as a whole; it would have to be smashed in by axes. He then set the +candle on the floor, backed by an up-ended soapbox. His enemies would +drop into a pool of light, while they would not be able to see him at +once. The girl would not matter. Her terror would hold her for some +time. These manoeuvres completed, he answered the signal, sat down on +another box and waited, reminding Kitty of some grotesque Mongolian +idol. + +Kitty saw the inevitable. Thereupon her terror ceased to bind her. As +Cutty flung back the trap she would cry out a warning. Karlov might--and +probably would--kill her. Her share in this night's work--her incredible +folly--required full payment. Having decided to die with Cutty, all her +courage returned. This is the normal result of any sublime resolve. But +with the return of her courage she evolved another plan. She measured +the distance between herself and Karlov, calculating there would be +three strides. As Cutty dropped she would fling herself upon the madman. +The act would at least give Cutty something like equal terms. What +became of Kitty Conover thereafter was of no importance to the world. + +Sounds. She became conscious of noises elsewhere in the house. The floor +trembled. There came a creaking and snapping of wood, and she heard +the trap fall. Karlov stood up, menacing, terrible. She saw where Cutty +would drop, and now understood the cunning of the manoeuvre of placing +the candle in front of the soapbox. Cutty would be an absolute mark for +Karlov, protected by the shadow. She set herself, as a runner at the +tape. + +Karlov was not the type criminal, which when cornered, thinks only of +personal safety. He was a political fanatic. All who opposed his beliefs +must not be permitted to survive. There was a touch of Torquemada of the +Inquisition in his cosmos. He could not kill directly; he had to torture +first. + +He knew by the ascending sounds that there would be no way out of this +for him. To the American, Russia was an outlaw. He would be treated as +a dangerous alien enemy and locked up. Boris Karlov should never live to +eat his heart out behind bars. + +Unique angle of thought, he mused. He wanted mud to trample them in, +Russian mud. The same mud that had filled the mouth of Anna's destroyer. + +He was, then, a formidable antagonist for any two strong men; let alone +two one of whom was rather spent, the other dizzy with pain, holding +himself together by the last shreds of his will. They dropped through +the trap, Cutty in front of the candle, Hawksley a little to one side. +The elder man landed squarely, but Hawksley fell backward. He crawled to +his feet, swaying drunkenly. For a space he was not sure of the reality +of the scene.... Torches and hobnailed boots! + +"So!" said Karlov. + +The torturer must talk; he must explain the immediate future to double +the agony. He could have maimed them both, then trampled them to death, +but he had to inform them of the fact. He pointed the automatic at Cutty +because he considered this man the more dangerous of the two. He at once +saw that the other was a negligible factor. He spoke slowly. + +"And the girl shall witness your agonies," he concluded. + +Cutty, bereft of invention, could only stare. Death! He had faced it +many times, but always with a chance. There was none here, and the +absolute knowledge paralyzed him. + +Had Cutty been alone Kitty would have rushed at the madman; but the +sight of Hawksley robbed her of all mobility. His unexpected appearance +was to her the Book of Revelation. The blind alley she had entered and +reentered so many times and so futilely crumbled.... Johnny Two-Hawks! + +As for Hawksley, he knew he had but little time. The floor was +billowing; he saw many candles where he knew there was only one. He +was losing his senses. There remained but a single idea--to do the old +thoroughbred one favour for the many. Scorning death--perhaps inviting +it--he lunged headlong at Karlov's knees. + +This reckless challenge to death was so unexpected that Karlov had no +time to aim. He fired at chance. The bullet nipped the left shoulder +of Hawksley's coat and shattered the laths of the partition between the +attic and the servant's quarters. Under the impact of the human catapult +Karlov staggered back, desperately striving to maintain his balance. He +succeeded because Hawksley's senses left him in the instant he struck +Karlov's knees. Still, the episode was a respite for Cutty, who dashed +at Karlov before the latter could set himself or raise the smoking +automatic. + +Kitty then witnessed--dimly--a primordial, titanic conflict which +haunted her dreams for many nights to come. They were no longer men, but +animals; the tiger giving combat to the gorilla, one striking the quick, +terrible blows of the tiger, the other seeking always to come to grips. + +The floor answered under the step and rush. Rare athletes, these two; +big men who were light on their feet. Kitty could see their faces +occasionally and the flash of their bare hands, but of their bodies +little or nothing. Nor could she tell how the struggle was going. Indeed +until the idea came that they might be trampling Johnny Two-Hawks there +was no coherent thought in her head, only broken things. + +She ran to the soapbox and kicked it aside. She saw Hawksley on his +face, motionless. At least they should not trample his dead body. She +caught hold of his arms and dragged him to the wall--to discover that +she was sobbing, sobs of rage and despair that tore at her breast +horribly and clogged her throat. She was a woman and could not help; she +could not help Cutty! She was a woman, and all she could do was to drag +aside the lifeless body of the man who had given Cutty his chance! + +She knelt, turning Hawksley over on his back. There was a slight gash +on one grimy cheek, possibly caused by contact with the latchets of +Karlov's boots. She raised the handsome head, pressed it to her bosom, +and began to sway her body from side to side. Tumult. The Federal +agents were throwing their bodies against the door repeatedly. In the +semi-darkness Cutty fought for his life. But Kitty neither heard nor +saw. The world had suddenly contracted; there was only this beautiful +head in her arms; beyond and about, nothing. + +Cutty felt his strength ebbing; soon he would not be able to wrench +himself loose from those terrible arms. He knew all the phases of the +fighting game. Chivalry and fair play had no part in this contest. Clear +light, to observe what his blows were accomplishing; a minute or two of +clear light! Half the time his blows glanced. The next time those arms +wound about him, that would be the end. He was growing tired, winded; he +had not gone into battle fresh. He knew that many of his blows had gone +home. Any ordinary man would have dropped; but Karlov came on again and +again. + +And all the while Karlov was not fighting Cutty; he was endeavouring +to remove him. He was an obstacle. What Karlov wanted was that head +the girl was holding in her arms; to grind his heel into it. Had Cutty +stepped aside Karlov would have rushed for the other man. + +"Kitty, the door, the door!" Cutty shouted in despair, taking a terrible +kick on the thigh. "The door!" + +Kitty did not stir. + +A panel in the door crushed in. The sole of a boot appeared and +vanished. Then an arm reached in, groping, touched the plank propped +under the door knob, wrenched and tugged until it fell. Immediately the +attic became filled with men. It was time. Karlov had Cutty in his arms. + +This turn in the affair roused Kitty. Presently she saw men in a snarl, +heaving and billowing, with a sudden subsidence. The snarl untangled +itself; men began to step back and produce pocketlamps. Kitty saw +Cutty's face, battered and bloody, appear and disappear in a flash. She +saw Karlov's, too, as he was pulled to his feet, his hands manacled. +Again she saw Cutty. With shaking hand he was trying to attach the loose +end of his collar to the button. The absurdity of it! + +"Take him away. But don't be rough with him. He's only a poor devil of a +madman," said Cutty. + +Karlov turned and calmly spat into Cutty's face. A dozen fists were +raised, but Cutty intervened. + +"No! Let him be. Just take him away and lock him up. He's a rough road +to travel. And hustle a comfortable car for me to go home in. Not a word +to the newspapers. This isn't a popular raid." + +As soon as the attic was cleared Cutty limped over to Molly Conover's +daughter. The poor innocent! The way she was holding that head was an +illumination. With a reassuring smile--an effort, for his lips were +puffed and burning--he knelt and put his hand on Hawksley's heart. + +"Done in, Kitty; that's all." + +"He isn't dead?" + +"Lord, no! He had nine lives, this chap, and only one of 'em missing to +date. But I had no right to let him come. I thought he was fairly fit, +but he wasn't. Saved my life, though. Kitty, your Johnny Two-Hawks is +a real man; how real I did not know until to-night. He has earned his +American citizenship. Fights like he fiddles--on all four strings. All +our troubles are at an end; so buck up." + +"Alive? He is alive?" + +The wild joy in her voice! "Yes, ma'am; and we two can regularly thank +him for being alive also. That lunge gave me my chance. He's only +stunned. Perhaps he'll need a nurse again. Anyhow, he'll be coming round +in a minute or two. I'll wager the first thing he does is to smile. I +should." + +Suddenly Kitty grew strangely shy. She became conscious of her anomalous +position. She had promised to marry Cutty, promised herself that she +would be his true wife--and here she was, holding another man's head +to her heart as if it were the most precious head in all the world. +She could not put that head upon the floor at once; that would be a +confession of her embarrassment; and yet she could not continue to hold +Hawksley while Cutty eyed her with semi-humorous concern. Cutty was +merciful, however. "Let me hold him while you make a pillow out of your +coat." After he had laid Hawksley's head on the coat he said: "He'll +come about quicker this way. We've had some excitement, haven't we?" + +"I don't want any more, Cutty; never any more. I've been a silly, +romantic fool!" + +"Not silly, only glorious." + +"Your poor face!" + +"Banged up? Well, honestly, it feels as it looks, Kitty, this chap was +going to give himself up in exchange for you. Not a word of protest, not +a question. All he said was: 'I am ready.' That's why I'm always going +to be on his side." + +"He did that--for me?" + +"For you. Did it never occur to you that you're the sort folks always +want to do things for if you'll let them?" + +"God bless you, Cutty!" + +"He's always blessing me, Kitty. He blessed me with your mother's +friendship, now yours. Kitty, I'm going to jilt you." + +"Jilt me?"--her heart leaping. + +"Yes, ma'am. We can't go through with that mummery. We aren't built that +way. I'll figure it out in some other fashion. But marriage is a sacred +contract; and this farce would have left a scar on your honest mind. +You'd have to tell some man. Your kind can't go through life without +being loved. Would he understand? I wonder. He'll be human or you +wouldn't fall in love with him; and always he'll be pondering and +bedevilling himself with queer ideas--because he'll be human. Of course +there's a loophole--you can sue me for breach of promise." + +"Please, Cutty; don't laugh! You're one of those men they call +Greathearts. And now I'm going to tell you something. It wasn't going +to be a farce. I intended to become your true wife, Cutty, make you as +happy as I could." + +Cutty patted her hand and got up. Lord, how bruised and sore his old +body was!... His true wife! She might have been his if he had not missed +that train. But for this hour, hot with life, she might never have +discovered that she loved Hawksley. His true wife! Ah, she would have +been all of that--Molly's girl! + +"Will you mind waiting here until I see where old Stefani Gregor is?" + +"No," answered Kitty, dreamily. + +Cutty limped to the door. Outside he leaned against the partition. Done +in, body and soul. Always opening the gates of paradise for somebody +else... His true wife! Slowly he descended the stairs. + +Alone, Kitty smoothed back the dank hair from Hawksley's brow, which she +kissed. Benediction and good-bye. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +Because it was assumed that some of Karlov's pack might be at large and +unsuspectingly return to the trap, Federal agents would remain on guard +all night. They explored the house, hunting for chemicals, documents, +letters, and addresses. They found enough high explosive to blow up the +district. And they found Stefani Gregor. They were standing by the cot +as Cutty came in. + +"Yes, sir. Just this minute went out." + +"Did he speak?" + +"A woman's name." + +"Rosa?" + +"Yes, sir. Looks to me as if he had been starved to death. Know who he +was?" + +"Yes. Tell the coroner to be gentle. Once upon a time Stefani Gregor +spoke to kings by right of genius." + +The thought that he himself might have been the indirect cause of +Gregor's death shocked Cutty, who was above all things tender. + +He had held back the raid for several days, to serve his own ends. He +could have ordered the raid from Washington, and it would have gone +through as smoothly as to-night. The drums of jeopardy. Well, that phase +of the game was done with. He had held up this raid so that he might +be on hand to search Karlov; and until now he had forgotten the drums. +Accurst! They were accurst. The death of Stefani Gregor would always be +on his conscience. + +Cutty stared--not very clearly--at the cameo-like face so beautifully +calm. As in life, so it was in death; the calm that had brooked and +beaten down the turbulent instincts of the boy, the imperturbable calm +of a great soul. Rosa. The sublime unselfishness of the man! He had +sacrificed wealth and fame for the love of the boy's mother--unspoken, +unrequited love, the quality that passes understanding. And his reward: +to die on this cot, in horrid loneliness. Rosa. + +All at once Cutty felt himself little, trivial, beside this forlorn +bier. What did he know about love? He had never made any sacrifices; he +had simply carried in his heart a bittersweet recollection. But here! +Twenty-odd years of unremitting devotion to the son of the woman he +had loved--Stefani Gregor. Creating environments that would develop the +noble qualities in the boy, interposing himself between the boy and the +evil pleasures of the uncle, teaching him the beautiful, cleansing his +soul of the inherited mud. Reverently Cutty drew the coverlet over the +fine old head. + +"What's this?" asked one of the operatives. "Looks like the pieces of a +broken fiddle." + +Out of those dark red bits of wood--some of them bearing the imprints of +hobnails--Cutty constructed the scene. A wave of bitter rage rolled over +him. The beast! Karlov had done this thing, with poor old Gregor looking +on, too weak to intervene. Not so many years ago these bits of wood, +under the master's touch, had entranced the souls of thousands. Cutty +recalled a fairy tale he had read when a boy about a prince whose soul +had been transformed into a flower which, if plucked or broken, died. +Karlov had murdered Stefani Gregor, perhaps not legally but actually +nevertheless. + +Rehabilitated in soul, Cutty left the room. He had read a compelling +lesson in self-sacrifice. He was going to pick up his cross and go on +with it, smiling. After all, Kitty was only an interlude; the big thing +was the game; and shortly he would be in the thick of great events +again. But Kitty should be happy. + +His old analytical philosophy resumed its functions. The contempt and +jealousy of one race for another; what was God's idea in implanting that +in souls? Hawksley was at base Russian. The boy's English education, +his adopted outlook upon life, made it possible for Cutty to ignore the +racial antagonism of the Anglo-Saxon for all other races. Stefani Gregor +at one end of the world and he at the other, blindly working out the +destinies of Kitty Conover and Ivan Mikhail Feodorovich and so forth and +so on, with the blood of Catharine in his veins! Made a chap dizzy to +think of it. Traditions were piling up along with crowns and sceptres in +the abyss. + +When he returned to the attic he felt himself fortified against any +inevitability. Hawksley was sitting up, his back to the wall, staring +groggily but with reckless adoration into Kitty's lovely face. Youth +will be served. As if, watching these two, there could be any doubt of +it! And he had bent part of his energies toward keeping them separated. + +"Ha!" he cried, cheerfully. "Back on top again, I see. How's the head?" + +"Haven't any; no legs; I'm nothing at all but a bit of my own +imagination. How do you feel?" + +"Like the aftermath of an Irish wake." Then Cutty's battered face +assumed an expression that was meant to typify gravity. "John," he aid, +"I've bad news for you." + +John. A glow went over the young man's aching body. John. What could +that signify except that he had passed into the eternal friendship of +this old thoroughbred? John. + +"About Stefani?" + +"Stefani is dead. He died speaking your mother's name." + +Hawksley's head sank; his chin touched his chest. He spoke without +looking up. "Something told me I would never see him alive again. Old +Stefani! If there is any good in me it will be his handiwork. I say," +he added, his eyes now seeking Cutty's, "you called me John. Will you +carry on?" + +"Keep an eye on you? So long as you may need me." + +"I come from a lawless race. Stefani had to fight. Even now I'm afraid +sometimes. God knows I want to be all he tried to make me." + +"You're all right, John. You've reached haven; the storms hereafter will +be outside. Besides, Stefani will always be with you. You'll never pick +up that old Amati without feeling Stefani near. Can you stand?" + +"Between the two of you, perhaps." + +With Kitty on one side and Cutty on the other Hawksley managed the +descent tolerably well. Often a foot dragged. How strong she was, this +girl! No hysterics, no confusion, after all that racket, with death--or +something worse--reaching out toward her; calmly telling him that there +was another step, warning him not to bear too heavily on Cutty! Holding +him up physically and morally, these two, now all he had in life to care +for. Yesterday, unknown to him; this night, bound by hoops of steel. +The girl had forgiven him; he knew it by the touch of her arm.... Old +Stefani! A sob escaped him. Their arms tightened. + +"No; I was thinking of Stefani. Rather hard--to die all alone--because +he loved me." + +Kitty longed to be alone. There were still many unshed tears--some for +Cutty, some for Stefani Gregor, some for Johnny Two-Hawks, and some for +herself. + +In the limousine Cutty sat in the middle, Kitty on his left and Hawksley +on his right, his arms round them both. Presently Hawksley's head +touched his shoulder and rested there; a little later Kitty did +likewise. His children! Lord, he was going to have a tremendous interest +in life, after all! He smiled with kindly irony at the back of the +chauffeur. His children, these two; and he knew as he planned their +future that they were thinking over and round but not of him, which is +the way of youth. + +At the apartment Cutty decided to let Hawksley sit in an easy chair in +the living room until Captain Harrison arrived. Kuroki was ordered +to prepare a supper, which would be served on the tea cart, set at +Hawksley's knees. Kitty--because it was impossible for her to remain +inactive--set the linen and silver. She was in and out of the room, ill +at ease, angry, frightened, bitter, avoiding Hawksley's imploring eyes +because she was not sure of her own. + +She was sure of one thing, however. All the nonsense was out of her +head. To-morrow she would be returning to the regular job. She would +have a page from the Arabian Nights to look upon in the days to come. +She understood, though it twisted her heart dreadfully: she was in the +eyes of this man a plaything, a pretty woman he had met in passing. If +she had saved his life he had in turn saved hers; they were quits. She +did not blame him for his point of view. He had come from the top of the +world, where women were either ornaments or playthings, while she and +hers had always struggled to maintain equilibrium in the middle stratum. +Cutty could give him friendship; but she could not because she was a +woman, young and pretty. + +Love him? Well, she would get over it. It might be only the glamour of +the adventure they had shared. Anyhow, she wouldn't die of it. Cutty +hadn't. Of course it hurt; she was a silly little fool, and all that. +Once he was in Montana he would be sending for his Olga. There wasn't +the least doubt in her mind that if ever autocracy returned to power, +he'd be casting aside his American citizenship, his chaps and sombrero, +for the old regalia. Well--truculently to the world at large--why not? + +So she avoided Hawksley's gaze, sensing the sustained persistence of it. +But, oh, to be alone, alone, alone! + +Cutty washed the patient's hands and face and patched up the cut on +the cheek, interlarding his chatter with trench idioms, banter, jokes. +Underneath, though, he was chuckling. He was the hero of this tale; +he had done all the thrilling stunts, carried limp bodies across fire +escapes in the rain, climbed roofs, eluded newspaper reporters, fought +with his bare fists, rescued the girl.... All with one foot in the +grave! Fifty-two, gray haired--with a prospect of rheumatism on the +morrow--and putting it over like a debonair movie idol! + +Hawksley met these pleasantries halfway by grousing about being babied +when there was nothing the matter with him but his head, his body, and +his legs. + +Why didn't she look at him? What was the meaning of this persistent +avoidance? She must have forgiven last night. She was too much of a +thoroughbred to harbour ill feeling over that. Why didn't she look at +him? + +The telephone called Cutty from the room. + +Kitty went into the dining room for an extra pair of salt cellars and +delayed her return until she heard Cutty coming back. + +"Karlov is dead," he announced. "Started a fight in the taxi, got out, +and was making for safety when one of the boys shot him. He hadn't +the jewels on him, John. I'm afraid they are gone, unless he hid them +somewhere in that--What's the matter, Kitty?" + +For Kitty had dropped the salt cellars and pressed her hands against her +bosom, her face colourless. + +Hawksley, terrified, tried to get up. + +"No, no! Nothing is the matter with me but my head.... To think I could +forget! Good--heavens!" She prolonged the words drolly. "Wait." + +She turned her back to them. When she faced them again she extended a +palm upon which lay a leather tobacco pouch, cracked and parched and +blistered by the reactions of rain and sun. + +"Think of my forgetting them! I found them this morning. Where do you +suppose? On a step of the fire-escape ladder." + +"Well, I'll be tinker-dammed!" said Cutty. + +"I've reasoned it out," went on Kitty, breathlessly, looking at Cutty, +"When the anarchist tore them from Mr. Hawksley's neck, he threw them +out of the window. The room was dark; his companion could not see. Later +he intended, no doubt, to go into the court and recover them and cheat +his master. I was looking out of the window, when I noticed a brilliant +flash of purple, then another of green. The pouch was open, the stones +about to trickle out. I dared not leave them in the apartment or tell +anybody until you came home. So I carried them with me to the office. +The drums, Cutty! The drums! Tumpitum-tump! Look!" + +She poured the stones upon the white linen tablecloth. A thousand fires! + +"The wonderful things!" she gasped. "Oh, the wonderful things! I don't +blame you, Cutty. They would tempt an angel. The drums of jeopardy; and +that I should find them!" + +"Lord!" said Cutty, in an awed whisper. Green stones! The magnificent +rubies and sapphires and diamonds vanished; he could see nothing but the +exquisite emeralds. He picked up one--still warm with Kitty's pulsing +life--and toyed with it. Actually, the drums! And all this time they had +been inviting the first comer to appropriate them. Money, love, tragedy, +death; history, pageants, lovely women; murder and loot! All these +days on the step of the fire-escape ladder! He must have one of them; +positively he must. Could he prevail upon Hawksley to sell one? Had he +carried them through sentiment? + +He turned to broach the suggestion of purchase, but remained mute. + +Hawksley's head was sunk upon his chest; his arms hung limply at the +sides of his chair. + +"He is fainting!" cried Kitty, her love outweighing her resolves. +"Cutty!"--desperately, fearing to touch Hawksley herself. + +"No! The stones, the stones! Take them away--out of sight! I'm too done +in! I can't stand it! I can't--The Red Night! Torches and hobnailed +boots!" + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +Her fingers seemingly all thumbs, her heart swelling with misery and +loneliness, wanting to go to him but fearing she would be misunderstood, +Kitty scooped up the dazzling stones and poured them hastily into the +tobacco pouch, which she thrust into Cutty's hands. What she had heard +was not the cry of a disordered brain. There was some clear reason for +the horror in Hawksley's tones. What tragedy lay behind these wonderful +prisms of colour that the legitimate owner could not look upon them +without being stirred in this manner? + +"Take them into the study," urged Kitty. + +"Wait!" interposed Hawksley. "I give one of the emeralds to you, Cutty. +They came out of hell--if you want to risk it! The other is for Miss +Conover, with Mister Hawksley's compliments." He was looking at Kitty +now, his face drawn, his eyes bloodshot. "Don't be apprehensive. They +bring evil only to men. With one in your possession you will be happy +ever after, as the saying goes. Oh, they are mine to give; mine by right +of inheritance. God knows I paid for them!" + +"If I said Mister--" began Kitty, her brain confused, her tongue clumsy. + +"You haven't forgiven!" he interrupted. "A thoroughbred like you, +to hold last night against me! Mister--after what we two have shared +together! Why didn't you leave me there to die?" + +Cutty observed that the drama had resolved itself into two characters; +he had been relegated to the scenes. He tiptoed toward his study door, +and as he slipped inside he knew that Gethsemane was not an orchard +but a condition of the mind. He tossed the pouch on his desk, eyed it +ironically, and sat down. His, one of them--one of those marvellous +emeralds was his! He interlaced his fingers and rested his brow upon +them. He was very tired. + +Kitty missed him only when she heard the latch snap. + +She was alone with Hawksley; and all her terror returned. Not to touch +him, not to console him; to stand staring at him like a dumb thing! + +"I do forgive--Johnny! But your world and my world--" + +"Those stains! The wretches hurt you!" + +"What? Where?"--bewildered. + +"The blood on your waist!" + +Kitty looked down. "That is not my blood, Johnny. It is yours." + +"Mine?" Johnny. Something in the way she said it. "Mine?"--trying to +solve the riddle. + +"Yes. It is where your cheek rested when--I thought you were dead." + +The sense of misery, of oppression, of terror, all fell away +miraculously, leaving only the flower of glory. She would be his +plaything if he wanted her. + +Silence. + +"Kitty, I came out of a dark world--to find you. I loved you the moment +I entered your kitchen that night. But I did not know it. I loved you +the night you brought the wallet. Still I did not understand. It +was when I heard the lift door and knew you had gone forever that I +understood. Loved you with all my heart, with all that poor old Stefani +had fashioned out of muck and clay. If you held my head to your heart, +if that is my blood there--Do you, can you care a little?" + +"I can and do care very much, Johnny." + +Her voice to his ears was like the G string of the Amati. "Will you go +with me?" + +"Anywhere. But you are a prince of some great Russian house, Johnny, and +I am nobody." + +"What am I, Kitty? Less than nobody--a homeless outcast, with only you +and Cutty. An American! Well, when I'm that it will be different; I'll +be somebody. God forgive me if I do not give it absolute loyalty, this +new country!... Never call me anything but Johnny." + +"Johnny." Anywhere, whatever he willed her to be. + +"I'm a child, Kitty. I want to grow up--if I can--to be an American, +something like that ripping old thoroughbred yonder." + +Cutty! Johnny wanted to be something like Cutty. Johnny would have to +grow up to be his own true self; for nobody could ever be like Cutty. He +was as high and far away from the average man as this apartment was from +hers. Would he understand her attitude? Could she say anything until it +would be too late for him to interfere? She was this man's woman. She +would have her span of happiness, come ill, come good, even if it +hurt Cutty, whom she loved in another fashion. But for Johnny dropping +through that trap she might never have really known, married Cutty, and +been happy. Happy until one or the other died; never gloriously, never +furiously, but mildly happy; perhaps understanding each other far better +than Johnny and she would understand each other. The average woman's +lot. But to give her heart, her mind, her body in a whirlwind of +emotions, absolute surrender, to know for once the highest state of +exaltation--to love! + +All this tender exchange with half a dozen feet between them. Kitty had +not stirred from the far side of the tea cart, and he had not opened his +arms. She had given herself with magnificent abandon; for the present +that satisfied her instincts. As for him, he was not quite sure this +miracle might not be a dream, and one false move might cause her to +vanish. + +"Johnny, who is Olga?" The question was irrepressible. Perhaps it was +the last shred of caution binding her. All of him or none of him. There +must be no other woman intervening. + +Hawksley stiffened in his chair. His hands closed convulsively and his +eyes lost their brightness. "Johnny?" Kitty ran round the tea cart. +"What is it?" She knelt beside the chair, alarmed, for the horror had +returned to his face. "What did they do to you back there?" She clasped +one of his hands tensely in hers. + +"In my dreams at night!" he said, staring into space. "I could run away +from my pursuers, but I could not run away from my dreams! Torches and +hobnailed boots!... They trampled on her; and I, up there in the gallery +with those damned emeralds in my hands! Ah, if I hadn't gone for them, +if I hadn't thought of the extra comforts their sale would bring! There +would have been time then, Kitty. I had all the other jewels in the +pouch. Horses were ready for us to flee on, loyal servants ready to help +us; but I thought of the drums. A few more worldly comforts--with hell +forcing in the doors! + +"I didn't tell her where I was going. When I came back it was to see +her die! They saw me, and yelled. I ran away. I hadn't the courage to +go down there and die with her! She thought I was in that hell pit. She +went down there to die with me and died horribly, alone! Ah, if I could +only shut it out, forget! Olga, my tender young sister, Kitty, the last +one of my race I could love. And I ran away like a yellow dog, like a +yellow dog! I don't know where her grave is, and I could not seek it if +I did! I dared not write Stefani; tell him I had seen Olga go down under +Karlov's heels, and then ran away!... Day by day to feel those stones +against my heart!" + +Nothing is more terrible to a woman than the sight of a brave man +weeping. For she knew that he was brave. The sudden recollection of +the emeralds; a little more comfort for himself and sister if they were +permitted to escape. Not a cowardly instinct, not even a greedy one; a +normal desire to fortify them additionally against an unknown future, +and he had surrendered to it impulsively, without explaining to Olga +where he was going. + +"Johnny, Johnny, you mustn't!" She sprang up, seizing his head and +wildly kissing him. "You mustn't! God understands, and Olga. Oh, you +mustn't sob like that! You are tearing my heart to pieces!" + +"I ran away like a yellow dog! I didn't go down there and die with her!" + +"You didn't run away to-night when you offered your life for my liberty. +Johnny, you mustn't!" + +Under her tender ministrations the sobs began to die away and soon +resolved into little catching gasps. He was weak and spent from his +injuries; otherwise he would not have given way like this, discovered to +her what she had not known before, that in every man, however strong and +valiant he may be, there is a little child. + +"It has been burning me up, Kitty." + +"I know, I know! It is because you have a soul full of beautiful things, +Johnny. God held you back from dying with Olga because He knew I needed +you." + +"You will marry me, knowing that I did this thing?" + +Marry him! A door to some blinding radiance opened, and she could not +see for a little while. Marry him! What a miserable wretch she was to +think that he would want her otherwise! Johnny Two-Hawks, fiddling in +front of the Metropolitan Opera House, to fill a poor blind man's cup! + +"Yes, Johnny. Now, yesterdays never were. For us there is nothing but +to-morrows. Out there, in the great country--where souls as well as +bodies may stretch themselves--we'll start all over again. You will be +the cowman and I'll be the kitchen wench. As in the beginning, so it +will always be hereafter, I'll cook your bacon and eggs." + +She pulled his chair round and pushed it toward a window, dropped beside +it and laid her cheek against his hand. + +"Let us look at the stars, Johnny. They know." Kuroki, having arrived +with coffee and sandwiches, paused on the threshold, gazed, wheeled +right about face, and returned to the kitchen. + +By and by Kitty looked up into Hawksley's face. He was asleep. She got +up carefully, lightly kissed the top of his head--the old wound--and +crossed to Cutty's door. She must tell dear old Cutty of the wonderful +happiness that was going to be hers. She opened the study door, but did +not enter at once. Asleep on his arms. Why, he hadn't even opened that +Ali Baba's bag! Tired out--done in, as Johnny Two-Hawks called it in his +English fashion. She waited; but as he did not stir she approached with +noiseless step. The light poured full upon his head. How gray he was! A +boundless pity surged over her that this tender, valiant knight should +have missed what first her mother had known--now she herself--requited +love. To have everything in the world without that was to have nothing. +She would not wake him; she would let him sleep until Captain Harrison +came. Lightly she touched the gray head with her lips and stole from the +study. + +"Oh, Molly, Molly!" Cutty whispered into his rigid fingers. + +And so they were married, in the apartment, at the top of the world, on +a May night thick with stars. It was not a wedding; it was a marriage. +The world never knew because it was none of the world's business. Who +was Kitty Conover? A nobody. Who was John Hawksley? Something to be. + +Out of the storm into the calm; which is something of a reversal. +Generally in love affairs happiness is found in the approach to the +marriage contract; the disillusions come afterward. It was therefore +logical that Kitty and her lover should be happy, as they had run the +gamut of test and fire beforehand. + +The young people were to leave for the West soon after the supper for +three. At midnight Cutty's ship would be boring down the bay. Did Kitty +regret, even a little, the rice and old shoes, the bridesmaids and +cake, so dear to the female of the species? She did not. Did she think +occasionally of the splendour of the title that was hers? She did. To +her mind Mrs. John Hawksley was incomparably above and beyond anything +in that Bible of autocracy--the Almanach de Gotha. + +After supper Cutty brought in the old Amati. + +"Play," he said, lighting his pipe. + +So Hawksley played--played as he never had played before and perhaps as +he would never play again. We reach zenith sometimes, but we never stay +there. But he was not playing to Cutty. Slate-blue eyes, two books with +endless pages, the soul of this wife of his. He had come through. The +miracle had been accomplished. Love. + +Kitty smiled and smiled, the doors of her soul thrown wide to absorb +this magic message. Love. + +Cutty smoked on, with his eyes closed. He heard it, too. Love. + +"Well," he said, sighing, "I see innovations out there in Montana. The +round-up will be different. The Pied Fiddler of Bar-K will stand in +the corral and fiddle, and the bossies will come galloping in, two +by two--and a few jackrabbits!" He laughed. "John, the Amati is yours +conditionally. If after one year it is not reclaimed it becomes yours +automatically. My wedding present. Remember, next winter, if God wills, +you'll come and visit me." + +"As if we could forget!" cried Kitty, embracing Cutty, who accepted the +embrace stoically. "I'll be needing clothes, and Johnny will have to +have his hair cut. Oh, Cutty, I'm so foolishly happy!" + +"Time we started for the choo-choo. Time-tables have no souls. But, +Lord, what a racket we've had!" + +"Well, rather!"--from Hawksley. + +"Bo, listen to me. Out there you must remember that 'bally' and +'ripping' and 'rather' are premeditated insults. Gee-whiz! but I'd +like a look-see when you say to your rough-and-readies: 'Bally rotten +weather. What?' They'll shoot you up." + +More banter; which fooled none of the three, as each understood the +other perfectly. The hour of separation was at hand, and they were +fortifying their courage. + +"Funny old top," was Hawksley's comment as they stood before the train +gate. "Three months gone we were strangers." + +"And now--" began Cutty. + +"With hoops of steel!" interrupted Kitty. "You must write, Cutty, and +Johnny and I will be prompt." + +"You'll get one from the Azores." + +"Train going west!" + +"Good luck, children!" Cutty pressed Hawksley's hand and pecked at +Kitty's cheek. "Shan't go through with you to the car. Kuroki is +waiting. Good-bye!" + +The redcaps seized the luggage, and Hawksley and his bride followed them +through the gate. Because he was tall Cutty could see them until they +reached the bumper. Funny old world, for a fact. Next time they met the +wounds would be healed--Hawksley's head and old Cutty's heart. Queer how +he felt his fifty-two. He began to recognize one of the truths that had +passed by: One did not sense age if one ran with the familiar pack. +But for an old-timer to jog along for a few weeks with youth! That was +it--the youth of these two had knocked his conceit into a cocked hat. + +"Poor dear old Cutty!" said Kitty. + +"Old thoroughbred!" said Hawksley. + +And there you were, relegated to the bracket where the family kept the +kaleidoscope, the sea-shell, and the album. His children, though; from +now on he would have that interest in life. The blessed infant--Molly's +girl--taking a sunbonnet when she might have worn a tiara! And that boy, +stepping down from the pomp of palaces to the dusty ranges of Bar-K. +An American citizen. It was more than funny, this old top; it was stark +raving mad. + +Well, he had one of the drums. It reposed in his wallet. Another queer +thing, he could not work up a bit of the old enthusiasm. It was only +a green stone. One of the finest examples of the emerald known, and he +could not conjure up the panorama of murder and loot behind it. Possibly +because he was no longer detached; the stone had entered his own life +and touched it with tragedy. For it was tragedy to be fifty-two and +to realize it. Thus whenever he took out the emerald he found his +imagination walled in. Besides, it was a kind of magic mirror; he saw +always his own tentative villainy. He was not quite the honest man he +had once been. + +But what was happening down the line there? The passengers were making +way for someone. Kitty, and racing back to the gate! She did not pause +until she stood in front of him, breathless. + +"Forget something?" he asked, awkwardly. + +"Uh-hm!" Suddenly she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him. "If +only the three of us could be always together! Take care of yourself. +Johnny and I need you." Then she caught his hand, gave it a pressure, +and was off again. Cutty stood there, staring blindly in her direction. +Old Stefani Gregor; sacrifice. By and by he became conscious of +something warm and hard in his palm. He looked down. + +A green stone, green as the turban of a Mecca pilgrim, green as the eye +of a black panther in the thicket. He dropped the emerald into a vest +pocket and fumbled round for his pipe--always his mental crutch. He +lit it and marched out of the station into the night--chuckling +sardonically. For the second time the thought occurred to him: Of all +his earthly possessions he would carry into the Beyond--a chuckle. + +Molly, then Kitty; but the drums of jeopardy were his! + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Drums Of Jeopardy, by Harold MacGrath + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DRUMS OF JEOPARDY *** + +***** This file should be named 1913.txt or 1913.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/1913/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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A pall of fog lay over the world so heavy that +it beaded the face and hands and deposited a fairy diamond dust +upon wool. The station lights had the visibility of stars, and +like the stars were without refulgence - a pale golden aureola, +perhaps three feet in diameter, and beyond, nothing. The few +passengers who alighted and the train itself had the same nebulosity +of drab fish in a dim aquarium. + +Among the passengers to detrain was a man in a long black coat. +The high collar was up. The man wore a derby hat, well down upon +his head, after the English mode. An English kitbag, battered and +scarred, swung heavily from his hand. He immediately strode for +the station wall and stood with his back to it. He was almost +invisible. He remained motionless until the other detrained +passengers swam past, until the red tail lights of the last coach +vanished into the deeps; then he rushed for the exit to the street. + +Away toward the far end of the platform there appeared a shadowy +patch in the fog. It grew and presently took upon itself the shape +of a man. For one so short and squat and thick his legs possessed +remarkable agility, for he reached the street just as the other man +stopped at the side of a taxicab. + +The fool! As if such a movement had not been anticipated. Sixteen +thousand miles, always eastward, on horses, camels, donkeys, trains, +and ships; down China to the sea, over that to San Francisco, thence +across this bewildering stretch of cities and plains called the +United States, always and ever toward New York - and the fool thought +he could escape! Thought he was flying, when in truth he was being +driven toward a wall in which there would be no breach! Behind and +in front the net was closing. Up to this hour he had been extremely +clever in avoiding contact. This was his first stupid act - thought +the fog would serve as an impenetrable cloak. + +Meantime, the other man reached into the taxicab and awoke the +sleeping chauffeur. + +"A hotel," he said. + +"Which one?" + +"Any one will do." + +"Yes, sir. Two dollars." + +"When we arrive. No; I'll take the bag inside with me." Inside +the cab the fare chuckled. For those who fished there would be no +fish in the net. This fog - like a kindly hand reaching down from +heaven! + +Five minutes later the taxicab drew up in front of a hotel. The +unknown stepped out, took a leather purse from his pocket and +carefully counted out in silver two dollars and twenty cents, which +he poured into the chauffeur's palm. + +"Thank you, sir." + +"You are an American?" + +"Sure! I was born in this burg." + +"Like the idea?" + +"Huh?" + +"The idea of being an American?" + +"I should say yes! This is one grand little gob o' mud, believe me! +It's going to be dry in a little while, and then it will be some +grand little old brick. Say, let me give you a tip! The gas in +this joint is extra if you blow it out!" + +Grinning, the chauffeur threw on the power and wheeled away into +the fog. + +His late fare followed the vehicle with his gaze until it reached +the vanishing point, then he laughed. An American cockney! He +turned and entered the hotel. He marched resolutely up to the +desk and roused the sleeping clerk, who swung round the register. +The unknown without hesitance inscribed his name, which was John +Hawksley. But he hesitated the fraction of a second before adding +his place of residence - London. + +"A room with a bath, if you please; second flight. Have the man +call me at seven." + +"Yes, sir. Here, boy!" + +Sleepily the bellboy lifted the battered kitbag and led the way to +the elevator. + +"Bawth!" said the night clerk, as the elevator door slithered to +the latch. "Bawth! The old dear!" + +He returned to his chair, hoping that he would not be disturbed +again until he was relieved. + +What do we care, so long as we don't know? What's the stranger to +us but a fleeting shadow? The Odysseys that pass us every day, and +we none the wiser! + +The clerk had not properly floated away into dreams when he was +again roused. Resentfully he opened his eyes. A huge fist covered +with a fell of black hair rose and fell. Attached to this fist was +an arm, and joined to that were enormous shoulders. The clerk's +trailing, sleep-befogged glance paused when it reached the newcomer's +face. The jaws and cheeks and upper lip were blue-black with a +beard that required extra-tempered razors once a day. Black eyes +that burned like opals, a bullet-shaped head well cropped, and a +pudgy nose broad in the nostrils. Because this second arrival wore +his hat well forward the clerk was not able to discern the pinched +forehead of the fanatic. Not wholly unpleasant, not particularly +agreeable; the sort of individual one preferred to walk round rather +than bump into. The clerk offered the register, and the squat man +scratched his name impatiently, grabbed the extended key, and trotted +to the elevator. + +"Ah," mused the clerk, "we have with us Mr. Poppy - Popo - " He +stared at the signature close up. "Hanged if I can make it out! It +looks like some new brand of soft drink we'll be having after July +first. Greek or Bulgarian. Anyhow, he didn't awsk for a bawth. +Looks as if he needed one, too. Here, boy!" + +"Ye-ah!" + +"Take a peek at this John Hancock." + +"Gee! That must be the guy who makes that drugstore drink - Boolzac." + +The clerk swung out, but missed the boy's head by a hair. The boy +stood off, grinning. + +"Well, you ast me!" + +"All right. If anybody else comes in tell 'em we're full up. I'll +be a wreck to-morrow without my usual beauty sleep." The clerk +dropped into his chair again and elevated his feet to the radiator. + +"Want me t' git a pillow for yuh?" + +"No back talk!" - drowsily. + +"Oh! boy, but I got one on you!" + +"What?" + +"This Boolzac guy didn't have no baggage, and yuh give 'im the key +without little ol' three-per in advance." + +"No grip?" + +"Nix. Not a toot'brush in sight." + +"Well, the damage is done. I might as well go to sleep." + +It was not premeditated on the part of the clerk to give the squat +man the room adjoining that of Hawksley's. The key had been nearest +his hand. But the squat man trembled with excitement when he noted +that it was stamped 214. He had taken particular pains to search +the register for Hawksley's number before rousing the clerk. He +hadn't counted on any such luck as this. His idea had been merely +to watch the door of Room 212. + +He had the feline foot, as they say. He moved about lightly and +without sound in the dark. Almost at once he approached one of the +two doors and put his ear to the panel. Running water. The fool +had time to take a bath! + +A plan flashed into his head. Why not end the affair here and now, +and reap the glory for himself? What mattered the net if the fish +swam into your hand? Wasn't this particularly his affair? It was +the end, not the means. A close touch in Hong-Kong, but the fool +had slipped away. But there, in the next room, assured that he had +escaped - it would be easy. The squat man tiptoed to the window. +Luck of luck, there was a fire-escape platform! He would let half +an hour pass, then he would act. The ape, with his British +mannerisms! Death to the breed, root and branch! He sat down to +wait. + +On the other side of the wall the bather finished his ablutions. +His body was graceful, vigorous, and youthful, tinted a golden +bronze. His nose was hawky; his eyes a Latin brown, alert and +roving, though there was a hint of weariness in them, the pressure +of long, racking hours of ceaseless vigilance. His top hair was +a glossy black inclined to curl; but the four days' growth of +beard was as blond as a ripe chestnut burr. In spite of this mark +of vagabondage there were elements of beauty in the face. The +expanse of the brow and the shape of the head were intellectual. +The mouth was pleasure-loving, but the nose and the jaw neutralized +this. + +After he had towelled himself he reached down for a brown leather +pouch which lay on the three-legged bathroom stool. It was patently +a tobacco pouch, but there was evidently something inside more +precious than Saloniki. He held the pouch on his palm and stared at +it as if it contained some jinn clamouring to be let out. Presently +he broke away from this fascination and rocked his body, eyes closed +- like a man suffering unremitting pain. + +"God's curse on them!" he whispered, opening his eyes. He raised +the pouch swiftly, as though he intended dashing it to the tiled +floor; but his arm sank gently. After all, he would be a fool to +destroy them. They were future bread and butter. + +He would soon have their equivalent in money - money that would bring +back no terrible recollections. + +Strange that every so often, despite the horror, he had to take them +out and gaze at them. He sat down upon the stool, spread a towel +across his knees, and opened the pouch. He drew out a roll of cotton +wool, which he unrolled across the towel. Flames! Blue flames, red, +yellow, violet, and green - precious stones, many of them with +histories that reached back into the dim centuries, histories of +murder and loot and envy. The young man had imagination - perhaps +too much of it. He saw the stones palpitating upon lovely white and +brown bosoms; he saw bloody and greedy hands, the red sack of towns; +he heard the screams of women and the raucous laughter of drunken +men. Murder and loot. + +At the end of the cotton wool lay two emeralds about the size of +half dollars and half an inch in thickness, polished, and as vividly +green as a dragonfly in the sun, fit for the turban of Schariar, +spouse of Scheherazade. + +Rodin would have seized upon the young man's attitude - the limp +body, the haggard face - hewn it out of marble and called it +Conscience. The possessor of the stones held this attitude for +three or four minutes. Then he rolled up the cotton wool, jammed +it into the pouch, which he hung to his neck by a thong, and sprang +to his feet. No more of this brooding; it was sapping his vitality; +and he was not yet at his journey's end. + +He proceeded to the bedroom, emptied the battered kitbag, and began +to dress. He put on heavy tan walking shoes, gray woollen stockings, +gray knickerbockers, gray flannel shirt, and a Norfolk jacket minus +the third button. + +Ah, that button! He fingered the loose threads which had aforetime +snugged the button to the wool. The carelessness of a tailor had +saved his life. Had that button held, his bones at this moment +would be reposing on the hillside in far-away Hong-Kong. Evidently +Fate had some definite plans regarding his future, else he would not +be in this room, alive. But what plans? Why should Fate bother +about him further? She had strained the orange to the last drop. +Why protect the pulp? Perhaps she was only making sport of him, +lulling him into the belief that eventually he might win through. +One thing, she would never be able to twist his heart again. You +cannot fill a cup with water beyond the brim. And God knew that +his cup had been full and bitter and red. + +His hand swept across his eyes as if to brush away the pictures +suddenly conjured up. He must keep his thoughts off those things. +There was a taint of madness in his blood, and several times he +had sensed the brink at his feet. But God had been kind to him +in one respect: The blood of his glorious mother predominated. + +How many were after him, and who? He had not been able to recognize +the man that night in Hong-Kong. That was the fate of the pursued: +one never dared pause to look back, while the pursuers had their man +before them always. If only he could have broken through into Greece, +England would have been easy. The only door open had been in the +East. It seemed incredible that he should be standing in this room, +but three hours from his goal. + +America! The land of the free and the brave! And the irony of it +was that he must seek in America the only friends he had in the +world. All the Englishmen he had known and loved were dead. He +had never made friends with the French, though he loved France. In +this country alone he might successfully lose himself and begin life +anew. The British were British and the French were French; but in +this magnificent America they possessed the tenacity of the one and +the gayety of the other - these joyous, unconquered, speed-loving +Americans. + +He took up the overcoat. Under the light it was no longer black but +a very deep green. On both sleeves there were narrow bands of a +still deeper green, indicating that gold or silver braid had once +befrogged the cuffs. Inside, soft silky Persian lamb; and he ran +his fingers over the fur thoughtfully. The coat was still +impregnated with the strong odour of horse. He cast it aside, never +to touch it again. From the discarded small coat he extracted a +black wallet and opened it. That passport! He wondered if there +existed another more cleverly forged. It would not have served +an hour west of the Hindenburg Line; but in the East and here in +America no one had questioned it. In San Francisco they had +scarcely glanced at it, peace having come. Besides this passport +the wallet contained a will, ten bonds, a custom appraiser's receipt +and a sheaf of gold bills. The will, however, was perhaps one of +the most astonishing documents conceivable. It left unreservedly +to Capt. John Hawksley the contents of the wallet! + +Within three hours of his ultimate destination! He knew all about +great cities. An hour after he left the train, if he so willed, +he could lose himself for all time. + +>From the bottom of the kitbag he dug up a blue velours case, which +after a moment's hesitation he opened. Medals incrusted with +precious stones; but on the top was the photograph of a charming +girl. blonde as ripe wheat, and arrayed for the tennis court. +It was this photograph he wanted. Indifferently he tossed the case +upon the centre table, and it upset, sending the medals about with +a ring and a tinkle. + +The man in the next room heard this sound, and his eye roved +desperately. Some way to peer into yonder room! But there was no +transom, and he would not yet dare risk the fire escape. The young +man raised the photograph to his lips and kissed it passionately. + +Then he hid it in the lining of his coat, there being a convenient +rent in the inside pocket. + +"I must not think!" he murmured. "I must not!" + +He became the hunted man again. He turned a chair upend and placed +it under the window. He tipped another in front of the door. On +the threshold of the bathroom door he deposited the water carafe +and the glasses. His bed was against the connecting door. No man +would be able to enter unannounced. He had no intention of letting +himself fall asleep. He would stretch out and rest. So he lit his +pipe, banked the two pillows, switched out the light, and lay down. +Only the intermittent glow of his pipe coal could be seen. Near +the journey's end; and no more tight-rope walking, with death at +both ends, and death staring up from below. Queer how the human +being clung to life. What had he to live for? Nothing. So far as +he was concerned, the world had come to an end. Sporting instinct; +probably that was it; couldn't make up his mind to shuffle off this +mortal coil until he had beaten his enemies. English university +education had dulled the bite of his natural fatalism. To carry on +for the sport of it; not to accept fate but to fight it. + +By chance his hand touched his spiky chin. Nevertheless, he would +have to enter New York just as he was. He had left his razor in a +Pullman washroom hurriedly one morning. He dared not risk a barber's +chair, especially these American chairs, that stretched one out in +a most helpless manner. + +Slowly his pipe sank toward his breast. The weary body was +overcoming the will. A sound broke the pleasant spell. He sat up, +tense. Someone had entered through the window and stumbled over the +chair! Hawksley threw on the light. + + + +CHAPTER II + + +When the day clerk arrived the night clerk sleepily informed him +that the guest in Room 214 was without baggage and had not paid in +advance. + +"Lave a call?" + +"No. I thought I'd put you wise. I didn't notice that the man had +no grip until he was in the elevator." + +"All right. I'll send the bell-hop captain up with a fake call to +see if the man's still there." + +When the captain - late of the A.E.F. in France - returned to the +office he was mildly excited. + +"Gee, there's been a whale of a scrap in Room 212. The chambermaid +let me in." + +"Murder?" whispered the clerks in unison. + +"Murder your granny! Naw! Just a fight between 212 and 214, +because both of 'em have flown the roost. But take a peek at what +I found on the table." + +It was a case of blue velours. The boy threw back the lid +dramatically. + +"War medals?" + +"If they are I never piped 'em before. They ain't French or +British." The captain of the bell-boys scratched his head +ruminatively. "Gee, I got it! Orders, that's what they all 'em. +Kings pay 'em out Saturdays when the pay roll is nix. Will you pipe +the diamonds and rubies? There's your room rents, monseer." + +The day clerk, who considered himself a judge, was of the opinion +that there were two or three thousand dollars tied up in the +stones. It was a police affair. Some ambassador had been robbed, +and the Britisher and the Greek or Bulgarian were mixed up in it. +Loot. + +"I thought the war was over," said the night clerk. + +"The shootin' is over, that's all," said the captain of the bellboys, +sagely. + +What had happened in Room 212? A duel of wits rather than of +physical contact. Hawksley realized instantly that here was the +crucial moment. Caught and overpowered, he was lost. If he shouted +for help and it came, he was lost. Once the police took a hand in +the affair, the newspaper publicity that would follow would result +in the total ruin of all his hopes. There was only one chance - to +finish this affair outside the hotel, in some fog-dimmed street. +There leaped into his mind, obliquely and queerly, a picture in one +of Victor Hugo's tales - Quasimodo. And there he stood, in every +particular save the crooked back. And on the top of this came the +recollection that he had seen the man before.... The torches! The +red torches and the hobnailed boots! + +There began an odd game, a dancing match, which the young man led +adroitly, always with his thought upon the open window. There +would be no shooting; Quasimodo would not want the police either. +Half a dozen times his fingers touched futilely the dancing master's +coat. Bank and forth across the room, over the bed, round the stand +and chairs. Persistently, as if he understood the young man's +manoeuvres, the squat individual kept to the window side of the room. + +An inspiration brought the affair to an end. Hawksley snatched up +the bedclothes and threw them as the ancient retiarius threw his net. +He managed to win to the lower platform of the fire escape before +Quasimodo emerged. + +There was a fourteen-foot drop to the street, and the man with the +golden stubble on his chin and cheeks swung for a moment to gauge +his landing. Quasimodo came after with the agility of an ape. +The race down the street began with about a hundred yards in between. + +Down the hill they went, like phantoms. The distance did not widen. +Bears will run amazingly fast and for a long while. The quarry cut +into Pearl Street for a block, turned a corner, and soon vaguely +espied the Hudson River. He made for this. + +To the mind of Quasimodo this flight had but one significance - he +was dealing with an arrant coward; and he based his subsequent acts +upon this premise, forgetting that brave men run when need says must. +It would have surprised him exceedingly to learn that he was not +driving, that he was being led. Hawksley wanted his enemy alone, +where no one would see to interfere. Red torches and hobnailed +boots! For once the two bloods, always more or less at war, merged +in a common purpose - to kill this beast, to grind the face of him +into pulp! Red torches and hobnailed boots! + +Presently one of the huge passenger boats, moored for the winter, +loomed up through the fog; and toward this Hawksley directed his +steps. He made a flying leap aboard and vanished round the +deckhouse to the river side. + +Quasimodo laughed as he followed. It was as if the tobacco pouch +and the appraiser's receipt were in his own pocket; and broad rivers +made capital graveyards. They two alone in the fog! He whirled +round the deckhouse - and backed on his heels to get his balance. +Directly in front, in a very understandable pose, was the intended +victim, his jaw jutting, his eyelids narrowed. + +Quasimodo tried desperately to reach for his pistol; but a bolt of +lightning stopped the action. There is something peculiar about a +blow on the nose, a good blow. The Anglo-Saxon peoples alone +possess the counterattack - a rush. To other peoples concentration +of thought is impossible after the impact. Instinctively Quasimodo's +hands flew to his face. He heard a laugh, mirthless and terrible. +Before he could drop his hands from his face-blows, short and +boring, from this side and from that, over and under. The squat +man was brave enough; simply he did not know how to fight in this +manner. He was accustomed to the use of steel and the hobnails on +his boots. He struck wildly, swinging his arms like a Flemish mill +in a brisk wind. + +Some of his blows got home, but these provoked only sardonic laughter. + +Wild with rage and pain he bored in. He had but one chance - to get +this shadow in his gorilla-like arms. He lacked mental flexibility. +An idea, getting into his head, stuck; it was not adjustable. Like +an arrow sped from the bowstring, it had to fulfill its destiny. +It never occurred to him to take to his heels, to get space between +himself and this enemy he had so woefully underestimated. Ten feet, +and he might have been able to whirl, draw his pistol, and end the +affair. + +The coup de grace came suddenly: a blow that caught Quasimodo full +on the point of the jaw. He sagged and went sprawling upon his +face. The victor turned him over and raised a heel.... No! He +was neither Prussian nor Sudanese black. He was white; and white +men did not stamp in the faces of fallen enemies. + +But there was one thing a white man might do in such a case without +disturbing the ethical, and he proceeded about it forthwith: Draw +the devil's fangs; render him impotent for a few hours. He +deliberately knelt on one of the outspread arms and calmly emptied +the insensible man's pockets. He took everything - watch, money, +passport, letters, pistol, keys - rose and dropped them into the +river. He overlooked Quasimodo's belt, however. The Anglo-Saxon +idea was top hole. His fists had saved his life. + +CHAPTER m + + +Hawksley heard the panting of an engine and turned his head. Dimly +he saw a giant bridge and a long drab train moving across it. He +picked up the fallen man's cap and tried it on. Not a particularly +good fit, but it would serve. He then trotted round the deckhouse +to the street side, jumped to the wharf, and sucking the cracked +knuckles of his right hand fell into a steady dogtrot which carried +him to the station he had left so hopefully an hour and a half gone. + +An accommodation train eventually deposited him in Poughkeepsie, +where he purchased a cap and a sturdy walking stick. The stubble +on his chin and cheeks began to irritate him intensely, but he could +not rid himself of the idea that a barber's chair would be inviting +danger. He was now tolerably certain that from one end of the +continent to the other his presence was known. His life and his +property, they would be after both. Even now there might be men in +this strange town seeking him. The closer he got to New York, the +more active and wide-awake they would become. + +He walked the streets, his glance constantly roving. But apparently +no one paid the least attention to him. Finally he returned to the +railway station; and at six o'clock that evening he left the platform +of the 125th Street Station, and appraised covertly the men who +accompanied him to the street. He felt assured that they were all +Americans. Probably they were; but there are still some stray fools +of American birth who cannot accept the great American doctrine as +the only Ararat visible in this present flood. Perhaps one of these +accompanied Hawksley to the street. Whatever he was, one had upon +order met every south-going train since seven o'clock that morning, +when Quasimodo, paying from the gold hidden in his belt, had sent +forth the telegraphic alarm. The man hurried across the street and +followed Hawksley by matching his steps. His business was merely to +learn the other's destination and then to report. + +Across the earth a tempest had been loosed; but Ariel did not ride +it, Caliban did. The scythe of terror was harvesting a type; and +the innocent were bending with the guilty. + +Suddenly Hawksley felt young, revivified, free. He had arrived. +Surmounting indescribable hazards and hardships he walked the +pavement of New York. In an hour the mutable quicksands of a great +city would swallow him forever. Free! He wanted to stroll about, +peer into shop windows, watch the amazing electric signs, dally; +but he still had much to accomplish. + +He searched for a telephone sign. It was necessary that he find +one immediately. He had once spent six weeks in and about this +marvellous city, and he had a vague recollection of the +blue-and-white enamel signs. Shortly he found one. It was a +pay station in the rear of a news and tobacco shop. + +He entered a booth, but discovered that he had no five-cent pieces +in his purse. He hurried out to the girl behind the cigar stand. +She was exhibiting a box of cigars to a customer, who selected +three, paid for them, and walked away. Hawksley, boiling with +haste to have his affair done, flung a silver coin toward the girl. + +"Five-cent pieces!" + +"Will you take them with you or shall I send them?" asked the girl, +earnestly. + +"I beg pardon!" + +"Any particular kind of ribbon you want the box tied with?" + +"I beg your pardon!" repeated Hawksley, harried and bewildered. +"But I'm in a hurry - " + +"Too much of a hurry to leave out the bark when you ask a favour? +I make change out of courtesy. And you all bark at me Nickel! +Nickel! as if that was my job." + +"A thousand apologies!" - contritely. + +"And don't make it any worse by suggesting a movie after supper. +My mother never lets me go out after dark." + +"I rather fancy she's quite sensible. Still, you seem able to +take care of yourself. I might suggest -" + +"With that black eye? Nay, nay! I'll bet somebody's brother gave +it to you." + +"Venus was not on that occasion in ascendancy. Thank you for the +change." Hawksley swung on his heel and reentered the booth. + +A great weariness oppressed him. A longing, almost irresistible, +came to him to go out and cry aloud: "Here I am! Kill me! I am +tired and done!" For he had recognized the purchaser of the cigars +as one of the men who had left the 125th Street Station at the same +time as he. He remembered distinctly that this man had been in a +hurry. Perhaps the whole dizzy affair was reacting upon his +imagination psychologically and turning harmless individuals into +enemies. + +"Hello!" said a man's voice over the wire. + +"Is Mr. Rathbone there?" + +"Captain Rathbone is with his regiment at Coblenz, sir." + +"Coblenz?" + +"Yes, sir. I do not expect his return until near midsummer, sir. +Who is this talking?" + +"Have you opened a cable from Yokohama?" + +"This is Mr. Hawksley!" The voice became excited. + +"Oh, sir! You will come right away. I alone understand, sir. You +will remember me when you see me. I'm the captain's butler, sir + - Jenkins. He cabled back to give you the entire run of the house +as long as you desired it. He advised me to notify you that he had +also prepared his banker against your arrival. Have your luggage +sent here at once, sir. Dinner will be at your convenience." + +Hawksley's body relaxed. A lump came into his throat. Here was a +friend, anyhow, ready to serve him though he was thousands of miles +away. + +When he could trust himself to speak he said: "Sorry. It will be +impossible to accept the hospitality at present. I shall call in +a few days, however, to establish my identity. Thank you. Good +evening." + +"Just a moment, sir. I may have an important cable to transmit to +you. It would be wise to leave me your address, sir." + +Hawksley hesitated a moment. After all, he could trust this perfect +old servant, whom he remembered. He gave the address. + +As he came out of the booth the girl stretched forth an arm to +detain him. He stopped. + +"I'm sorry I spoke like that," she said. "But I'm so tired! I've +been on my feet all day, and everybody's been barking and growling; +and if I'd taken in as many nickels as I've passed out in change the +boss would be rich." + +"Give me a dozen of those roses there." She sold flowers also. +"The pink ones. How much?" he asked. + +"Two-fifty." + +He laid down the money. "Never mind the box. They are for you. +Good evening." + +The girl stared at the flowers as Ali Baba must have stared at the +cask with rubies. + +"For me!" she whispered. "For nothing!" + +Her eyes blurred. She never saw Hawksley again; but that was of +no importance. She had a gentle deed to put away in the lavender +of recollection. + +Outside Hawksley could see nothing of the man who had bought the +cigars. At any rate, further dodging would be useless. He would +go directly to his destination. Old Gregor had sent him a duplicate +key to the apartment. He could hide there for a day or two; then +visit Rathbone's banker at his residence in the night to establish +his identity. Gregor could be trusted to carry the wallet and the +pouch to the bank. Once these were walled in steel half the battle +would be over. He would have nothing to guard thereafter but his +life. He laughed brokenly. Nothing but the clothes he stood in. +He never could claim the belongings he had been forced to leave in +that hotel back yonder. But there was loyal old Gregor. Somebody +would be honestly glad to see him. The poor old chap! Astonishing, +but of late he was always thinking in English. + +He hailed the first free taxicab he saw, climbed in, and was driven +downtown. He looked back constantly. Was he followed? There was +no way of telling. The street was alive with vehicles tearing +north and south, with frequent stoppage for the passage of those +racing east and west. The destination of Hawksley's cab was an +old-fashioned apartment house in Eightieth Street. + +Gregor would have a meal ready; and it struck Hawksley forcibly +that he was hungry, that he had not touched food since the night +before. Gregor, valeting in a hotel, pressing coats and trousers +and sewing on buttons! Groggy old world, wasn't it? Gregor, +pressing the trousers of the hoi polloi! Gregor, who could have +sent New York mad with that old Stradivarius of his! But Gregor +was wise. Safety for him lay in obscurity; and what was more +obscure than a hotel valet? + +He did not seek the elevator but mounted the first flight of stairs. +He saw two doors, one on each side of the landing. He sought one, +stooped and peered at the card over the bell. Conover. Gregor's +was opposite. Having a key he did not knock but unlocked the door +and stepped into the dark hall. + +"Stefani Gregor?" he called, joyously. "Stefani, my old friend, it +is I!" + +Silence. But that was understandable. Either Gregor had not +returned from his labours or he was out gathering the essentials +for the evening meal. Judging from the variety of odours that swam +the halls of this human warren many suppers were in the process of +making, and the top flavour was garlic. He sniffed pleasurably. +Not that the smell of garlic quickened his hunger. It merely sent +his thought galloping backward a score of years. He saw Stefani +Gregor and a small boy in mountain costume footing it sturdily +along the dizzy goat paths of the rugged hills; saw the two sitting +on some ruddy promontory and munching black bread rubbed with garlic. +Ambrosia! His mother's horror, when she smelt his breath - as if +garlic had not been one of her birthrights! His uncle, roaring out +in his bull's voice that black bread and garlic were good for little +boys' stomachs, and made the stuff of soldiers. Black bread and +garlic and the Golden Age! + +After he had flooded the hall with light he began a tour of +inspection. The rooms were rather bare but clean and orderly. +Here and there were items that kept the homeland green in the +recollection. He came to the bedroom last. He hesitated for a +moment before opening the door. The lights told him why Gregor had +not greeted his entering +hail. + +The overturned reading lamp, the broken chair, the letters and +papers strewn about the floor, the rifled bureau drawers - these +things spoke plainly enough. Gregor was a prisoner somewhere in +this vast city; or he was dead. + +Hawksley stood motionless for a space. And he must remain here at +least for a night and a day! He would not dare risk another hotel. +He could, of course, go to the splendid Rathbone place; but it would +not be fair to invite tragedy across that threshold. + +A ball of crushed paper at his feet attracted his attention. He +kicked it absently, followed and picked it up, his thought on other +things. He was aimlessly smoothing it out when an English word +caught his eye. English! He smoothed the crumpled sheet and read: + + If you find this it is the will of God. I have been watched + for several days, and am now convinced that they have always + known I was here but were leaving me alone for some unknown + purpose. I roll this ball because anything folded and left + in a conspicuous place would be useless should they come for + me. I understand. It is you, poor boy. They are watching + me in hopes of catching you, and I've no way to warn you not + to come here. It was after I sent you the key that I learned + the truth. God bless you and guard you! + STEFANI. + + +Hawksley tore the note into scraps. Food and sleep. He walked +toward the kitchen, musing. What an odd mixture he was! +Superficially British, with the British outlook; and yet filled with +the dancing blood of the Latin and the cold, phlegmatic blood of the +Slav. He was like a schoolmaster with two students too big for him +to handle. Always the Latin was dispossessing the Slav or the Slav +was ousting the Latin. With fatalistic confidence that nevermore +would he look upon the kindly face of Stefani Gregor, alive, he went +in search of food. + +Not a crust did he find. In the ice-chest there was a bottle of +milk - soured. Hungry; and not a crumb! And he dared not go out +in search of food. No one had observed his entrance to the +apartment, but it was improbable that such luck would attend +him a second time. + +He returned to the bedroom. He did not turn on the light because +a novel idea had blossomed unexpectedly - a Latin idea. There might +be food on some window ledge. He would leave payment. He proceeded +to the window, throwing up both it and the curtain, and looked out. +Ripping! There was a fire escape. + +As he slipped a leg over the sill a golden square sprang into +existence across the way. Immediately he forgot his foraging +instincts. In a moment he was all Latin, always susceptible to the +enchantment +of beauty. + +The distance across the court was less than forty feet. He could +see the girl quite plainly as she set about the preparation of her +evening meal. He forgot his danger, his hunger, his code of ethics, +which did not permit him to gaze at a young woman through a window. + +Alone. He was alone and she was alone. A novel idea popped into +his head. He chuckled; and the sound of that chuckle in his ears +somehow brought back his resolve to carry on, to pass out, if so he +must, fighting. He would knock on yonder window and ask the +beautiful lady slavey for a bit of her supper! + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Kitty Conover had inherited brains and beauty, and nothing else but +the furniture. Her father had been a famous reporter, the admiration +of cubs from New York to San Francisco; handsome, happy-go-lucky, +generous, rather improvident, and wholly lovable. Her mother had +been a comedy actress noted for her beauty and wit and extravagance. +Thus it will be seen that Kitty was in luck to inherit any furniture +at all. + +Kitty was twenty-four. A body is as old as it is, but a brain is as +old as the facts it absorbs; and Kitty had absorbed enough facts to +carry her brain well into the thirties. + +Conover had been dead twenty years; and Kitty had scarcely any +recollections of him. Improvident as the run of newspaper writers +are, Conover had fulfilled one obligation to his family - he had kept +up his endowment policies; and for eighteen years the insurance had +taken care of Kitty and her mother, who because of a weak ankle had +not been able to return to the scenes of her former triumphs. In +1915 this darling mother, whom Kitty loved to idolatry, had passed on. + +There was enough for the funeral and the cleaning up of the bills; +but that was all. The income ceased with Mrs. Conover's demise. +Kitty saw that she must give up writing short stories which nobody +wanted, and go to work. So she proceeded at once to the newspaper +office where her father's name was still a tradition, and applied +for a job. It was frankly a charity job, but Kitty was never to +know that because she fell into the newspaper game naturally; and +when they discovered her wide acquaintance among theatrical +celebrities they switched her into the dramatic department, where +she had astonishing success as a raconteur. She was now assistant +dramatic editor of the Sunday issue, and her pay envelope had four +crisp ten-dollar notes in it each Monday. + +She still remained in the old apartment; sentiment as much as +anything. She had been born in it and her happiest days had been +spent there. She lived alone, without help, being one of that +singular type of womanhood that is impervious to the rust of +loneliness. Her daily activities sufficed the gregarious +instincts, and it was often a relief to move about in silence + +Among other things Kitty had foresight. She had learned that a +little money in the background was the most satisfying thing in +existence. So many times she and her mother had just reached the +insurance check, with grumbling bill collectors in the hall, that +she was determined never to be poor. She had to fight constantly +her love of finery inherited from her mother, and her love of good +times inherited from her father. So she established a bank account, +and to date had not drawn a check against it; which speaks well for +her will power, an attribute cultivated, not inherited. + +Kitty was as pleasing to the eye as a basket of fruit. Her beauty +was animated. There was an expression in her eyes and on her lips +that spoke of laughter always on tiptoe. An enviable inheritance, +this, the desire to laugh, to be searching always for a vent to +laughter; it is something money cannot buy, something not to be +cultivated; a true gift of the gods. This desire to laugh is found +invariably in the tender and valorous; and Kitty was both. Brown +hair with running threads of gold that was always catching light; +slate-blue eyes with heavy black fringe-Irish; colour that waxed +and waned; and a healthy, shapely body. Topped by a sparkling +intellect these gifts made Kitty desirable of men. + +Kitty had no beau. After the adolescent days beaux ceased to +interest her. This would indicate that she was inclined toward +suffrage. Nothing of the kind. Intensely romantic, she determined +to await the grand passion or go it alone. No experimental +adventures for her. Be assured that she weighed every new man she +met, and finding some flaw discarded him as a matrimonial +possibility. Besides, her unusual facilities to view and judge +men had shown her masculine phases the average woman would have +discovered only after the fatal knot was tied. She did not suspect +that she was romantical. She attributed her wariness to common +sense. + +If there is one place where a pretty young woman may labour without +having to build a wall of liquid air about her to fend off amatory +advances that place is the editorial room of a great metropolitan +daily. One must have leisure to fall in love; and only the office +boys could assemble enough idle time to call it leisure. + +Her desk faced Burlingame's; and Burlingame was the dramatic editor, +a scholar and a gentleman. He liked to hear Kitty talk, and often +he lured her into the open; and he gathered information about +theatrical folks that was outside even his wide range of knowledge. + +A drizzly fog had hung over New York since morning. Kitty was +finishing up some Sunday special. Burlingame was reading proofs. +All day theatrical folks had been in and out of this little +ten-by-twelve cubby-hole; and now there would be quiet. + +But no. The door opened and an iron-gray head intruded. + +"Will I be in the way?" + +"Lord, no!" cried Burlingame, throwing down his proofs. "Come along +in, Cutty." + +The great war correspondent came in and sat down, sighing gratefully. + +Cutty was a nickname; he carried and smoked - everywhere they would +permit him - the worst-looking and the worst-smelling pipe in +Christendom. You may not realize it, but a nickname is a round-about +Anglo-Saxon way of telling a fellow you love him. He was Cutty, but +only among his dear intimates, mind you; to the world at large, to +presidents, kings, ambassadors, generals, and capitalists he is +known by another name. You will find it on the roster of the Royal +Geographical; on the title page of several unique books on travel, +jewels, and drums; in magazines and newspapers; on the membership +roll of the Savage in London and the Lambs in New York. But you will +not find it in this story; because it would not be fair to set his +name against the unusual adventures that crossed his line of life +with that of the young man who wore the tobacco pouch suspended from +his neck. + +Tall, bony, graceful enough except in a chair, where his angles +became conspicuous; the ruddy, weather-bitten complexion of a +deep-sea sailor, and a sailor man's blue eye; the brow of a thinker +and the mouth of a humourist. Men often call another man handsome +when a woman knows they mean manly. Among men Cutty was handsome. + +Kitty considerately rose and gathered up her manuscript. + +"No, no, Kitty! I'd rather talk to you than Burly, here. You're +always reminding me of that father of yours. Best comrade I ever +had. You laugh just like him. Did your mother ever tell you that +old Cutty is your godfather?" + +"Good gracious!" + +"Fact. I told your dad I'd watch over you." + +"And a fat lot of watching you've done to date," jeered Burlingame. + +"Couldn't help that. But I can be on the job until I return to the +Balkans." + +Kitty laughed joyously and sat down, perhaps a little thrilled. She +had always admired Cutty from afar, shyly. Once in a blue moon he +had in the old days appeared for tea; and he and Mrs. Conover would +spend the balance of the afternoon discussing the lovable qualities +of Tommy Conover. Kitty had seen him but twice during the war. + +"Every so often," began Cutty, "I have to find listeners. Fact. I +used to hate crowds, listeners; but those ten days in an open boat, +a thousand miles from anywhere, made me gregarious. I'm always +wanting company and hating to go to bed, which is bad business for +a man of fifty-two." Cutty's ship had been torpedoed. + +To Kitty, with his tired eyes and weather-bitten face, his bony, +gangling body, he had the appearance of a lazy man. Actually she +knew him to be a man of tremendous vitality and endurance. Eagles +when they roost are heavy-lidded and clumsy. She wondered if there +was a corner on the globe he had not peered into. + +For thirty years he had been following two gods - Rumour and War. +For thirty years he had been the slave of cables and telegrams. +Even now he was preparing to return to the Balkans, where the great +fire had started and where there were still some threatening embers +to watch. + +Cutty was not well known in America; his reputation was European. +He played the game because he loved it, being comfortably fortified +with worldly goods. He was a linguist of rare attainments, +specializing in the polyglot of southeastern Europe. He came and +went like cloud shadow. His foresight was so keen he was seldom +ordered to go here or there; he was generally on the spot when the +orders arrived. + +He was interested in socialism and its bewildering ramifications, +but only as an analytical student. He could fit himself into any +environment, interview a prime minister in the afternoon and take +potluck that night with the anarchist who was planning to blow up +the prime minister. + +Burlingame, an intimate, often exposed for Kitty's delectation the +amazing and colourful facets of Cutty's diamond-brilliant mind. +Cutty wrote authoritatively on famous gems and collected drums. +He had one of the finest collections of chrysoprase in the world. +He loved these semi-precious stones because of their unmatchable, +translucent green - like the pulp of a grape. From Burlingame +Kitty had learned that Cutty, rather indifferent to women, carried +about with him the photographs - large size - of famous professional +beauties and a case filled with polished chrysoprase. He would lay +a photograph on a table and adorn the lovely throat with astonishing +necklaces and the head with wonderful tiaras, all the while his +brain at work with some intricate political puzzle. + +And he collected drums. The walls of his apartment - part of the +loft of a midtown office building - were covered with a most +startling assortment of drums: drums of war, of the dance, of the +temples of the feast, ancient and modern, some of them dreadful +looking objects, as Kitty had cause to remember. + +Though Cutty had known her father and mother intimately, Kitty was +a comparative stranger. He recollected seeing her perhaps a dozen +times. She had been a shy child, not given to climbing over +visitors' knees; not the precocious offspring of the average +theatrical mother. So in the past he had somewhat overlooked her. +Then one day recently he had dropped in to see Burlingame and had +seen Kitty instead; which accounts for his presence here this day. +Neither Kitty nor Burlingame suspected the true attraction. The +dramatic editor accepted the advent as a peculiar compliment to +himself. And it is to be doubted if Cutty himself realized that +there was a true magnetic pole in this cubbyhole of a room. + +Kitty, however, had vivid recollections. Actually the first strange +man she had ever met. But not having been visible on her horizon, +except in flashes, she knew of the man only what she had read and +what Burlingame had casually offered during discussions. + +"Well, anyhow," said Burlingame, complacently, "the war is over. + +Cutty smiled indulgently. "That's the trouble with us chaps who +tramp round the world for news. We can't bamboozle ourselves like +you folks who stay at home. The war was only the first phase. +There's a mess over there; wanting something and not knowing exactly +what, those millions; milling cattle, with neither shed nor pasture. +The Lord only knows how long it will take to clarify. Would you +mind if I smoked?" + +"Wow!" cried Burlingame. + +"Not at all," answered Kitty. "I don't see how any pipe could be +worse than Mr. Burlingame's." + +"I apologize," said the dramatic editor, humbly. + +"You needn't," replied the girl. She turned to the war correspondent. +"Any new drums?" + +"I remember that day. You were scared half to death at my walls." + +"Small wonder! I was only twelve; and I dreamed of cannibals for +weeks." + +"Drums! I wonder if any living man has heard a greater variety +than I? What a lot of them! I have heard them calling a jehad in +the Sudan. Tumpi-tum-tump! tumpitum-tump! Makes a white man's +hair stand up when he hears it in the night. I don't know what it +is, but the sound drives the Oriental mad. And that reminds me + - I've had them in mind all day - the drums of jeopardy!" + +"What an odd phrase! And what are the drums of jeopardy?" asked +Kitty, leaning on her arms. Odd, but suddenly she felt a longing +to go somewhere, thousands and thousands of miles away. She had +never been west of Chicago or east of Boston. Until this moment +she had never felt the call of the blood - her father's. Cocoanut +palms and birds of paradise! And drums in the night going +tumpi-tum-tump! tumpi-tum-tump! + +"I've always been mad over green things," began Cutty. "A wheat +field in the spring, leafing maples. It's Nature's choice and mine. +My passion is emeralds; and I haven't any because those I want are +beyond reach. They are owned by the great houses of Europe and +Asia, and lie in royal caskets; or did. If I could go into a mine +and find an emerald as big as my fist I should be only partly happy +if it chanced to be of fine colour. In a little while I should lose +interest in it. It wouldn't be alive, if you can get what I mean. +Just as a man would rather have a homely woman to talk to than a +beautiful window dummy to admire. A stone to interest me must have +a story - a story of murder and loot, of beautiful women, palaces. + +"Br-r-r!" cried Burlingame. + +"Why, I've seen emeralds I would steal with half a chance. I +couldn't help it. Fact," declared Cutty, earnestly. "Think of +the loot in the Romanoff palaces! What's become of all those +magnificent stones? In a little while they'll be turning up in +Amsterdam to be cut - some of them. Or maybe Mister Bolsheviki's +inamorata will be stringing them round her neck. Loot." + +"But the drums of jeopardy!" said Kitty. + +"Emeralds, green as an English lawn in May after a shower, Kitty. +By the way, do you mind if I call you Kitty? I used to." + +"And I've always thought of you as Cutty. Fifty-fifty." + +"It's a bargain. Well, the drums to my thinking are the finest two +examples of the green beryl in the world. Polished, of course, as +emeralds always should be. I should say that they were about the +size of those peppermint chocolate drops there." + +"Have one?" said Kitty. + +"No. Spoil the taste of the pipe." + +"You ought to spoil that taste once in a while," was Burlingame's +observation. "But go on." + +"I suppose originally there was a single stone, later cut into +halves, because they are perfect matches. The drums proper are +exquisitely carved ivory statuettes, of Hindu or Mohammedan drummers, +squatting, the golden base of the drums between the knees, and the +drumheads the emeralds. Lord, how they got to me! I wanted to run +off with them. The history of murder and loot they could tell! +Some Delhi mogul owned them first. Then Nadir Shah carried them off +to Persia, along with the famous peacock throne. I saw them in a +palace on the Caspian in 1912. Russia was very strong in Persia at +one time. Perhaps they were gifts; perhaps they were stolen - these +emeralds. Anyhow, I'd never heard of them until that year. And I +travelled all the way up from Constantinople to get a glimpse of +them if it were possible. I had to do some mighty fine wire-pulling. +For one of those stones I would give half of all I own. To see them +in the possession of another man would be a supreme test to my honesty." + +"You old pirate!" said Burlingame. + +"But why the word jeopardy?" persisted Kitty, who was intrigued by +the phrase. + +"Probably some Hindu trick. It is a language of flowery metaphors. +It means, I suppose, that when you touch the drums they bite. In +journeying from one spot to another they always leave misfortune +behind, as I understand it. Just coincidence; but you couldn't +drive that into an Oriental skull. This is what makes the study of +precious stones so interesting. There is always some enchantment, +some evil spell. To handle the drums is to invite a minor accident. +Call it twaddle; probably is; and yet I have reason to believe that +there's something to the superstition." + +Burlingame sniffed. + +"I can prove it," Cutty declared. "I held those drums in my hands +one day. I carried them to a window the better to observe them. +On my return to the hotel I was knocked down by a horse and laid +up in bed for a week. That same night someone tried to kill the +man who showed me the emeralds. Coincidence? Perhaps. But these +days I'm shying at thirteen, the wrong side of the street, ladders, +and religious curses." + +"An old hard-boiled egg like you?" Burlingame threw up his hands +in mock despair. + +"I laugh, too; but I duck, nevertheless. The chap who showed me +the stones was what you'd call the honorary custodian; a privileged +character because of his genius. Before approaching him I sent him +a copy of my monograph on green stones. I found that he was quite +as crazy over green as I. That brought us together; and while I +drew him out I kept wondering where I had seen him before. Both his +name and his face were vaguely familiar. lt seems a superstition +had come along with the stones, from India to Persia, from there to +Russia. A maid fortunate enough to see the drums would marry and +be happy. The old fellow confessed that occasionally he secretly +admitted a peasant maid to gaze upon the stones. But he never let +the male inmates of the palace find this out. He knew them a little +too intimately. A bad lot." + +"And this palace?" asked Kitty. + +"Not one stone on another. The proletariat rose up and destroyed +it. To mobs anything beautiful is offensive. Palaces looted, banks, +museums, houses. The ignorant toying with hand grenades, thinking +them sceptres. All the scum in the world boiling to the top. After +the Red Day comes the Red Night." + +"Whatever will become of them - the little kings and princes and +dukes?" After all, thought Kitty, they were human beings; they would +not suffer any the less because they had been born to the purple. + +"Maybe they'll go to work," said Cutty, dryly. "Sooner or later, +all parasites will have to work if they want bread. And yet I've +met some men among them, big in the heart and the mind, who would +have made bully farmers and professors. The beautiful thing about +the Anglo-Saxon education is that the whole structure is based upon +fair play. In eastern and southeastern Europe few of them can play +solitaire without cheating. But I would give a good deal to know +what has happened to those emeralds - the drums of jeopardy. They'll +probably be broken up and sold in carat weights. The whole family +was wiped out in a night.... I say, will you take lunch with me +to-morrow?" + +"Gladly." + +"All right. I'll drop in here at half after twelve. Here's my +telephone number, should anything alter your plans. If I'm going +to be godfather I might as well start right in." + +"The drums of jeopardy; what a haunting phrase!" + +"Haunting stones, too, Kitty. For picking them up in my hands I +went to bed with a banged-up leg. I can't forget that. We +Occidentals laugh at Orientals and their superstitions. We don't +believe in the curse. And yet, by George, those emeralds were +accursed!" + +"Piffle!" snorted Burlingame. "Mush! It's greed, pure and simple, +that gives precious stones their sinister histories. You'd have +been hit by that horse if you had picked up nothing more valuable +than a rhinestone buckle. Take away the gold lure, and precious +stones wouldn't sell at the price of window glass." + +"Is that so? How about me? It isn't because a stone is worth so +much that makes me want it. I want it for the sheer beauty; I want +it for the tremendous panorama the sight of it unfolds in my mind. +I imagine what happened from the hour the stone was mined to the +hour it came into my possession. To me - to all genuine collectors + - the intrinsic value is nil. Can't you see? It is for me what +Balzac's La Peau de Chagrin would be to you if you had fallen on it +for the first time - money, love, tragedy, death." + +An interruption came in the form of one of the office boys. The +chief was on the wire and wanted Cutty at once. + +"At half after twelve, Kitty. And by the way," added Cutty as he +rose, "they say about the drums that a beautiful woman is immune to +their danger." + +"There's your chance, Kitty," said Burlingame. + +"Am I beautiful?" asked Kitty, demurely. + +"Lord love the minx!" shouted Cutty. "A corner in Mouquin's." + +"Rain or shine." After Cutty had departed Kitty said: "He's the +most fascinating man I know. What fun it would be to jog round the +world with a man like that, who knew everybody and everything. +As a little girl I was violently in love with him; but don't you +ever dare give me away." + +"You'll probably have nightmare to-night. And honestly you ought +not to live in that den alone. But Cutty has seen things," +Burlingame admitted; "things no white man ought to see. He's been +shot up, mauled by animals, marooned, torpedoed at sea, made +prisoner by old Fuzzy-Wuzzy. An ordinary man would have died of +fatigue. Cutty is as tough and strong as a gorilla and as active +as a cat. But this jewel superstition is all rot. Odd, though; +he'll travel halfway round the world to see a ruby or an emerald. +He says no true collector cares a cent for a diamond. Says they +are vulgar." + +"Except on the third finger of a lady's left hand; and then they +are just perfectly splendid!" + +"Oho! Well, when you get yours I hope it's as big as the +Koh-i-noor." + +"Thank you! You might just as well wish a brick on me!" + +Kitty left the office at a quarter of six. The phrase kept running +through her head - the drums of jeopardy. A little shiver ran up +her spine. Money, love, tragedy, death! This terrible and wonderful +old world, of which she had seen little else than city streets, +suddenly exhibited wide vistas. She knew now why she had begun to +save - travel. Just as soon as she had a thousand she would go +somewhere. A great longing to hear native drums in the night. + +Even as the wish entered her mind a new sound entered her ears. The +Subway car wheels began to beat - tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! +Fudge! She opened her evening paper and scanned the fashions, the +dramatic news, and the comics. Being a woman she read the world +news last. On the front page she saw a queer story, dated at Albany: +Mysterious guests at a hotel; how they had fought and fled in the +early morning. There had been left behind a case with foreign orders +incrusted with several thousand dollars' worth of gems. Bolsheviki, +said the police; just as they said auto bandits a few years ago when +confronted with something they could not understand. The orders had +been turned over to the Federal authorities from whom it was learned +that they were all royal and demi-royal. Neither of the two guests +had returned up to noon, and one had fled, leaving even his hat and +coat. But there was nothing to indicate his identity. + +"Loot!" murmured Kitty. "All the scum in the world rising to the +top" - quoting Cutty. "Poor things!" as she thought of the gentle +ladies who had died horribly in bedrooms and cellars. + +Kitty was beginning to cast about for more congenial quarters. +There were too many foreigners in the apartments, and none of them +especially good housekeepers. Always, nowadays, somebody had a +washing out on the line, the odour of garlic was continuously in +the air, and there were noisy children under foot in the halls. The +families she and her mother had known were all gone; and Kitty was +perhaps the oldest inhabitant in the block. + +The living-room windows faced Eightieth Street; bedrooms, dining +room, and kitchen looked out upon the court. From the latter windows +one could step out upon the fire-escape platform, which ran round +the three sides of the court. + +Among the present tenants she knew but one, an old man by the name +of Gregory, who lived opposite. The acquaintance had never ripened +into friendship; but sometimes Kitty would borrow an egg and he +would borrow some sugar. In the summertime, when the windows were +open at night, she had frequently heard the music of a violin +swimming across the court. Polish, Russian, and Hungarian music, +always speaking with a tragic note; nothing she had ever heard in +concerts. Once, however, she had heard him begin something from +Thais, and stop in the middle of it; and that convinced her that +he was a master. She was fond of good music. One day she asked +Gregory why he did not teach music instead of valeting at a hotel. +His answer had been illuminative. It was only his body that +pressed clothes; but it would have torn his soul to listen daily +to the agonized bow of the novice. Kitty was lonely through pride +as much as anything. As for friends, she had a regiment of them. +But she rarely accepted their hospitality, realizing that she could +not return it. No young men called because she never invited them. +All this, however, was going to change when she moved. + +As she turned on the hail light she saw an envelope on the floor. +Evidently it had been shoved under the door. It was unstamped. She +opened it, and stepped out of the humdrum into the whirligig. + + DEAR MISS CONOVER: + If anything should happen to me all the things in my apartment + I give to you without reservation. + STEPHEN GREGORY. + +She read the letter a dozen times to make sure that it meant exactly +what it said. He might be ill. After she had cooked her supper she +would run round and inquire. The poor lonely old man! + +She went into the kitchen and took inventory. There was nothing +but bacon and eggs and coffee. She had forgotten to order that +morning. She lit the gas range and began to prepare the meal. As +she broke an egg against the rim of the pan the nearby Elevated +train rushed by, drumming tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! She +laughed, but it wasn't honest laughter. She laughed because she +was conscious that she was afraid of something. Impulse drove her +to the window. Contact with men - her unusual experiences as a +reporter - had developed her natural fearlessness to a point where +it was aggressive. As she pressed the tip of her nose against the +pane, however, she found herself gazing squarely into a pair of +exceedingly brilliant dark eyes; and all the blood in her body +seemed to rush violently into her throat. + +Tableau! + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Kitty gasped, but she did not cry out. The five days' growth of +blondish stubble, the discoloured eye - for all the orb itself was +brilliant - and the hawky nose combined to send through her the +first great thrill of danger she had ever known. + +Slowly she backed away from the window. The man outside immediately +extended his hands with a gesture that a child would have understood. +Supplication. Kitty paused, naturally. But did the man mean it? +Might it not be some trick to lure her into opening the window? And +what was he doing outside there anyhow? Her mind, freed from the +initial hypnosis of the encounter, began to work quickly. If she ran +from the kitchen to call for help he might be gone when she returned, +only to come back when she was again alone. + +Once more the man executed that gesture, his palms upward. It was +Latin; she was aware of that, for she was always encountering it in +the halls. Another gesture. She understood this also. The tips +of the fingers bunched and dabbed at the lips. She had seen Italian +children make the gesture and cry: "Ho fame!" Hungry. But she could +not let him into the kitchen. Still, if he were honestly hungry + - She had it! + +In the kitchen-table drawer was an imitation revolver - press the +trigger, and a fluted fan was revealed - a dance favour she had +received during the winter. + +She plucked it out of the drawer and walked bravely to the window, +which she threw up. + +"What do you want? What are you doing out there on the fire escape?" +she instantly demanded to know. + +"My word, I am hungry! I was looking out of the window across the +way and saw you preparing your dinner. A bit of bread and a glass +of milk. Would you mind, I wonder?" + +"Why didn't you come to the door then? What window?" Kitty was +resolute; once she embarked upon an enterprise. + +"That one." + +"Where is Mr. Gregory?" Kitty recalled that odd letter. + +"Gregory? I should very much like to know. I have come many miles +to see him. He sent me a duplicate key. There was not even a crust +in the cupboard." + +Gregory away? That letter! Something had happened to that poor, +kindly old man. "Why did you not seek some restaurant? Or have you +no money?" + +"I have plenty. I was afraid that I might not be able conveniently +to return. I am a stranger. My actions might be viewed with +suspicion." + +"Indeed! Describe Mr. Gregory." + +Not of the clinging kind, evidently, he thought. A raving beauty + - Diana domesticated! + +"It is four years since I saw him. He was then gray, dapper, and +erect. A mole on his chin, which he rubs when he talks. He is a +valet in one of the fashionable hotels. He is - or was - the only +true friend I have in New York." + +"Was? What do you mean?" + +"I'm afraid something has happened to him. I found his bedroom +things tossed about." + +"What could possibly happen to a harmless old man like Mr. Gregory?" + +"Pardon me, but your egg is burning !" + +Kitty wheeled and lifted off the pan, choking in the smother of smoke. +She came right-about face swiftly enough. The man had not moved; and +that decided her. + +"Come in. I will give you something to eat. Sit in that chair by +the window, and be careful not to stir from it. I'm a good shot," +lied Kitty, truculently. "Frankly, I do not like the looks of this." + +"I do look like a burglar, what?" He sat down in the chair meekly. +Food and a human being to talk to! A lovely, self-reliant American +girl, able to take care of herself. Magnificent eyes - slate blue, +with thick, velvety black lashes. Irish. + +In a moment Kitty had three eggs and half a dozen strips of bacon +frying in a fresh pan. She kept one eye upon the pan and the other +upon the intruder, risking strabismus. At length she transferred +the contents of the pan to a plate, backed to the ice chest, and +reached for a bottle of milk. She placed the food at the far end +of the table and retreated a few steps, her arms crossed in such a +way as to keep the revolver in view. + +"Please do not be afraid of me. + +"What makes you think I am?" + +"Any woman would be." + +Kitty saw that he was actually hungry, and her suspicions began to +ebb. He hadn't lied about that. And he ate like a gentleman. +Young, not more than thirty; possibly less. But that dreadful +stubble and that black eye ! The clothes would have passed muster +on any fashionable golf links. A fugitive? From what? + +"Thank you," he said, setting down the empty milk bottle. + +"Your accent is English." + +"Which is to say?" + +"That your gestures are Italian." + +"My mother was Italian. But what makes you believe I am not English?" + +"An Englishman - or an American, for that matter - with money in +his pocket would have gone into the street in search of a restaurant." + +"You are right. The fundamentals of the blood will always crop out. +You can educate the brain but not the blood. I am not an Englishman; +I merely received my education at Oxford." + +"A fugitive, however, of any blood might have come to my window." + +"Yes; I am a fugitive, pursued by the god of Irony. And Irony is +never particular; the chase is the thing. What matters it whether +the quarry be wolf or sheep?" + +Kitty was impressed by the bitterness of the tone. "What is your +name?" + +"John Hawksley." + +"But that is English!" + +"I should not care to call myself Two-Hawks, literally. It would +be embarrassing. So I call myself Hawksley." + +A pause. Kitty wondered what new impetus she might give to the +conversation, which was interesting her despite her distrust. + +"How did you come by that black eye?" she asked with embarrassing +directness. + +Hawksley smiled, revealing beautifully white teeth. "I say, it is +a bit off, isn't it! I received it" - a twinkle coming into his +eyes - "in a situation that had moribund perspectives." + +"Moribund perspectives," repeated Kitty, casting the phrase about +in her mind in search of an equivalent less academic. + +"I am young and healthy, and I wanted to live," he said, gravely. +"I am curious to know what is going to happen to-morrow and other +to-morrows." + +Somewhere near by a door was slammed violently. Kitty, every muscle +in her body tense, jumped convulsively, with the result that her +finger pressed automatically the trigger of her pistol. The fan +popped out gayly. + +Hawksley stared at the fan, quite as astonished as Kitty. Then he +broke into low, rollicking laughter, which Kitty, because her basic +corpuscle was Irish, perforce had to join. For all her laughter she +retreated, furious and alarmed. + +"Fancy! I say, now, you're jolly plucky to face a scoundrel like +me with that." + +"I don't just know what to make of you," said Kitty, irresolutely, +flinging the fan into a corner. + +"You have revivified a celestial spark - my faith in human beings. +I beg of you not to be afraid of me. I am quite harmless. I am +very grateful for the meal. Yours is the one act of kindness I have +known in weeks. I will return to Gregor's apartment at once. But +before I go please accept this. I rather suspect, you know, that +you live alone, and that fan is amusing and not particularly +suitable." He rose and unsmilingly laid upon the table one of those +heavy blue-black bull-dogs of war, a regulation revolver. Kitty +understood what this courteous act signified; he was disarming +himself to reassure her. + +"Sit down," she ordered. Either he was harmless or he wasn't. If +he wasn't she was utterly at his mercy. She might be able to lift +that terrible-looking engine of murder, battle, and sudden death +with the aid of both hands, but to aim and fire it - never in this +world! "As I came in to-night I found a note in the hall from Mr. +Gregory. I will fetch it. But you call him Gregor?" + +"His name is Stefani Gregor; and years and years ago he dandled me +on his knees. I promise not to move until you return." + +Subdued by she knew not what, no longer afraid, Kitty moved out of +the kitchen. She had offered Gregory's letter as an excuse to reach +the telephone. Once there, however, she did not take the receiver +off the hook. Instead she whistled down the tube for the janitor. + +"This is Miss Conover. Come up to my apartment in ten minutes.... + No; it's not the water pipes.... In ten minutes" + +Nothing very serious could happen inside of ten minutes; and the +janitor was reliable and not the sort one reads about in the comic +weeklies. Her confidence reenforced by the knowledge that a friend +was near, she took the letter into the kitchen. Apparently her +unwelcome guest had not stirred. The revolver was where he had +laid it. + +"Read this," she said. + +The visitor glanced through it. "It is Gregor's hand. Poor old +chap! I shall never forgive my self." + +"For what?" + +"For dragging him into this. They must have intercepted one of my +telegrams." He stared dejectedly at the strip of oilcloth in front +of the range. "You are an American?" + +"Yes." + +"God has been exceedingly kind to your country. I doubt if you will +ever know how kind. I'll take myself off. No sense in compromising +you." He laid a folded handkerchief inside his cap which he put on. +"Know anything about this?" - indicating the revolver. + +"Nothing whatever." + +"Permit me to show you. It is loaded; there are five bullets in the +clip. See this little latch? So, it is harmless. So, and you kill +with it." + +"It is horrible!" cried Kitty. "Take it with you please. I could +not keep my eyes open to shoot it." + +"These are troublous times. All women should know something about +small arms. Again I thank you. For your own sake I trust that we +may never meet again. Good-bye." He stepped out of the window and +vanished. + +Kitty, at a mental impasse, could only stare into the night beyond +the window. This mesmeric state endured for a minute; then a gentle +and continuous sound dissipated the spell. It was raining. +Obliquely she saw the burnt egg in the pan. The thing had happened; +she had not been dreaming. + +Her brain awoke. Thought crowded thought; before one matured another +displaced it; and all as futile as the sparks from the anvil. An +avalanche of conjecture; and out of it all eventually emerged one +concrete fact. The man Was honest. His hunger had been honest; his +laughter. Who was he, what was he? For all his speech, not English; +for all his gestures, not Italian. Moribund perspectives. Somewhere +that day he had fought for his life. John Two-Hawks. + +And there was the mysterious evanishment of old Gregory, whose name +was Stefani Gregor. In a humdrum, prosaic old apartment like this! + +Kitty had ideas about adventure - an inheritance, though she was not +aware of that. There had to be certain ingredients, principally +mystery. Anything sordid must not be permitted to edge in. She had +often gone forth upon semi-perilous enterprises as a reporter, +entered sinister houses where crimes had been committed, but always +calculating how much copy at eight dollars a column could be squeezed +out of the affair. But this promised to be something like those +tales which were always clear and wonderful in her head but more or +less opaque when she attempted to transfer them to paper. A secret +society? Vengeance? An echo of the war? + +"Johnny Two-Hawks," she murmured aloud. "And he hopes we'll never +meet again!" + +There was a mirror over the sink, and she threw a glance into it. +Very well; if he thought like that about it. + +Here the doorbell tinkled. That would be the faithful janitor. She +ran to the door. + +"Whadjuh wanta see me about, Miz Conover?" + +"What has happened to old Mr. Gregory?" + +"Him? Why, some amb'lance fellers carted him off this afternoon. +Didn't know nawthin' was the matter with 'im until I runs into them +in the hall." + +"He'd been hurt?" + +"Couldn't say, miz. He was on a stretcher when I seen 'im. Under +a sheet." + +"But he might have been dead!" + +"Nope. I ast 'em, an' they said a shock of some sort." + +"What hospital?" + +"Gee, I forgot t'ast that!" + +"I'll find out. Good-night." + +But Kitty did not find out. She called up all the known private and +public hospitals, but no Gregor or Gregory had been received that +afternoon, nor anybody answering his description. The fog had +swallowed up Stefani Gregor. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +The reportorial instinct in Kitty Conover, combined with her natural +feminine curiosity, impelled her to seek to the bottom of affair. +Her newspaper was as far from her as the poles; simply a paramount +desire to translate the incomprehensible into sequence and +consequence. Harmless old Gregor's disappearance and the advent of +John Two-Hawks - the absurdity of that name! - with his impeccable +English accent, his Latin gestures, and his black eye, convinced her +that it was political; an electrical cross current out of that broken +world over there. Moribund perspectives. What did that signify save +that Johnny Two-Hawks had fought somewhere that day for his life? +Had Gregor been spirited away so as to leave Two-Hawks without +support, to confuse and discourage him and break down his powers of +resistance? Or had there been something of great value in the Gregor +apartment, and Johnny Two-Hawks had come too late to save his friend? + +A word slipped into her mind like a whiff of miasma off an evil swamp. +As she recognized the word she felt the same horror and repugnance +one senses upon being unexpectedly confronted by a cobra. +Internationalism. The scum of the world boiling to the top. A +half-blind viper striking venomously at everything - even itself! A +destroyer who tore down but who knew not how or what to build. Kitty +knew that lower New York was seething with this species of terrorism + - thousands of noisome European rats trying to burrow into the +granary of democracy. But she had no particular fear of the result. +The reacting chemicals of American humour and common sense would +neutralize that virus. Supposing a ripple from this indecent eddy +had touched her feet? The torch of liberty in the hands of Anarch! + +Johnny Two-Hawks. Somehow - even if she never saw him again - she +knew she would always remember him by that name. Phases of the +encounter began to return. Fine hands; perhaps he painted or played. +The oblong head of well-balanced mentality. A pleasant voice. +Breeding. To be sure, he had laughed at that fan popping out. +Anybody would have laughed. Never had she felt so idiotic. He had +gravely expressed the hope that they might never meet again because +his life was in danger. What danger? Conceivably the enmity of a +society - internationalism. The word having found lodgment in her +thoughts took root. Internationalism - Utopia while you wait! +Anarchism and Bolshevism offering nostrums for humanity's ills! And +there were sane men who defended the cult on the basis that the +intention was honest. Who can say that the rattlesnake does not +consider his intentions honourable? + +The attribute lacking in the ape to make him human is continuity of +thought and action in all things save one. He often starts out we11 +but he never arrives. His interest is never sustained. He drops +one thing and turns to another. The exception is his enmity, savage +and cunning, relentless and enduring. + +Kitty was awake to one fact. She could not venture to dig into this +affair alone. On the other hand, she did not want one of the men +from the city room - a reporter who would see nothing but news. If +Gregor was only a prisoner publicity might be the cause of his death; +and publicity would certainly react hardily against Johnny Two-Hawks. +To whom might she turn? + +Cutty! - with his great physical strength, his shrewd and alert +mentality, and his wide knowledge of peoples and tongues. There was +the man for her - Kitty Conover's godfather. She dumped the contents +of her handbag upon the stand in the hallway in her impatience to +find Cutty's card with his telephone number. It was not in the +directory. She might catch him before he went out for the evening. + +A Japanese voice answered her call. + +"'Souse, but he iss out." + +"Where?" + +"No tell me." + +"How long has he been gone?" + +"'Scuse!" + +Kitty heard the click of the receiver as it went down upon the hook. +But she wasn't the daughter of Conover for nothing. She called up +the University Club. No. The Harvard Club. No. The Players, the +Lambs; and in the latter club she found him. + +"Who is it?" Cutty spoke impatiently. + +"Kitty Conover." + +"Oh! What's the matter? Can't you have lunch with me?" + +"Something very strange is happening in this old apartment house, +Cutty. I'm afraid it is a matter of life and death. Otherwise I +shouldn't have bothered you. Can you come up right away?" + +"As soon as a taxi can take me!" + +"Thanks." + +Kitty then went through the apartment and turned out all the lights. +Next she drew up a chair to the kitchen window and sat down to watch. +All was dark across the way. But there was nothing singular in this +fact. Johnny Two-Hawks would have sense enough to realize that it +would be safer to move about in the dark. It was even probable +that he was lying down. + +Tumpitum-tump! Tumpitum-tump! went the racing Elevated; and Kitty's +heart raced along with it. Queer how the echo of Cutty's description +of the drums calling a jehad - a holy war - should adapt itself to +that Elevated. Drums! Perhaps the echo clung because she had been +interested beyond measure in his tale of those two emeralds, the +drums of jeopardy. Mobs sacking palaces and museums and banks and +homes; all the scum of the world boiling to the top; the Red Night +that wasn't over. + +She uttered a shaky little laugh. She would tell Cutty. The real +drums of jeopardy weren't emeralds but the roll of warning that +prescience taps upon the spine, the occult sense of impending danger. +That was why the Elevated went tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! She +would tell Cutty. The drums of fear. + +He over there and she here, in darkness; both of them waiting for +something to happen; and the invisible drumsticks beating the tattoo +of fear. If he were in her thoughts might not she be a little in +his? She stood up. She would do it. Convention in a moment like +this was nonsense. Hadn't he kept his side of the line scrupulously? + +Nonchalance. It occurred to her for the first time that there must +be good material in a man who could come through in a contest with +death, nonchalant. She would fetch him and have him here to meet +Cutty, this rather forlorn Johnny Two-Hawks, with his unshaven face, +his black eye, and his nonchalance. She would fetch him at once. +It would save a good deal of time. + +There were but ten apartments in the building, two on a floor. The +living room formed an L. Kitty's buttressed Gregor's. The elevator +shaft was inside, facing the court; and the stair head was on the +Gregor side of the elevator. The two entrances faced each other +across the landing. + +As Kitty opened her door to step outside she was nonplussed to see +two men issue cautiously from the Gregor door. The moment they +espied her, however, there was a mad rush for the stair head. She +could hear the thud of their feet all the way down to the ground +floor; and every footfall seemed to touch her heart. One of them +carried a bundle. + +She breathed quickly, and she knew that she was afraid. Neither +man was Johnny Two-Hawks. Something dreadful had happened; she was +sure of it. Reenforcing her sinking courage with nerve energy she +ran across to the Gregor door and knocked. No answer. She knocked +again; then she tried the door. Locked. The flutter in her breast +died away; she became quite calm. She was going to enter this +apartment by the way of the fire escape. The window he had come out +of was still up. She had made note of this from the kitchen. In +returning he had stepped on to the springe of a snare. + +She hurried back to her kitchen for the automatic. She hadn't the +least idea how to manipulate it; but she was no longer afraid of it. +Bravely she stepped out on to the fire escape. To reach her +objective she had to walk under the ladder. Danger often puts odd +irrelevancies into the human brain. As she moved forward she +wondered if there was anything in the superstition regarding ladders. + +When she reached the window she leaned against the brick wall and +listened. Silence; an ominous silence. The window was open, the +curtain up. Within, what? For as long as five minutes she waited, +then she climbed in. + +Now as this bedroom was a counterpart of her own she knew where the +light button would be. She might stumble over a chair or two, but +in the end she would find the light. The fingers of one hand +spread out before her and the other clutching the impossible +automatic, she succeeded in navigating the uncharted reefs of an +unfamiliar room. She blinked for a moment after throwing on the +light, and stood with her back to the wall, the automatic wabbling +at nothing in particular. The room was empty so far as she could +see. There was evidence of a physical encounter, but she could not +tell whether it was due to the former or to the latter invasion. + +Where was he? From where she stood she could not see the floor on +the far side of the bed. Timidly she walked past the foot of the +bed - and the transient paralysis of horror laid hold of her. She +became bereft of the power to grasp and hold, and the automatic +slipped from her fingers and thudded on the carpet. + +On the floor lay poor Johnny Two-Hawks, crumpled grotesquely, a +streak of blood zigzagging across his forehead; to all appearances, +dead! + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Twice before in her life Kitty had looked upon death by violence; +and it required only this present picture to convince her that she +would never be able to gaze upon it callously, without pity and +terror. Newspaper life - at least the reportorial side of it - has +an odd effect upon men and women; it sharpens their tragical +instincts and perceptions and dulls eternally the edge of tenderness +and sentimentality. It was natural for Kitty to possess the keenest +perceptions of tragedy; but she had been taken out of the reportorial +field in time to preserve all her tenderness and romanticism. +Otherwise she would have seen in that crumpled object with the +sinister daub of blood on the forehead merely a story, and would +have approached it from that angle. But was he dead? She literally +forced her steps toward the body and stared. She dropped to her +knees because they were threatening to buckle in one of those +flashes of physical incoordination to which the strongest will must +bow occasionally. She was no longer afraid of the tragedy, but she +feared the great surging pity that was striving to express itself +in sobs; and she knew that if she surrendered she would forthwith +become hysterical for the rest of the evening and incompetent to +carry out the plan in her head. + +A strong, healthy young man done to death in this fashion only a few +minutes after he had left her kitchen! Somehow she could not look +upon him as a stranger. She had given him food; she had talked to +him; she had even laughed with him. He was not like those dead she +had seen in her reportorial days. Her orbit and Johnny Two-Hawks' +had indeterminately touched; she had known old Gregory, or Gregor, +who had been this unfortunate young man's friend. And he had hoped +they might never meet again! + +The murderous scoundrels had been watching. They must have entered +the apartment shortly after he had entered hers. Conceivably they +would have Gregor's key. And they had watched and waited, striking +him down it may have been at the very moment he had crossed the +sill of the window. + +Her hand shook so idiotically that it was impossible for a time to +tell if the man's heart was beating. All at once a wave of hot +fury rushed over her - fury at the cowardliness of the assault - and +the vertigo passed. She laid her palm firmly over Johnny Two-Hawks' +heart. Alive! He was alive! She straightened his body and put a +pillow under his head. Then she sought water and towels. + +There was no cut on his forehead, only blood; but the top of his +head had been cruelly beaten. He was alive, but without immediate +aid he might die. The poor young man! + +There were two physicians in the block; one or the other would be +in. She ran to the door, to find it locked. She had forgotten. +Next she found the telephone wire cut and the speaking tube battered +and inutile. She would have to return to her own apartment +to summon help. She dared not leave the light on. The scoundrels +might possibly return, and the light would warn them that their +victim had been discovered; and naturally they would wish to +ascertain whether or not they had succeeded in their murderous +assault. + +As she was passing the first-landing windows she saw Cutty emerging +from the elevator. She flew across the fire-escape platform with +the resilient step of one crossing thin ice. + +Probably the most astonished man in New York was the war +correspondent when the door opened and a pair of arms were flung +about him, and a voice smothered in the lapel of his coat cried: +"Oh, Cutty, I never was so glad to see any one!" + +"What in the name of - " + +"Come! We'll handle this ourselves. Hurry!" She dragged him along +by the sleeve. + +"But - " + +"It is life and death! No talk now!" + +Cutty, immaculate in his evening clothes, very much perturbed, went +along after her. As she passed through the kitchen window and +beckoned him to follow he demurred. + +"Kitty, what the deuce is going on here?" + +"I'll answer your questions when we get him into my apartment. They +tried to murder him; left him there to die!" + +Cutty possessed a great art, an art highly developed only in +explorers and newspaper reporters of the first order - adaptability; +of being able to cast aside instantly the conventions of civilization +and let down the bars to the primordial, the instinctive, and the +natural. Thus the Cutty who stepped out beside Kitty into the drizzle +was not the Cutty she had admitted into the apartment. She did not +recognize this remarkable transition until later; and then she +discovered that Cutty, the suave and lackadaisical in idleness, was +a tremendous animal hibernating behind a crackle shell. + +Ordinarily Cutty would have declined to come through this shell, +thin as it was; he liked these catnaps between great activities. +But this lovely creature was Conover's daughter, and she would +have the seventh sense-divination of the born reporter. Something +big was in the air. + +"Go on!" he said, briskly. "I'm at your heels. And stoop as you +pass those hall windows. No use throwing a silhouette for somebody +in those rear houses to see." . . . Old Tommy Conover's daughter, +sure pop! . . . There you go, under the ladder! You've dished the +whole affair, whatever it is.... No, no! Just spoofing, Kitty. A +long face is no good anywhere, even at a funeral.... This window? +All right. Know where the lights are? Very good." + +When Cutty saw the man on the floor he knelt quickly. "Nasty bang +on the head, but he's alive. What's this? His cap. Poughkeepsie. +By George, padded with his handkerchief! Must have known something +was going to fall on him. Now, what's it all about?" + +"When we get him to my apartment." + +"Yours? Good Lord, what's the matter with this?" + +"They tried to kill him here. They might return to see if they had +succeeded. They mustn't find where he has gone. I'm strong. I can +take hold of his knees." + +"Tut! Neither of us could walk backward over that fire escape. He +looks husky, but I'll try it. Now obey me without question or +comment. You'll have to help me get him outside the window and in +through yours. Between the two windows I can handle him alone. I +only hope we shan't be noticed, for that might prove awkward. Now +take hold. That's it. When I'm through the window just push +his legs outside." Panting, Kitty obeyed. "All right," said Cutty. +"I like your pluck. You run along ahead and be ready to help me in +with him. A healthy beggar! Here goes." + +With a heave and a hunch and another heave Cutty stood up, the limp +body disposed scientifically across his shoulders. Kitty was quite +impressed by this exhibition of strength in a man whom she considered +as elderly - old. There was an underthought that such feats of +bodily prowess were reserved for young men. With the naive conceit +of twenty-four she ignored the actual mathematics of fifty years of +clean living and thinking, missed the physiological fact that often +men at fifty are stronger and tougher than men in the twenties. They +never waste energy; their precision of movement and deliberation of +thought conserve the residue against the supreme moment. + +As a parenthesis: To a young woman what is a hero? Generally +something conjured out of a book she has read; the unknown, handsome +young man across the street; the leading actor in a society drama; +the idol of the movie. A hero must of necessity be handsome; that +is the first essential. If he happens to be brave and debonair, +rich and aristocratic, so much the better. Somehow, to be brave and +to be heroic are not actually accepted synonyms in certain youthful +feminine minds. For instance, every maid will agree that her father +is brave; but tell her he is a hero because he pays his bills +regularly and she will accept the statement with a smile of tolerant +indulgence. + +Thus Kitty viewed Cutty's activities with a thrill of amazed wonder. +Had the young man hoisted Cutty to his shoulders her feeling would +have been one of exultant admiration. Let age crown its garnered +wisdom; youth has no objections to that; but feats of physical +strength - that is poaching upon youth's preserves. Kitty was not +conscious of the instinctive resentment. At that moment Cutty was +to her the most extraordinary old man in the world. + +"Forward!" he whispered. "I want to know why I am doing this movie +stunt." The journey began with Kitty in the lead. She prayed that +no one would see them as they passed the two landing windows. Below +and above were vivid squares of golden light. She regretted the +drizzle; no clothes-laden lines intervened to obscure their progress. +Someone in the rear of the houses in Seventy-ninth Street might +observe the silhouettes. The whole affair must be carried off +secretly or their efforts would come to nothing. + +Once inside the kitchen Cutty shifted his burden into his arms, the +way one carries a child, and followed Kitty into the unused bedroom. +He did not wait for the story, but asked for the telephone. + +"I'm going to call for a surgeon at the Lambs. He's just back from +France and knows a lot about broken heads. And we can trust him +absolutely. I told him to wait there until I called." + +"Cutty, you're a dear. I don't wonder father loved you." + +Presently he turned away from the telephone. "He'll be here in a +jiffy. Now, then, what the deuce is all this about?" + +Briefly Kitty narrated the episodes. + +"Samaritan stuff. I see. Any absorbent cotton? I can wash the +wound after a fashion. Warm water and Castile soap. We can have +him in shape for Harrison." + +Alone, Cutty took note of several apparent facts. The victim's +flannel shirt was torn at the collar and there were marks of finger +nails on the throat and chest. Upon close inspection he observed a +thin red line round the neck - the mark of a thong. Had they tried +to strangle him or had he carried something of value? Silk underwear +and a clean body; well born; foreign. After a conscientious +hesitance Cutty went through the pockets. All he found were some +crumbs of tobacco and a soggy match box. They had cleaned him out +evidently. There were no tailors' labels in any of the pockets; but +there were signs that these had once existed. The man on the bed +had probably ripped them out himself; did not care to be identified. + +A criminal in flight? Cutty studied the face on the pillow. Shorn +of that beard it would be handsome; not the type criminal, certainly. +A bit of natural cynicism edged into his thoughts: Kitty had seen +through the beard, otherwise she would have turned the affair over +to the police. Not at all like her mother, yet equally her mother's +match in beauty and intelligence. Conover's girl, whose eyes had +nearly popped out of her head at the first sight of those drum-lined +walls of his. + +Two-Hawks. What was it that was trying to stir in his recollection? +Two-Hawks. He was sure he had heard that name before. Hawksley +meant nothing at all; but Two-Hawks possessed a strange attraction. +He stared off into space. He might have heard the name in a tongue +other than English. + +A sound. It came from the lips of the young man. Cutty frowned. +The poor chap wasn't breathing in a promising way; he groaned after +each inhalation. And what had become of the old fellow Kitty called +Gregory? A queer business. + +Kitty came in with a basin and a roll of absorbent cotton. + +"He is groaning!" she whispered. + +"Pretty rocky condition, I should say. That handkerchief in his cap +doubtless saved him. Now, little lady, I frankly don't like the +idea of his being here. Suppose he dies? In that event there'll be +the very devil to pay. You're all alone here, without even a maid." + +"Am I all alone?" - softly. + +"Well, no; come to think of it, I'm no longer your godfather in +theory. Give me the cotton and hold the basin." + +He was very tender. The wound bled a little; but it was not the +kind that bled profusely. It was less a cut than a smashing bruise. + +"Well, that's all I can do. Who was this tenant Gregory?" + +"A dear old man. A valet at a Broadway hotel. Oh, I forgot! +Johnny Two-Hawks called him Stefani Gregor." + +"Stefani Gregor?" + +"Yes. What is it? Why do you say it like that?" + +"Say it like what?" - sparring for time. + +"As if you had heard the name before?" + +"Just as I thought!" cried Cutty, his nimble mind pouncing upon a +happy invention. "You're romantic, Kitty. You're imagining all +sorts of nonsense about this chap, and you must not let the +situation intrigue you. If I spoke the name oddly - this Stefani +Gregor - it was because I sensed in a moment that this was a bit of +the overflow. Southeastern Europe, where the good Samaritan gets +kicked instead of thanked. Now, here's a good idea. Of course we +can't turn this poor chap loose upon the public, now that we know +his life is in danger. That's always the trouble with this Samaritan +business. When you commit a fine action you assume an obligation. +You hoist the Old Man of the Sea on your shoulders, as it were. The +chap cannot be allowed to remain here. So, if Harrison agrees, we'll +take him up to my diggings, where no Bolshevik will ever lay eyes +upon him." + +"Bolshevik?" + +"For the sake of a handle. They might be Chinamen, for all I know. +I can take care of him until he is on his feet. And you will be +saved all this annoyance. + +"But I don't believe it's going to be an annoyance. I'm terribly +interested, and want to see it through." + +"If he can be moved, out he goes. No arguments. He can't stay +in this apartment. That's final." + +"Exactly why not?" Kitty demanded, rebelliously. + +"Because I say so, Kitty." + +"Is Stefani Gregor an undesirable?" + +"You knew him. What do you say?" countered her godfather, evading +the trap. The innocent child! He smiled inwardly. + +Kitty was keen. She sensed an undercurrent, and her first attempt +to touch it had failed. The mere name of Stefani Gregor had not +roused Cutty's astonishment. She was quite positive that the name +was not wholly unfamiliar to her father's friend. + +Still, something warned her not to press in this direction. He +would be on the alert. She must wait until he had forgotten the +incident. So she drew up a chair beside the bed and sat down. + +Cutty leaned against the footrail, his expression neutral. He +sighed inaudibly. His delightful catnap was over. Stefani Gregor, +Kitty's neighbour, a valet in a fashionable hotel! Stefani Gregor, +who, upon a certain day, had placed the drums of jeopardy in the +palms of a war correspondent known to his familiars as Cutty. And +who was this young man on the bed? + +"There goes the bell!" cried Kitty, jumping up. + +"Wait!" + +The ring was repeated vigorously and impatiently. + +"Kitty, I don't quite like the sound of that bell. Harrison would +have no occasion to be impatient. Somebody in a hurry. Now, +attend to me. I'm going to steal out to the kitchen. Don't be +afraid. Call if I'm needed. Open the door just a crack, with your +foot against it. If it's Harrison he'll be in uniform. Call out +his name. Slam the door if it is someone you don't know." + +Kitty opened the door as instructed, but she swung it wide because +one of the men outside was a policeman. The man behind him was a +thickset, squat individual, with puffed, discoloured eyes and a +nose that reminded Kitty of an alligator pear. + +"What's going on here?" the policeman demanded to know. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +A phrase, apparently quite irrelevant to the situation, shot into +Kitty's head. Moribund perspectives. Instantly she knew, with that +foretasting mind of hers, that the man peering over the policeman's +shoulder and Johnny Two-Hawks had met somewhere that day. She was +now able to compare the results, and she placed the victory on +Two-Hawks' brow. Yonder individual somehow justified the instinct +that had prompted her to play the good Samaritan. Whence had this +gorilla come? He was not one of the men who had issued in such +dramatic haste from the Gregor apartment. + +"This man here saw you and another carrying someone across the fire +escape. What's the rumpus?" The policeman was not exactly +belligerent, but he was dutifully determined. And though he was +ready to grant that this girl with the Irish eyes was beautiful, a +man never could tell. + +"There's been a tragedy of some kind," began Kitty. "This man +certainly did see us carrying a man across the fire escape. He had +been set upon and robbed in the apartment across the way." + +"Why didn't you call in the police?" + +"Because he might have died before you got here." + +"Where's the man who helped you?" + +"Gone. He was an outsider. He was afraid of getting mixed up in a +police affair and ran away." Behind the kitchen door Cutty smiled. +She would do, this girl. + +"Sounds all right," said the policeman. "I'll take a look at the +man." + +"This way, if you please," said Kitty, readily. "You come, too, +sir," she added as the squat man hesitated. Kitty wanted to watch +his expression when he saw Johnny Two-Hawks. + +Seed on rocky soil; nothing came of the little artifice. No Buddha's +graven face was less indicative than the squat man's. Perhaps his +face was too sore to permit mobility of expression. The drollery +of this thought caused a quirk in one corner of Kitty's mouth. The +squat man stopped at the foot of the bed with the air of a mere +passer-by and seemed more interested in the investigations of the +policeman than in the man on the bed. But Kitty knew. + +"A fine bang on the coco," was the policeman's observation. "Take +anything out of his pockets?" + +"They were quite empty. I've sent for a military surgeon. He may +arrive at any moment." + +"This fellow live across the way?" + +"That's the odd part of it. No, he doesn't." + +"Then what was he doing there?" + +"Probably awaiting the return of the real tenant who hasn't returned +up to this hour" - with an oblique glance at the squat man. + +"Kind o' queer. Say, you stay here and watch the lady while I scout +round." + +The squat man nodded and leaned over the foot of the bed. The +policeman stalked out. + +"I was in the kitchen," said Kitty, confidingly. "I saw shadows on +the window curtain. It did not look right. So I started to inquire +and almost bumped into two men leaving the apartment. They took to +their heels when they saw me. + +Again the squat man nodded. He appeared to be a good listener. + +"Where were you when we crossed the fire escape?" + +"In the yard on the other side of the fence." There was reluctance +in the guttural voice. + +"Oh, I see. You live there." + +As this was a supposition and not a direct query, the squat man +wagged his head affirmatively. + +Kitty, her ears strained for disquieting sounds in the kitchen, laid +her palm on the patient's cheek. It was very hot. She dipped a bit +of cotton into the water, which had grown cold, and dampened the +wounded man's cheeks and throat. Not that she expected to accomplish +anything by this act; it relieved the nerve tension. This man was +no fool. If her surmises were correct he was a strong man both +in body and in mind. In a rage he would be terrible. However, had +Johnny Two-Hawks done it - beaten the man and escaped? No doubt he +had been watching all the time and had at length stepped in to learn +if his subordinates had followed his instructions and to what extent +they had succeeded. + +"If he dies it will be murder." + +"It is a big city." + +"And so many terrible things happen like this every day. But sooner +or later those who commit them are found out. Nemesis always follows +on the heels of vengeance." + +For the first time there was a flash of interest in the battered +eyes of the intruder. Perhaps he saw that this was not only a pretty +woman but a keen one, and sensed the veiled threat. Moreover, he +knew that she had lied at one point. There had been no light in the +room across the court. + +But what in the world was happening out there in the kitchen? Kitty +wondered. So far, not a sound. Had Cutty really taken flight? And +why shouldn't he have faced it out at her side? Very odd on Cutty's +part. Shortly she heard the heavy shoes of the policeman returning. + +"Guess it's all right, miss. I'll report the affair at the precinct +and have an ambulance sent over. You'll have to come along with me, +sir." + +"Is that legally necessary?" asked the squat man, rather perturbed. + +"Sure. You saw the thing and I verified it," declared the policeman. +"It won't take ten minutes. Your name and address, in case this man +dies." + +"I see. Very well." + +Kitty wasn't sure, but the policeman seemed embarrassed about +something. The directness was gone from his eyes and his speech was +no longer brisk. + +"My name is Conover," said Kitty. + +"I got that coming in," replied the policeman. "We'll be on our +way." + +Not once again did the squat man glance at the man on the bed. He +followed the policeman into the hall, his air that of one who had +accepted a certain obligation to community welfare and cancelled +it. + +Kitty shut the door - and leaned against it weakly. Where had Cutty +gone? Even as she expressed the query she smelt burning tobacco. +She ran out into the kitchen, to behold Cutty seated in a chair +calmly smoking his infamous pipe! + +"And I thought you were gone! What did you say to that policeman?" + +"I hypnotized him, Kitty." + +"The newspaper?" + +"No. Just looked into his eye and made a few passes with my hands." + +"Of course, if you believe you ought not to tell me - " said Kitty, +which is the way all women start their wheedling. + +Cutty looked into the bowl of his pipe. + +"Kitty, when you throw a cobble into a pond, what happens? A splash. +But did you ever notice the way the ripples have of running on and +on, until they touch the farthest shore?" + +"Yes. And this is a ripple from some big stone cast into the pond +of southeastern Europe. I understand." + +"That's just the difficulty. If you understood nothing it would be +much easier for me. But you know just enough to want to follow up +on your own hook. I know nothing definitely; I have only suspicions. +I calmed that policeman by showing him a blanket police power issued +by the commissioner. I want you to pack up and move out of this +neighbourhood. It's not congenial to you." + +"I'm afraid I can't afford to move until May." + +"I'll take care of that gladly, to get you out of this garlicky +ruin." + +"No, Cutty; I'm going to stay here until the lease is up." + +"Gee-whiz! The Irish are all alike," cried the war correspondent, +hopelessly. "Petticoat or pantaloon, always looking for trouble." + +"No, Cutty; simply we don't run away from it. And there's just as +much Irish in you as there is in me." + +"Sure! And for thirty years I've gone hunting for trouble, and +never failed to find it. I don't like this affair, Kitty; and +because I don't I'm going to risk my Samson locks in your lily-white +hands. I am going to tell you two things: I am a secret foreign +agent of the United States Government. Now don't light up that way. +Dark alleys and secret papers and beautiful adventuresses and +bang-bang have nothing at all to do with my job. There isn't a +grain of romance in it. Ostensibly I am a war correspondent. I +have handled all the big events in Serbia and Bulgaria and Greece +and southwestern Russia. Boiled down, I am a census taker of +undesirables. Socialist, anarchist and Bolshevik - I photograph them +in my mental 'fillums' and transmit to Washington. Thus, when Feodor +Slopeski lands at Ellis Island with the idea of blowing up New York, +he is returned with thanks. I didn't ask for the job; it was thrust +upon me because of my knowledge of the foreign tongues. I accepted +it because I am a loyal American citizen." + +"And you left me because you' didn't know who might be at the door!" + +"Precisely. I am known in lower New York under another name. I'm a +rabid internationalist. Down with everything! I don't go out much +these days; keep under cover as much as I can. Once recognized, my +value would be nil. In a flannel shirt I'm a dangerous codger." + +"And Gregor and this poor young man are in some way mixed up with +internationalism!" + +"Victims, probably." + +"What is the other thing you wish to tell me?" + +"Because your eyes are slate blue like your mother's. I loved your +mother, Kitty," said Cutty, blinking into his pipe. "And the +singular fact is, your father knew but your mother never did. I +was never able to tell your mother after your father died. Their +bodies were separated, but not their spirits." + +Kitty nodded. So that was it? Poor Cutty! + +"I make this confession because I want you to understand my attitude +toward you. I am going to elect myself as your special guardian so +long as I'm in New York. From now on, when I ask you to do +something, understand that I believe it best for you. If my +suspicions are correct we are not dealing with fools but with madmen. +The most dangerous human being, Kitty, is an honest man with a +half-baked or crooked idea; and that's what this world pother, +Bolshevism, is - honest men with crooked ideas, carrying the torch +of anarchism and believing it enlightenment. What makes them tear +down things? Every beautiful building is only a monument to their +former wretchedness; and so they annihilate. None of them actually +knows what he wants. A thousand will-o'-the-wisps in front of +them, and all alike. A thousand years to throw off the shackles, +and they expect Utopia in ten minutes! It makes you want to weep. +Socialism - the brotherhood of man - is a beautiful thing +theoretically; but it is like some plays - they read well but do not +act. Lopping off heads, believing them to be ideas!" + +"The poor things!" + +"That's it. Though I betray them I pity them. Democracy; slowly +and surely. As prickly with faults as a cactus pear; but every year +there are less prickles. We don't stand still or retrogress; we +keep going on and up. Take this town. Think of It to-day and +compare it with the town your father knew. There's the bell. I +imagine that will be Harrison. If we can move this chap will you +go to a hotel for the night?" + +"I'm going to stay here, Cutty. That's final." + +Cutty sighed. + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +At the precinct station the squat man gave a name and an address to +the bored sergeant at the desk, passed out a cigar, lit one himself, +expressed some innocuous opinions upon one or two topics of the day, +and walked leisurely out of the precinct. He wanted to laugh. These +pigheads had never thought to question his presence in the backyard +of the house in Seventy-ninth Street. It was the way he had carried +himself. Those years in New York, prior to the war, had not been +wasted. The brass-buttoned fools! + +Serenely unconscious that he was at liberty by explicit orders, +because the Department of Justice did not care to trap a werewolf +before ascertaining where the pack was and what the kill, he +proceeded leisurely to the corner, turned, and broke into a run, +which carried him to a drug store in Eightieth Street. Here he was +joined by two men, apparently coal heavers by the look of their +hands and faces. + +"They will take him to a hospital. Find where, then notify me. +Remember, this is your business, and woe to you if you fail. Where +is it?" One of the men extended an object wrapped in ordinary +grocer's paper. + +"Ha! That's good. I shall enjoy myself presently. Remember: +telephone me the moment you learn where they take him. He is still +alive, bunglers! And you came away empty-handed." + +"There was nothing on him. We searched." + +"He has hidden them in one of those rooms. I'll attend to that +later. Watch the hospital for an hour or so, then telephone for +information regarding his condition. Is that motor for me? Very +good. Remember!" + +Inside the taxicab the squat man patted the object on his knees, +and chuckled from time to time audibly. It would be worth all that +journey, all he had gone through since dawn that morning. Stefani +Gregor! After these seven long years - the man who had betrayed +him! To reach into his breast and squeeze his heart as one might +squeeze a bit of cheese! Many things to tell, many pictures to +paint. He rode far downtown, wound in and out of the warehouse +district for a while, then dismissed the taxi and proceeded on foot +to his destination - a decayed brick mansion of the 40's sandwiched +in between two deserted warehouses. In the hall of the first +landing a man sat in a chair under the gas, reading a newspaper. At +the approach of the squat man he sprang to his feet, but a phrase +dissipated his apprehension and he nodded toward a door. + +"Unlock it for me and see that I am not disturbed." + +Presently the squat man stood inside the room, which was dark. He +struck a match and peered about for the candle. The light discovered +a room barren of all furniture excepting the table upon which stood +the candle, and a single chair. In this chair was a man, bound. +He was small and dapper, his gray hair swept back a la Liszt. His +chin was on his breast, his body limp. Apparently the bonds alone +held him in the chair. + +The squat man laid his bundle on the table and approached the +prisoner. + +"Stefani Gregor, look up; it is I!" He drummed on his chest like +a challenging gorilla. "I, Boris Karlov!" + +Slowly the eyelids of the prisoner went up, revealing mild blue eyes. +But almost instantly the mildness was replaced by an agate hardness, +and the body became upright. + +"Yes, it is Boris, whom you betrayed. But I escaped by a hair, +Stefani; and we meet again." + +What good to tell this poor madman that Stefani Gregor had not +betrayed him, that he had only warned those marked for death? There +was no longer reason inside that skull. To die, probably in a few +moments. So be it. Had he not been ready for seven years? But +that poor boy - to have come all these thousands of miles, only to +walk into a trap! Had he found that note? Had they killed him? +Doubtless they had or Boris Karlov would not be in this room. + +"We killed him to-night, Stefani, in your rooms. We threw out the +food so he would have to seek something to eat. The last of that +breed, stem and branch! We are no longer the mud; we ourselves +are the heels. We are conquering the world. Today Europe is ours; +to-morrow, America!" + +A wintry little smile stirred the lips of the man in the chair. +America, with its keen perceptions of the ridiculous, its withering +humour! + +"No more the dissolute opera dancers will dance to your fiddling, +Stefani, while we starve in the town. Fiddler, valet, tutor, the +rivers and seas of Russia are red. We roll east and west, and our +emblem is red. Stem and branch! We ground our heels in their faces +as for centuries they ground theirs in ours. He escaped us there + - but I was Nemesis. He died to-night." + +The body in the chair relaxed a little. "He was clean and honest, +Boris. I made him so. He would have done fine things if you had +let him live." + +"That breed?" + +"Why, you yourself loved him when he was a boy!" + +"Stem and branch! I loved my little sister Anna, too. But what did +they do to her behind those marble walls? Did you fiddle for her? +What was she when they let her go? My pretty little Anna! The fires +of hell for those damned green stones of yours, Stefani! She heard +of them and wanted to see them, and you promised." + +"I? I never promised Anna! . . . So that was it? Boris, I only +saw her there. I never knew what brought her. But the boy was in +England then." + +"The breed, the breed!" roared the squat man. "Ha, but you should +have seen! Those gay officers and their damned master - we left +them with their faces in the mud, Stefani; in the mud! And the +women begged. Fine music! Those proud hearts, begging Boris Karlov +for their lives - their faces in the mud! You, born of us in those +Astrakhan Hills, you denied us because you liked your fiddle and +a full belly, and to play keeper of those emeralds. The winding +paths of torture and misery and death by which they came into the +possession of that house! And always the proletariat has had to pay +in blood and daughters. You, of the people, to betray us!" + +"I did not betray you. I only tried to save those who had been +kind to me." + +A cunning light shot into Karlov's eyes. "The emeralds!" He struck +his pocket. "Here, Stefani; and they shall be broken up to buy bread +for our people." + +"That poor boy! So he brought them! What are you going to do with +me?" + +"Watch you grow thin, Stefani. You want death; you shall want food +instead. Oh, a little; enough to keep you alive. You must learn +what it is to be hungry." + +The squat man picked up the bundle from the table and tore off the +wrapping paper. A violin the colour of old Burgundy lay revealed. + +"Boris!" The man in the chair writhed. + +"Have I waked you, Stefani?" - tenderly. "The Stradivarius - the +very grand duke of fiddles! And he and his damned officers, how +they used to call out - 'Get Stefani to fiddle for us!' And you +fiddled, dragged your genius though the mud to keep your belly warm!" + +"To save a soul, Boris - the boy's. When I fiddled his uncle forgot +to drag him into an orgy. Ah, yes; I fiddled, fiddled because I had +promised his mother!" + +"The Italian singer! She was lucky to die when she did. She did +not see the torch, the bayonet, and the mud. But the boy did - with +his English accent! How he escaped I don't know; but he died +to-night, and the emeralds are in my pocket. See!" Karlov held +the instrument close to the other's face. "Look at it well, this +grand duke of fiddles. Look, fiddler, look!" + +The huge hands pressed suddenly. There was brittle crackling, and +a rare violin became kindling. A sob broke from the prisoner's lips. +What to Karlov was a fiddle to him was a soul. He saw the madman +fling the wreckage to the floor and grind his heels into the +fragments. Gregor shut his eyes, but he could not shut his ears; +and he sensed in that cold, demoniacal fury of the crunching heel +the rising of maddened peoples. + + + +CHAPTER X + + +Meanwhile ,Captain Harrison of the Medical Corps entered the +Conover apartment briskly. + +"You old vagabond, what have you been up to? I beg pardon!" - as +he saw Kitty emerge from behind Cutty's bulk. + +"This is Miss Conover, Harrison." + +"Very pleased, I'm sure. Luckily my case was in the coat room at +the club. I took the liberty of telephoning for Miss Frances, who +returned on the same ship with me. I concluded that your friend +would need a nurse. Let me have a look at him." + +Callously but lightly and skillfully the surgeon examined the +battered head. "Escaped concussion by a hair, you might say. +Probably had his cap on. That black eye, though, is an older +affair. Who is he?" + +"I suspect he's some political refugee. We don't know a thing about +him otherwise. How soon can he be moved?" + +"He ought to be moved at once and given the best of care." + +"I can give him that in my eagle's nest. Harrison, this chap's life +is in danger; and if we get him into my lofty diggings they won't be +able to trace him. Not far from here there's a private hospital I +know. It goes through from one street to the next. I know the +doctor. We'll have the ambulance carry the patient there, but at +the rear I'll have one of the office newspaper trucks. And after a +little wait we'll shoot the stretcher into the truck. The police +will not bother us. I've seen to that. I rather believe it falls +in with some of my work. The main idea, of course, is to rid Miss +Conover of any trouble." + +"Just as you say," agreed the surgeon. "That's all I can do for +the present. I'll run down to the entrance and wait for The nurse." + +"Will he live?" asked Kitty. + +"Of course he will. He is in good physical condition. Imagine he +has simply been knocked out. Serious only if unattended. Your +finding him probably saved him. Twelve hours will tell the story. +May be on his feet inside a week. Still, it would be advisable to +keep him in bed as long as possible. Fagged out, I should say, +from that beard. I'll go down and wait for Miss Frances." + +"And ring three tunes when you return," advised Cutty. + +"All right. Did they try to strangle him or did he have something +round his neck?" + +"Hanged if I know." + +"All out of the room now. I want it dark. Just as soon as the +nurse arrives I'll return. Three rings." Harrison left the +apartment. + +Cutty spent a few minutes at the telephone, then he joined Kitty +in the living room. + +"Kitty, what was the stranger like?" + +"Like a gorilla. He spoke English as if he had a cold." + +Cutty scowled into space. "Have a scar over an eyebrow?" + +"Good gracious, I couldn't tell! Both his eyes were black and his +nose banged dreadfully. Johnny Two-Hawks probably did it." + +"Bully for Two-Hawks! Kitty, you're a marvel. Not a flivver from +the start. And those slate-blue eyes of yours don't miss many +things." + +"Listen!" she interrupted, taking hold of his sleeve. "Hear it?" + +"Only the Elevated." + +"Tumpitum-tump! Tumpitum-tump! Cutty, you hypnotized me this +afternoon with your horrid drums." + +"The emeralds?" He managed to repress the start. + +"I don't know what it is; drums, anyhow. Maybe it is the emeralds. +Something has been happening ever since you told me about them - the +misery and evil that follow their wake." + +"But the story goes that women are immune, Kitty." + +"Nonsense! No woman is immune where a wonderful gem is concerned. +And yet I've common sense and humour." + +"And a lot more besides, Kitty. You're a raving, howling little +beauty; and how you've remained out of captivity this long is a +puzzler to me. Haven't you got a beau somewhere?" + +"No, Cutty. Perhaps I'm one of those who are quite willing to wait +patiently. If the one I want doesn't come - why, I'll be a jolly, +philosophical old maid. No seconds or culls for me, as the magazine +editor says." + +"Exactly what do you want?" Cutty was keenly curious, for some +reason he could not define. He did not care for diamonds as stones; +but he admired any personality that flashed differently from each +new angle exposed. + +"Oh, a man, among other things. I don't mean one of those godlike +chromos in the frontispiece of popular novels. He hasn't got to be +handsome. But he must be able to laugh when he's happy, when he's +hurt. I must be his business in life. He must know a lot about +things I know. I want a comrade who will come to me when he has a +joke or an ache. A gay man and whimsical. The law can make any +man a husband, but only God can make a good comrade." + +"Kitty," said Cutty, his fine eyes sparkling, "I shan't have to +watch over you so much as I thought. On the other hand, you have +described me to a dot." + +"Quite possibly. Vanity has its uses. It keeps us in contact with +bathtubs and nice clothes. I imagine that you would make both +husband and comrade; or you would have, twenty years ago" - without +intentional cruelty. Wasn't Cutty fifty-two? + +"Kitty, you've touched a vital point. It took those twenty years +to make me companionable. Experience is something we must buy; it +isn't left in somebody's will. Let us say that I possess all the +necessary attributes save one." + +"And what is that?" + +"Youth, Kitty. And take the word of a senile old dotard, your young +man, when you find him, will lack many of the attributes you require. +On the other hand, there is always the possibility that these will +develop as you jog along. The terrible pity of youth is that it has +the habit of conferring these attributes rather than finding them. +You put garlands on the heads of snow images, and the first glare of +sunshine - pouf!" + +"Cutty, I'm beginning to like you immensely" - smiling. "Perhaps +women ought to have two husbands - one young and handsome and the +other old and wise like yourself." + +Cutty wished he were alone in order to analyze the stab. Old! When +he knew that mentally and physically he could take and break a dozen +Two-Hawks. Old! He had never thought himself that. Fifty-two +years; they had piled up on him without his appreciation of the +fullness of the score. And yet he was more than a match for any +ordinary man of thirty in sinew and brain; and no man met the new +morning with more zest than he himself met it. But to Kitty he was +old! Lavender and oak leaves were being draped on his door knob. +He laughed. + +"Why do you laugh?" + +"Oh, because - Hark!" + +The two of them ran to the bedroom door. + +"Olga! Olga!" And then a guttural level jumble of sounds. + +Kitty's quick brain reached out for a similitude - water rushing +over ragged boulders. + +"Olga!" she whispered. "He is a Russian!" + +"There are Serbian Olgas and Bulgarian Olgas and Rumanian Olgas. +Probably his sweetheart." + +"The poor thing!" + +"Sounds like Russian," added Cutty, his conscience pricking him. +But he welcomed that "Olga." It would naturally put a damper on +Kitty's interest. "There's Harrison with the nurse. + +Quarter of an hour later the patient was taken down to the ambulance +and conveyed to the private hospital. Cutty had no way of +ascertaining whether they were followed; but he hoped they would be. +The knowledge that their victim was in a near-by hospital would +naturally serve to relax the enemy vigilance temporarily; and this +would permit safely and secretly the second leg of the journey - that +to his own apartment. + +He decided to let an hour go past; then Two-Hawks was taken through +the building to the rear and transferred to the truck. Cutty sat +with the driver while Captain Harrison and the nurse rode inside +with the patient. + +On the way Cutty was rather disturbed by the deep impression Kitty +Conover had made upon his heart and mind. That afternoon he had +looked upon her with fatherly condescension, as the pretty daughter +of the two he had loved most. From the altitude of his fifty-two +he had gazed down upon her twenty-four, weighing her as like all +young women of twenty-four - pleasure-loving and beau-hunting and +fashion-scorched; and in a flash she had revealed the formed mind +of a woman of thirty. Altitude. He had forgotten that relative +to altitudes there are always two angles of vision - that from the +summit and that from the green valley below. Kitty saw him beyond +the tree line, but just this side of the snows - and matched his +condescension with pity! He chuckled. Doddering old ass, what +did it matter how she looked at him? + +Beautiful and young and full of common sense, yet dangerously +romantical. To wait for the man she wanted, what did that signify +but romance? And there was her Irish blood to consider. The +association of pretty nurse and interesting patient always afforded +excellent background for sentimental nonsense, the obligations of +the one and the gratitude of the other. Well, he had nipped that +in the bud. + +And why hadn't he taken this Two-Hawks person - how easy it was to +fall into Kitty's way of naming the chap! - why hadn't he taken him +directly to the Roosevelt? Why all this pother and secrecy over +a total stranger? Stefani Gregor, who lived opposite Kitty and who +hadn't prospered particularly since the day he had exhibited the +drums of jeopardy - he was the reason. These were volcanic days, +and a friend of Stefani Gregor - who played the violin like +Paganini - might well be worth the trouble of a little courtesy. +Then, too, there was that mark of the thong - a charm, a military +identification disk or something of value. Whatever it was, the +rogues had got it. Murder and loot. And as soon as he returned +to consciousness the young fellow would be making inquiries. + +Perhaps Kitty's point of view regarding a certain duffer aged +fifty-two was nearer the truth than the duffer himself realized. +Second childhood! As if the drums of jeopardy would ever again +see light, after that tempest of fire and death - that mud +volcano! + +One thing was certain - there would be no more cat-napping. The +game was on again. He was assured of that side of it. + +Green stones, the sunlight breaking against the flaws in a shower +of golden sparks; green as the pulp of a Champagne grape; the drums +of jeopardy! Murder and loot; he could understand. + +Immediately after the patient was put to bed Cutty changed. A +nondescript suit of the day-labourer type and a few deft touches +of coal dust completed his make-up. + +"I shan't be back until morning," he announced. "Work to do. +Kuroki will be at your service through the night, Miss Frances. +Strike that Burmese gong once, at any hour. Come along, Harrison." + +"Want any company?" asked Harrison, with a belligerent twist to his +moustache. + +Cutty laughed. "No. You run along to your lambs. I'm running with +the wolves to-night, old scout, and you might get that spick-and-span +uniform considerably mussed up. Besides, it's raining." + +"But what's to become of Miss Conover? She ought not to remain +alone in that apartment." + +"Well, well! I thought of that, too. But she can take care of +herself." + +"Those ruffians may call up the hospital and learn that we tricked +them. + +"And then?" + +"Try to force the truth from Miss Conover." + +"That's precisely the wherefore of this coal dust. On your way!" + +Eleven o'clock. Kitty was in the kitchen, without light, her chair +by the window, which she had thrown up. She had gone to bed, but +sleep was impossible. So she decided to watch the Gregor windows. +Sometimes the mind is like a movie camera set for a double exposure. +The whole scene is visible, but the camera sees only half of it. +Thus, while she saw the windows across the court there entered the +other side of her mind a picture of the immaculate Cutty crossing +the platform with Johnny Two-Hawks thrown over his shoulder. The +mental picture obscured the actual. + +She had called him old. Well, he was old. And no doubt he looked +upon her as a child, wanting her to spend the night at a hotel! The +affair was over. No one would bother Kitty Conover. Why should +they? But it took strength to shoulder a man like that. What fun +he and her father must have had together! And Cutty had loved her +mother! That made Kitty exquisitely tender for a moment. All +alone, at the age when new friendships were impossible. A lovable +man like that going down through life alone! + +Census taker of alien undesirables; a queer occupation for a man so +famous as Cutty. Patriotism - to plunge into that seething +revolutionary scum to sort the dangerous madmen from the harmless +mad-men. Courage and strength and mental resource; yes, Cutty +possessed these; and he would be the kind to laugh at a joke or a +hurt. + +One thing, however, was indelibly printed on her mind. Stefani +Gregor - either Cutty had met and known the man or he had heard of +him. + +Suddenly she became conscious that she was blinking as one blinks +from mirror-reflected sunlight. She cast about for the source of +this phenomenon. Obliquely from between the interstices of the +fire-escape platform came a point of moving white light. She craned +her neck. A battery lamp! The round spot of light worked along the +cement floor, vanished occasionally, reappeared, and then vanished +altogether. Somebody was down there hunting for something. What? + +Kitty remained with her head out of the window for some time, +unmindful of the spatter of rain. But nothing happened. The man +was gone. Of course the incident might not have the slightest +bearing upon the previous adventures of this amazing night; still, +it was suggestive. The young man had worn something round his neck. +But if his enemies had it why should this man comb the court, +unless he was a tenant and had knocked something off a window ledge? + +She began to appreciate that she was very tired, and decided to go +back to bed. This time she fell asleep. Her disordered thoughts +rearranged themselves in a dazzling dream. She found herself +wandering through a glorious translucent green cavern - a huge +emerald. And in the distance she heard that unmistakable +tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! It drew her irresistibly. She +fought and struggled against the fascinating sound, but it continued +to draw her on. Suddenly from round a corner came the squat man, +his hair a la Fuzzy-Wuzzy. He caught her savagely by the shoulder +and dragged her toward a fire of blazing diamonds. On the other +side of that fire was a blonde young woman with a tiara of rubies +on her head. "Save me! I am Olga, Olga!" Kitty struggled +fiercely and awoke. + +The light was on. At the side of her bed were two men. One of +them was holding her bare shoulder and digging his fingers into it +cruelly. They looked like coal heavers. + +"We do not wish to harm you, and won't if you're sensible. Where +did they take the man you brought + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Kitty did not wrench herself loose at once. She wasn't quite sure +that this was not a continuance of her nightmare. She knew that +nightmares had a way of breaking off in the middle of things, of +never arriving anywhere. The room looked natural enough and the +pain in her shoulder seemed real enough, but one never could tell. +She decided to wait for the next episode. + +"Answer!" cried the spokesman of the two, twisting Kitty's shoulder. +"Where did they take him?" + +Awake! Kitty wrenched her shoulder away and swept the bedclothes +up to her chin. She was thoroughly frightened, but her brain was +clear. The spark of self-preservation flew hither and about in +search of expediencies, temporizations. She must come through this +somehow with the vantage on her side. She could not possibly betray +that poor young man, for that would entail the betrayal of Cutty +also. She saw but one avenue, the telephone; and these two men +were on the wrong side of the bed, between her and the door. + +"What do you want?" Her throat was so dry she wondered whether +the words were projected far enough for them to hear. + +"We want the address of the wounded man you brought into this +apartment." + +"They took him to a hospital." + +"He was taken away from there." + +"He was?" + +"Yes, he was. You may not know where, but you will know the address +of the man who tricked us; and that will be sufficient." + +"The army surgeon? He was called in by chance. I don't know where +he lives." + +"The man in the dress suit." + +"He was with the surgeon." + +"He came first. Come; we have no time to waste. We don't want to +hurt you, and we hope you will not force us. + +"Will you step out of the room while I dress?" + +"No. Tell us where the man lives, and you can have the whole +apartment to yourself." + +"You speak English very well." + +"Enough! Do you want us to bundle you up in the bedclothes and +carry you off? It will not be a pleasant experience for a pretty +young woman like yourself. Something happened to the man you knew +as Gregory. Will that make you understand?" + +"You know what abduction means?" + +"Your police will not catch us." + +"But I might give you the wrong address." + +"Try it and see what happens. Young lady, this is a bad affair +for a woman to be mixed up in. Be sensible. We are in a hurry." + +"Well, you seem to have acquired at least one American habit!" said +a gruff voice from the bedroom doorway. "Raise your hands quickly, +and don't turn," went on the gruff voice. "If I shoot it will be +to kill. It is a rough game, as you say. That's it; and keep them +up. Now, then, young lady, slip on your kimono. Get up and search +these men. I'm in a hurry, too." + +Kitty obeyed, very lovely in her dishevelment. Repugnant as the +task was she disarmed the two men and flung their weapons on the bed. + +"Now something to tie their hands; anything that will hold." + +Kitty could see the speaker now. Another coal heaver, but evidently +on her side. + +"Tie their hands behind them... I warn you not to move, men. When +I say I'll shoot I mean it. Don't be afraid of hurting them, miss. +Very good. Now bandage their eyes. Handkerchiefs." + +But Kitty's handkerchiefs did not run to the dimensions' required; +so she ripped up a petticoat. Torn between her eagerness to +complete a disagreeable task and her offended modesty, Kitty went +through the performance with creditable alacrity. Then she jumped +back into bed, doubled her knees, and once more drew up the +bedclothes to her chin, content to be a spectator, her eyes as wide +as ever they possibly could be. + +Some secret-service man Cutty had sent to protect her. Dear old +Cutty! Small wonder he had urged her to spend the night at a hotel. +The admiration of her childhood returned, but without the shackles +of shyness. She had always trusted him absolutely, and to this +trust was now added understanding. To have him pop into her life +again in this fashion, all the ordinary approaches to intimacy +wiped out by these amazing episodes; the years bridged in an hour! +If only he were younger! + +"Watch them, miss. Don't be afraid to shoot. I'll return in a +moment" - still gruffly. The secret-service man pushed his +prisoners into chairs and left the bedroom. + +Kitty did not care how gruff the voice was; it was decidedly pleasant +in her ears. Gingerly she picked up one of ,the revolvers. Kitty +Conover with shooting irons in her hands, like a movie actress! She +heard a whistle. After this an interval of silence, save for the +ticking of the alarm clock on the stand. She eyed the blindfolded +men speculatively, swung out of bed, and put on her stockings and +sandals; then she sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the +sequence. Kitty Conover was going to have some queer recollections +to tell her grandchildren, providing she had any. That morning she +had risen to face a humdrum normal day. And here she was, at +midnight, hobnobbing with quiescent murder and sudden death! +To-morrow Burlingame would ask her to hustle up the Sunday stuff, +and she would hustle. She wanted to laugh, but was a little afraid +that this laughter might degenerate into incipient hysteria. + +There was still in her mind a vivid recollection of her dream - the +fire of diamonds and the blonde girl with the tiara of rubies. Olga, +Olga! Russian; the whole affair was Russian. She shivered. Always +that land and people had appeared to her in sinister aspect; no +doubt an impression acquired from reading melodramas written by +Englishmen who, once upon a time, had given Russia preeminence as a +political menace. Russia, in all things - music, art, literature + - the tragic note. Stefani Gregor and Johnny Two-Hawks had roused +the enmity of some political society with this result. Nihilist or +Bolshevist or socialist, there was little choice; and Cutty sensibly +did not want her drawn into the whirlpool. + +What a pleasant intimacy hers and Cutty's promised to be! And if +he hadn't casually dropped into the office that afternoon she would +have surrendered the affair to the police, and that would have been +the end of it. Amazing thought - you might jog along all your life +at the side of a person and never know him half so well as someone +you met m a tense episode, like that of the immaculate Cutty +crossing the fire escape with Two-Hawks on his shoulders! + +She heard the friendly coal heaver going down the corridor to the +door. When he returned to the bedroom two men accompanied him. Not +a word was said. The two men marched off with the prisoners and +left Kitty alone with her saviour. + +"Thank you," she said, simply. + +"You poor little chicken, did you believe I had deserted you?" The +voice wasn't gruff now. + +"Cutty?" Kitty ran to him, flinging her arms round his neck. "Oh, +Cutty!" + +Cutty's heart, which had bumped along an astonishing number of +million times in fifty-two years, registered a memorable bump against +his ribs. The touch of her soft arms and the faint, indescribable +perfume which emanates from a dainty woman's hair thrilled him beyond +any thrill he had ever known. For Kitty's mother had never put her +arms round old Cutty's neck. Of course he understood readily enough: +Molly's girl, flesh of her flesh. And she had rushed to him as she +would have rushed to her father. He patted her shoulder clumsily, +still a little dazzled for all the revelation in the analysis. The +sweet intimacy of it! The door of Paradise opened for a moment, and +then shut in his face. + +"I did not recognize you at all!" she cried, standing off. "I +shouldn't have known you on the street. And it is so simple. What +a wonderful man you are!" + +"For an old codger?" Cutty's heart registered another sizable bump. + +Kitty laughed. "Never call yourself old to me again. Are you +always doing these things?" + +"Well, I keep moving. I suspected something like this might happen. +Those two will go to the Tombs to await deportation if they are +aliens. Perhaps we can dig something out of them relative to this +man Gregor. Anyhow, we'll try." + +"Cutty, I saw a man in the court with a pocket lamp before I went +to bed. He was hunting for something." + +"I didn't find anything but a lot of fresh food someone had thrown +out." + +"It was you, then?" + +"Yes. There was a vague possibility that your protege might have +thrown out something valuable during the struggle." + +"What?" + +"Lord knows! A queer business, Kitty, you've lugged me into - my +own! And there is one thing I want you to remember particularly: +Life means nothing to the men opposed, neither chivalry nor ethics. +Annihilation is their business. They don't want civilization; they +want chaos. They have lost the sense of comparisons or they would +not seek to thrust Bolshevism down the throats of the rest of the +world. They say democracy has failed, and their substitute is murder +and loot. Kitty, I want you to leave this roost." + +"I shall stay until my lease expires." + +"Why? In the face of real danger?" + +"Because I intend to, Cutty - unless you kidnap me." + +"Have you any good reason?" + +"You'll laugh; but something tells me to stay here." + +But Cutty did not laugh. "Very well. Tomorrow an assistant janitor +will be installed. His name is Antonio Bernini. Every night he +will whistle up the tube. Whistle back. If you are going out for +the evening notify him where you intend to go and when you expect +to be back. A wire from your bed to his cot will be installed. In +danger, press the button. That's the best I can do for you, since +you decide to stick. I don't believe anything more will happen +to-night, but from now on you will be watched. Never come directly +to my apartment. Break your journey two or three times with taxis. +Always use Elevator Four. The boy is mine; belongs to the service. +So our Bolshevik friends won't gather anything about you from him." + +As a matter of fact, Cutty had now come to the conviction that it +would be well to let Kitty remain here as a lure. He had urged her +to leave, and she had refused, so his conscience was tolerably clear. +Besides, she would henceforth be guarded with a ceaseless efficiency +second only to that which encompasses a President of the United +States. Always some man of the service would be watching those +who watched her. This was going to develop into a game of small +nets, one or two victims at a time. Because these enemies of +civilization lacked coherence in action there would be slim chance +of rounding them up in bulk. But from now on men would vanish - one +here, a pair there, perhaps on occasion four or five. And those who +had known them would know them no more. The policy would be that +employed by the British in the submarine campaign - mysterious +silence after the evanishment. + +"It's all so exciting!" said Kitty. "But that poor old man Gregor! +He had a wonderful violin, Cutty; and sometimes I used to hear him +play folklore music - sad, haunting melodies." + +"We'll know in a little while what's become of him. I doubt there +is a foreign organization in the city that hasn't one or more of +our men on the inside. A word will be dropped somewhere. I'm +rarely active on this side of the Atlantic; and what I'm doing now +is practically due to interest. But every active operative in New +York, Boston, Philadelphia, and Chicago is on the lookout for a +man who, if left free, will stir up a lot of trouble. He has +leadership, this Boris Karlov, a former intimate here of Trotzky's. +We have reason to believe that he slipped through the net in San +Francisco. Probably under a cleverly forged passport. Now please +describe the man who came in with the policeman. I haven't had +time to make inquiries at the precinct, where they will have a +minute description of him." + +"He made me think of a gorilla, just as I told you. His face was +pretty well banged up. Naturally I did not notice any scar. A +dreadfully black beard, shaven." + +"Squat, powerful, like a gorilla. Lord, I wish I'd had a glimpse +of him! He's one of the few topnotchers I haven't met. He's the +spark, the hand on the plunger. The powder is all ready in this +land of ours; our job is to keep off the sparks until we can spread +the stuff so it will only go puff instead of bang. This man Karlov +is bad medicine for democracy. Poor devil!" + +"Why do you say that?" + +"Because I'm honestly sorry for them. This fellow Karlov has +suffered. He is now a species of madman nothing will cure. He and +his kind have gained their ends in Russia, but the impetus to kill +and burn and loot is still unchecked. Sorry, yes; but we can't have +them here. They remind me of nothing so much as those blind deep-sea +monsters in one of Kipling's tales, thrown up into air and sunlight +by a submarine volcano, slashing and bellowing. But we can't have +them here any longer. Keep those revolvers under your pillow. All +you have to do is to point. Nobody will know that you can't shoot. +And always remember, we're watching over you. Good-night." + +"Mouquin's for lunch?" + +"Well, I'll be hanged! But it can't be, Kitty. You and I must not +be seen in public. If that was Karlov you will be marked, and so +will any one who travels with you." + +"Good gracious!" + +"Fact. But come up to the roost - changing taxis - to-morrow at +five and have tea." + +Down in the street Cutty bore into the slanting rain, no longer a +drizzle. With his hands jammed in his side pockets and his gaze +on the sparkling pavement he continued downtown, in a dangerously +ruminative frame of mind, dangerous because had he been followed he +would not have known it. + +Molly Conover's girl! That afternoon it had been Tommy Conover's +girl; now she was Molly's. It occurred to him for the first time +that he was one of those unfortunate individuals who are always able +to open the door to Paradise for others and are themselves forced to +remain outside. Hadn't he introduced Conover to Molly, and hadn't +they fallen in love on the spot? Too old to be a hero and not old +enough to die. He grinned. Some day he would use that line. + +Of course it wasn't Kitty who set this peculiar cogitation in motion. +It wasn't her arms and the perfume of her hair. The actual thrill +had come from a recrudescence of a vanished passion; anyhow, a +passion that had been held suspended all these years. Still, it +offered a disquieting prospect. He was sensible enough to realize +that he would be in for some confusion in trying to disassociate the +phantom from the quick. + +Most pretty young women were flitter-flutters, unstable, shallow, +immature. But this little lady had depth, the sense of the living +drama; and, Lord, she was such a beauty! Wanted a man who would +laugh when he was happy and when he was hurt. A bull's-eye - bang, +like that! For the only breed worth its salt was the kind that +laughed when happy and when hurt. + +The average young woman, rushing into his arms the way she had, +would not have stirred him in the least. And immediately upon the +heels of this thought came a taste of the confusion he saw in store +for himself. Was it the phantom or Kitty? He jumped to another +angle to escape the impasse. Kitty's coming to him in that fashion +raised an unpalatable suggestion. He evidently looked fatherly, no +matter how he felt. Hang these fifty-two years, to come crowding +his doorstep all at once! + +He raised his head and laughed. He suddenly remembered now. At +nine that night he had been scheduled to deliver a lecture on the +Italo-Jugoslav muddle before a distinguished audience in the +ballroom of a famous hotel! He would have some fancy apologizing +to do in the morning. + +He stepped into a doorway, then peered out cautiously. There was +not a single pedestrian in sight. No need of hiking any further +in this rain; so he hunted for a taxi. To-morrow he would set the +wires humming relative to old Stefani Gregor. Boris Karlov, if +indeed it were he, would lead the way. Hadn't Stefani and Boris +been boyhood friends, and hadn't Stefani betrayed the latter in +some political affair? He wasn't sure; but a glance among his +1912 notes would clear up the fog. + +But that young chap! Who was he? Cutty set his process of logical +deduction moving. Karlov - always supposing that gorilla was +Karlov - had come in from the west. So had the young man. Gregor's +inclinations had been toward the aristocracy; at least, that had +been the impression. A Bolshevik would not seek haven with a man +like Gregor, as this young man had. But Two-Hawks bothered him; +the name bothered him, because it had no sense either in English or +in Russian. And yet he was sure he had heard it somewhere. Perhaps +his notes would throw some light on that subject, too. + +When he arrived home Miss Frances, the nurse, informed him that the +patient was babbling in an outlandish tongue. For a long time +Cutty stood by the bedside, translating. + +"Olga! . . . Olga! . . . And she gave me food, Stefani, this +charming American girl. Never must we forget that. I was hungry, +and she gave me food.... But I paid for it. You, gone, there was +no one else.... And she is poor.... The torches! ... I am burning, +burning! ... Olga!" + +"What does he say?" asked the nurse. + +"It is Russian. Is it a crisis?" he evaded. + +"Not necessarily. Doctor Harrison said he would probably return to +consciousness sometime to-morrow. But he must have absolute quiet. +No visitors. A bad blow, but not of fatal consequence. I've seen +hundreds of cases much worse pull out in a fortnight. You'd better +go to bed, sir." + +"All right," said Cutty, gratefully. He was tired. The ball did +not rebound as it used to; the resilience was petering out. But +look alive, there! Big events were toward, and he must not stop to +feel of his pulse. + + +Three o'clock in the morning. + +The man in the Gregor bedroom sat down on the bed, the pocket lamp +dangling from his hairy fingers. Not a nook or cranny in the +apartment had he overlooked. In every cupboard, drawer; in the beds +and under; the trunks; behind the radiators and the pictures; the +shelves and clothes in the closets. What he sought he had not found. + +His vengeance would not be complete without those green stones in +his hands. Anna would call from her grave. Pretty little Anna, who +had trusted Stefani Gregor, and gone to her doom. + +All these thousands of miles, by hook and crook, by forged passports, +by sums of money, sleepless nights and hungry days - for this! The +last of that branch of the breed out of his reach, and the stones +vanished! A queer superstition had taken lodgment in his brain; he +recognized it now for the first time. The possession of those stones +would be a sign from God to go on. Green stones for bread! Green +stones for bread! The drums of jeopardy! In his hands they would +be talismanic. + +But wait! That pretty girl across the way. Supposing he had +intrusted the stones to her? Or hidden them there without her being +aware of it? + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Kitty Conover ate in the kitchen. First off, this statement is +likely to create the false impression that there was an ordinary +grain here, a wedge of base hemlock in the citron. Not so. She +ate in the kitchen because she could not yet face that vacant chair +in the dining room without choking and losing her appetite. She +could not look at the chair without visualizing that glorious, +whimsical, fascinating mother of hers, who could turn grumpy janitors +into comedians and send importunate bill collectors away with nothing +but spangles in their heads. + +So long as she stayed out of the dining room she could accept her +loneliness with sound philosophy. She knew, as all sensible people +know, that there were ghosts, that memory had haunted galleries, and +that empty chairs were evocations. + +Her days were so busily active, there were so many first nights and +concerts, that she did not mind such evenings as she had to spend +alone in the apartment. Persons were in and out of the office all +through the day, and many of them entertaining. For only real +persons ever penetrated that well-guarded cubby-hole off the noisy +city room. Many of them were old friends of her mother. Of course +they were a little pompous, but this was less innate than acquired; +and she knew that below they were worth while. She had come to the +conclusion that successful actors and actresses were the only people +in America who spoke English fluently and correctly. + +Yes, she ate in the kitchen; but she would have been a fit subject +for the fastidious Fragonard. Kitty was naturally an exquisite. +Everything about her was dainty, her body and her mind. The +background of pans and dishes, gas range and sink did not absorb +Kitty; her presence here in the morning lifted everything out of the +rut of commonplace and created an atmosphere that was ornamental. +Pink peignoir and turquoise-blue boudoir cap, silk petticoat and +stockings and adorable little slippers. No harm to tell the secret! +Kitty was educating herself for a husband. She knew that if she +acquired the habit of daintiness at breakfast before marriage it +would become second nature after marriage. Moreover, she was +determined that it should be tremendous news that would cause a +newspaper to intervene. She had all the confidence in the world +in her mirror. + +She got her breakfast this morning, singing. She was happy. She +had found a door out of monotony; theatrical drama had given way to +the living. She had opened the book of adventure and she was going +straight through to finis. That there was an undertow of the +sinister escaped her or she ignored it. + +In all high-strung Irish souls there is a bit of the old wife, the +foreteller; the gift of prescience; and Kitty possessed this in a +mild degree. Something held her here, when for a dozen reasons she +should have gone elsewhere. + +She strained the coffee, humming a tune out of The Mikado, the +revival of which she had seen lately: + + My object all sublime + I shall achieve in time + To make the punishment fit the crime. + The punishment fit the crime. + And make the prisoner pent + Unwillingly represent + A source of innocent merriment. + Of innocent merriment! + + +And there you were! To make the punishment fit the crime. Wall in +the Bolsheviki, the I.W.W.'s, the Red Socialist, the anarchists - and +let them try it for ten years. Those left would be glad enough to +embrace democracy and sanity. The poor benighted things, to imagine +that they were going forward there in Russia! What kind of mentality +was it that could conceive a blessing to humanity in the abolition of +baths and work? And Cutty felt sorry for them. Well, as for that, so +did Kitty Conover; and she would continue feeling sorry for them so +long as they remained thousands of miles away. But next door! + +"Grapefruit, eggs on toast, and coffee; mademoiselle is served!" she +cried, gayly, sitting down and attacking her breakfast with the zest +of healthy youth. + +Often the eyes are like the lenses of a camera minus the sensitized +plate; they see objects without printing them. Thus a dozen times +Kitty's glance absently swept the range and the racks on each side +of the stovepipe, one rack burdened with an empty pancake jug and +the other cluttered with old-fashioned flatirons; but she saw nothing. + +She was carefully reviewing the events of the night before. She +could not dismiss the impression that Cutty knew Stefani Gregor or +had heard of him; and in either case it signified that Gregor was +something more than a valet. And decidedly Two-Hawks was not of the +Russian peasantry. + +By the time she was ready to leave for the office the Irish blood +in her was seething and bubbling and dancing. She knew she would +do crazy, impulsive things all day. It was easy to analyze this +exuberance. She had reached out into the dark and touched danger, +and found a new thrill in a humdrum world. + +The Great Dramatist had produced a tremendous drama and she had +watched curtain after curtain fall from the wrong side of the lights. +Now she had been given a speaking part; and she would be down stage +for a moment or two - dusting the furniture - while the stars were +retouching their make-up. It was not the thought of Cutty, of +Gregor, of Johnny Two-Hawks, of hidden treasure; simply she had +arrived somewhere in the great drama. + +When she reached the office she had a hard time of it to settle down +to the day's work. + +"Hustle up that Sunday stuff," said Burlingame. Kitty laughed. +Just as she had pictured it. She hustled. + +"I have it!" she cried, breaking a spell of silence. + +"What - St. Vitus?" inquired Burlingame, patiently. + +"No; the Morgue!" + +"What the dickens - !" + +But Kitty was no longer there to answer. + +In all newspaper offices there is a department flippantly designated +as the Morgue. Obituaries on ice, as it were. A photograph or an +item concerning a great man, a celebrated, beauty or some notorious +rogue; from the king calibre down to Gyp-the-Blood brand, all +indexed and laid away against the instant need. So, running her +finger tip down the K's, Kitty found Karlov. The half tone which +she eventually exhumed from the tin box was an excellent likeness of +the human gorilla who had entered her rooms with the policeman. She +would be able to carry this positive information to Cutty that +afternoon. + +When she left the office at four she took the Subway to Forty-second +Street. She engaged a taxi from the Knickerbocker and discharged it +at the north entrance to the Waldorf, which she entered. She walked +through to the south entrance and got into another taxi. She left +this at Wanamaker's, ducking and dodging through the crowded aisles. +She selected this hour because, being a woman, she knew that the +press of shoppers would be the greatest during the day. Karlov's +man and the secret-service operative detailed by Cutty both made the +same mistake - followed Kitty into the dry-goods shop and lost her +as completely as if she had popped up in China. At quarter to five +she stepped into Elevator Number Four of the building which Cutty +called his home, very well pleased with herself. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +To understand Kitty at this moment one must be able to understand +the Irish; and nobody does or can or will. Consider her twenty-four +years, her corpuscular inheritance, the love of drama and the love +of adventure. Imagine possessing sound ideas of life and the ability +to apply them, and spiritually always galloping off on some broad +highway - more often than not furnished by some engaging scoundrel +of a novelist - and you will be able to construct a half tone of +Kitty Conover. + +That civilization might be actually on its deathbed, that positively +half of the world was starving and dying and going mad through the +reaction of the German blight touched her in a detached way. She +felt sorry, dreadfully sorry, for the poor things; but as she could +not help them she dismissed them from her thoughts every morning after +she had read the paper, the way most of us do here in these United +States. You cannot grapple with the misery of an unknown person +several thousand miles away. + +That which had taken place during the past twenty-four hours was to +her a lark, a blindman's buff for grown-ups. It was not in her to +tremble, to shudder, to hesitate, to weigh this and to balance +that. Irish curiosity. Perhaps in the original that immortal line +read: "The Irish rush in where angels fear to tread," and some +proofreader had a particular grudge against the race. + +When the elevator reached the seventeenth floor, the passengers +surged forth. All except Kitty, who tarried. + +"We don't carry to the eighteenth, miss. + +"I am Miss Conover," she replied. "I dared not tell you until we +were alone." + +"I see." The boy nodded, swept her with an appraising glance, and +sent the elevator up to the loft. + +"You understand? If any one inquires about me, you don't remember." + +"Yes, miss. The boss's orders." + +"And if any one does inquire you are to report at once." + +"That, too." + +The boy rolled back the door and Kitty stepped out upon a Laristan +runner of rose hues and cobalt blue. She wondered what it cost +Cutty to keep up an establishment like this. There were fourteen +rooms, seven facing the north and seven facing the west, with +glorious vistas of steam-wreathed roofs and brick Matterhorns and +the dim horizon touching the sea. Fine rugs and tapestries and +furniture gathered from the four ends of the world; but wholly +livable and in no sense atmospheric of the museum. Cutty had +excellent taste. + +She had visited the apartment but twice before, once in her childhood +and again when she was eighteen. Cutty had given a dinner in honour +of her mother's birthday. She smiled as she recalled the incident. +Cutty had placed a box of candles at the side of her mother's plate +and told her to stick as many into the cake as she thought best. + +"Hello!" said Cutty, emerging from one of the doors. "What the +dickens have you been up to? My man has just telephoned me that he +lost track of you in Wanamaker's." + +Kitty explained, delighted. + +"Well, well! If you can lose a man such as I set to watch you, +you'll have no trouble shaking the others." + +"It was Karlov, Cutty." + +"How did you learn?" + +"Searched the morgue and found a half tone of him. Positively +Karlov. How is the patient?" + +"Harrison says he's pulling round amazingly. A tough skull. He'll +be up for his meals in no time." + +"How do you do it?" she asked with a gesture. + +"Do what?" + +"Manage a place like this? In a busy office district. It's the +most wonderful apartment in New York. Riverside has nothing like +it. It must cost. like sixty." + +"The building is mine, Kitty. That makes it possible. An uncle +who knew I hated money and the responsibilities that go with it, died +and left it to me." + +"Why, Cutty, you must be rich!" + +"I'm sorry. What can I do? I can't give it away." + +"But you don't have to work!" + +"Oh, yes, I do. I'm that kind. I'd die of a broken heart if I had +to sit still. It's the game." + +"Did mother know?" + +"Yes." + +With the toe of a snug little bronze boot Kitty drew an outline round +a pattern in the rug. + +"Love is a funny thing," was her comment. + +"It sure is, old-timer. But what put the thought into your head?" + +"I was thinking how very much mumsy must have been in love with +father." + +"But she never knew that I loved her, Kitty." + +"What's that got to do with it? If she had wanted money you wouldn't +have had the least chance in the world." + +"Probably not! But what would you have done in your mother's place?" + +"Snapped you up like that!" Kitty flashed back. + +"You cheerful little - little - " + +"Liar. Say it!" Kitty laughed. "But am I a cheerful little liar? +I don't know. It would be an awful temptation. Somebody to wait +on you; heaps of flowers when you wanted them; beautiful gowns and +thingummies and furs and limousines. I've often wondered what I +should do if I found myself with love and youth on one side and +money and attraction on the other. I've always been in straitened +circumstances. I never spent a dollar in all my days when I didn't +think I ought to have held back three or four cents of it. You +can't know, Cutty, what it is to be poor and want beautiful things +and good times. Of course. I couldn't marry just money. There +would have to be some kind of a man to go with it. Someone +interesting enough to make me forget sometimes that I'd thrown away +a lover for a pocket-book." + +"Would you marry me, Kitty?" + +"Are you serious?" + +"Let's suppose I am" + +"No. I couldn't marry you, Cutty I should always be having my +mother's ghost as a rival." + +"But supposing I fell in love with you?" + +"Then I'd always be doubting your constancy. But what queer talk!"' + +"Kitty, you're a joy,! Lordy, my luck in dropping in to see you +yesterday!" + +"And a little whippersnapper like me calling a great man like you +Cutty!" + +"Well, if it embarrasses you, you might switch to papa once in a +while." + +Kitty's laughter rang down the corridor. "I'll remember that +whenever I want to make you mad. Who's here?" + +"Nobody but Harrison and the nurse. Both good citizens, and I've +taken them into my confidence to a certain extent. You can talk +freely before them." + +"Am I to see the patient?" + +"Harrison says not. About Wednesday your Two-Hawks will be sitting +up. I've determined to keep the poor devil here until he can take +care of himself. But he is flat broke." + +"He said he had money." + +"Well, Karlov's men stripped him clean." + +"Have you any idea who he is?" + +"To be honest, that's one of the reasons why I want to keep him here. +He's Russian, for all his Oxford English and his Italian gestures; +and from his babble I imagine he's been through seven kinds of hell. +Torches and hobnailed boots and the incessant call for a woman named +Olga - a young woman about eighteen." + +"How did you find that out?" + +"From a photograph I found in the lining of his coat. A pretty +blonde girl." + +"Good heavens!" - recollecting her dream. "Where was it printed?" + +"Amateur photography. I'll pick it up on the way to the living +room." + +It was nothing like the blonde girl of her dream. Still, the girl +was charming. Kitty turned over the photograph. There was writing +on the back. + +"Russian? What does it say?" + +"'To Ivan from Olga with all her love.'" + +Cutty was conscious of the presence of an indefensible malice in +his tones. Why the deuce should he be bitter - glad that the chap +had left behind a sweetheart? He knew exactly the basis of Kitty's +interest, as utterly detached as that of a reporter going to a fire. +On the day the patient could explain himself, Kitty's interest +would automatically cease. An old dog in the manger? Malice. + +"Cutty, something dreadful has happened to this poor young woman. +That's what makes him cry out the name. Caught in that horror, and +probably he alone escaped. Is it heartless to be glad I'm an +American? Do they let in these Russians?" + +"Not since the Trotzky regime. I imagine Two-Hawks slipped through +on some British passport. He'll probably tell us all about it when +he comes round. But how do you feel after last night's bout?" + +"Alive! And I'm going on being alive, forever and ever! Oh, those +awful drums! They look like dead eyes in those dim corners. +Tumpitum-tump! Tumpitum-tump!" she cried, linking her arm in his. +"What a gorgeous view! Just what I'm going to do when my ship comes +in - live in a loft. I really believe I could write up here - I mean +worth-while things I could enjoy writing and sell." + +"It's yours if you want it when I leave." + +"And I'd have a fine time explaining to my friends! You old innocent! +... Or are you so innocent?" + +"We do live in a cramped world. But I meant it. Don't forget to +whistle down to Tony Bernini when you get back home to-night." + +"I promise. + +"Why the gurgle?" + +"Because I'm tremendously excited. All my life I've wanted to do +mysterious things. I've been with the audience all the while, and I +want to be with the actors." + +"You'll give some man a wild dance." + +"If I do I'll dance with him. Now lead me to the cookies." + +She was the life of the tea table. Her wit, her effervescence, her +whimsicalities amused even the prim Miss Frances. When she recounted +the exploit of the camouflaged fan, Cutty and Harrison laughed so +loudly that the nurse had to put her linger on her lips. They might +wake the patient. + +"I am really interested in him," went on Kitty. "I won't deny it. +I want to see how it's going to turn out. He was very nice after I +let him into the kitchen. A perfectly English manner and voice, and +Italian gestures when off his guard. I feel so sorry for him. What +strangers we races are to each other! Until the war we hardly knew +the Canadians. The British didn't know us at all, and the French +became acquainted with the British for the first time in history. +And the German thought he knew us all and really knew nobody. All +the Russians I ever saw were peasants of the cattle type; so that the +word Russian conjures up two pictures - the grand duke at Monte Carlo +and a race of men who wear long beards and never bathe except when it +rains. Think of it! For the first time since God set mankind on +earth peoples are becoming acquainted. I never saw a Russian of this +type before.". + +"A leaf in the whirlpool. - Anyhow, we'll keep him here until he's on +his feet. By the way, never answer any telephone call - I mean, go +anywhere on a call - unless you are sure of the speaker." + +"I begin to feel important." + +"You are important. You have suddenly become a connecting link +between this Karlov and the man we wish to protect. I'll confess I +wanted you out of that apartment at first; but when I saw that you +were bent on remaining, I decided to make use of you." + +"You are going to give me a part in the play?" + +"Yes. You are to go about your affairs as always, just as if nothing +had happened. Only when you wish to come here will you play any game +like that of to-day. Then it will be advisable. Switch your route +each time. Your real part is to be that of lure. Through you we shall +gradually learn who Karlov's associates are. If you don't care to play +the role all you have to do is to move." + +"The idea! I'm grateful for anything. You men will never understand. +You go forth into the world each day - politics, diplomacy, commerce, +war - while we women stay at home and knit or darn socks or take +care of the baby or make over our clothes and hats or do household +work or play the piano or read. Never any adventure. Never any +games. Never any clubs. The leaving your house to go to the office +is an adventure. A train from here to Philadelphia is an adventure. +We women are always craving it. And about all we can squeeze out +of life is shopping and hiding the bills after marriage, and going +to the movies before marriage with young men our fathers don't like. +We can't even stroll the street and admire the handsome gowns of our +more fortunate sisters the way you men do. When you see a pretty +woman on the street do you ever stop to think that there are ten at +home eating their hearts out? Of course you don't. So I'm going +through with this, to satisfy suppressed instincts; and I shan't +promise to trot along as usual." + +"They may attempt to kidnap you, Kitty." + +"That doesn't frighten me." + +"So I observe. But if they ever should have the luck to kidnap you, +tell all you know at once. There's only one way up here - the +elevator. I can get out to the fire escape, but none can get in +from that direction, as the door is of steel." + +"And, of course, you'll take me into your confidence completely?" + +"When the time comes. Half the fun in an adventure is the element +of the unexpected," said Cutty. + +"Where did you first meet Stefani Gregor?" + +Captain Harrison laughed. He liked this girl. She was keen and +could be depended upon, as witness last night's work. Her real +danger lay in being conspicuously pretty, in looking upon this affair +as merely a kind of exciting game, when it was tragedy. + +"What makes you think I know Stefani Gregor?" asked Cutty, genuinely +curious. + +"When I pronounced that name you whirled upon me as if I had struck +you." + +"Very well. When we learn who Two-Hawks is I'll tell you what I +know about Gregor. And in the meantime you will be ceaselessly under +guard. You are an asset, Kitty, to whichever side holds you. +Captain Harrison is going to stay for dinner. Won't you join us?" + +"I'm going to a studio potluck with some girls. And it's time I was +on the way. I'll let your Tony Bernini know. Home probably at ten." + +Cutty went with her to the elevator and when he returned to the tea +table he sat down without speaking. + +"Why not kidnap her yourself," suggested Harrison, "if you don't want +her in this?" + +"She would never forgive me." + +"If she found it out." + +"She's the kind who would. What do you think of her, Miss Frances?" + +"I think she is wonderful. Frankly, I should tell her everything + - if there is anything more to be told." + +When dinner was over, the nurse gone back to the patient and Captain +Harrison to his club, Cutty lit his odoriferous pipe and patrolled +the windows of his study. Ever since Kitty's departure he had been +mulling over in his mind a plan regarding her future - to add a +codicil to his will, leaving her five thousand a year, so Molly's +girl might always have a dainty frame for her unusual beauty. The +pity of it was that convention denied him the pleasure of settling +the income upon her at once, while she was young. He might outlive +her; you never could tell. Anyhow, he would see to the codicil. An +accident might step in. + +He got out his chrysoprase. In one corner of the room there was a +large portfolio such as artists use for their proofs and sketches; +and from this he took a dozen twelve-by-fourteen-inch photographs +of beautiful women, most of them stage beauties of bygone years. +The one on top happened to be Patti. The adorable Patti! ... Linda, +Violetta, Lucia. Lord, what a nightingale she had been! He laughed +laid the photograph on the desk, and dipped his hand into a canvas +bag filled with polished green stones which would have great +commercial value if people knew more about them; for nothing else in +the world is quite so beautifully green. + +He built tiaras above the lovely head and laid necklaces across the +marvellous throat. Suddenly a phenomenon took place. The roguish +eyes of the prima donna receded and vanished and slate-blue ones +replaced them. The odd part of it was, he could not dissipate the +fancied eyes for the replacement of the actual. Patti, with +slate-blue eyes! He discarded the photograph and selected another. +He began the game anew and was just beginning the attack on the +problem uppermost in his mind when the phenomenon occurred again. +Kitty's eyes! What infernal nonsense! Kitty had served merely to +enliven his tender recollections of her mother. Twenty-four and +fifty-two. And yet, hadn't he just read that Maeterlinck, fifty-six, +had married Mademoiselle Dahon, many years younger? + +In a kind of resentful fury he pushed back his chair and fell to +pacing, eddies and loops and spirals of smoke whirling and sweeping +behind him. The only light was centred upon the desk, so he might +have been some god pacing cloud-riven Olympus in the twilight. By +and by he laughed; and the atmosphere - mental - cleared. +Maeterlinck, fifty-six, and Cutty, fifty-two, were two different men. +Cutty might mix his metaphors occasionally, but he wasn't going to +mix his ghosts. + +He returned to his singular game. More tiaras and necklaces; and +his brain took firm hold of the theme which had in the beginning +lured him to the green stones. + +Two-Hawks. That name bothered him. He knew he had heard it before, +but never in the Russian tongue. It might be that the chap had been +spoofing Kitty. Still, he had also called himself Hawksley. + +The smoke thickened; there were frequent flares of matches. One by +one Cutty discarded the photographs, dropping them on the floor +beside his chair, his mind boring this way and that for a solution. +He had now come to the point where he ceased to see the photographs +or the green stones. The movements of his hands were almost +automatic. And in this abstract manner he came to the last +photograph. He built a necklace and even ventured an earring. + +It was a glorious face - black eyes that followed you; full lipped; +every indication of fire and genius. It must be understood that he +rarely saw the photographs when he played this game. It wasn't an +amusing pastime, a mental relaxation. It was a unique game of +solitaire, the photographs and chrysoprase being substituted for +cards; and in some inexplicable manner it permitted him to concentrate +upon whatever problem filled his thoughts. It was purely accidental +that he saw Patti to-night or recalled her art. Coming upon the last +photograph without having found a solution of the riddle of Two-Hawks +he relaxed the mental pressure; and his sight reestablished its +ability to focus. + +"Good Lord!" he ejaculated. + +He seized the photograph excitedly, scattering the green stones. +She! The Calabrian, the enchanting colouratura who had vanished +from the world at the height of her fame, thirty-odd years gone! +Two-Hawks! + +Cutty saw himself at twenty, in the pit at La Scala, with music-mad +Milan all about him. Two-Hawks! He remembered now. The nickname +the young bloods had given her because she had been eternally +guarded by her mother and aunt, fierce-beaked Calabrians, who had +determined that Rosa should never throw herself away on some beggarly +Adonis. + +And this chap was her son! Yesterday, rich and powerful, with a +name that was open sesame wherever he went; to-day, hunted, +penniless, and forlorn. Cutty sank back in his chair, stunned by +the revelation. In that room yonder! + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +For a long time Cutty sat perfectly motionless, his pipe at an +upward angle - a fine commentary on the strength of his jaws - and +his gaze boring into the shadows beyond his desk. What was +uppermost in his thoughts now was the fateful twist of events that +had brought the young man to the assured haven of this towering +loft. + +All based, singularly enough, upon his wanting to see Molly's girl +for a few moments; and thus he had established himself in Kitty's +thoughts. Instead of turning to the police she had turned to him. +Old Cutty, reaching round vaguely for something to stay the current + - age; hoping by seeing this living link 'twixt the present and the +past to stay the afterglow of youth. As if that could be done! He, +who had never paid any attention to gray hairs and wrinkles and +time, all at once found himself in a position similar to that of +the man who supposes he has an inexhaustible sum at the bank and +has just been notified that he has overdrawn. + +Cutty knew that life wasn't really coordination and premeditation +so much as it was coincident. Trivials. Nothing was absolute and +dependable but death; between birth and death a series of accidents +and incidents and coincidents which men called life. + +He tapped his pipe on the ash tray and stood up. He gathered the +chrysoprase and restored the stones to the canvas bag. Then he +carefully stacked the photographs and carried them to the portfolio. +The green stones he deposited in a safe, from which he took a +considerable bundle of small notebooks, returning to the desk with +these. Denatured dynamite, these notebooks, full of political +secrets, solutions of mysteries that baffle historians. A truly +great journalist never writes history as a historian; he is afraid +to. Sometimes conjecture is safer than fact. And these little +notebooks were the repository of suppressed facts ranging over +twenty-odd years. Gerald Stanley Lee would have recognized them +instantly as coming under the head of what he calls Sh! + +An hour later Cutty returned the notebooks to their abiding place, +his memory refreshed. The poor devil! A dissolute father and uncle, +dissolute forbears, corrupt blood weakened by intermarriage, what +hope was there? Only one - the rich, fiery blood of the Calabrian +mother. + +But why had the chap come to America? Why not England or the +Riviera, where rank, even if shorn of its prerogatives, is still +treated respectfully? But America! + +Cutty's head went up. Perhaps that was it - to barter his phantom +greatness for money, to dazzle some rich fool of an American girl. +In that case Karlov would be welcome. But wait a moment. The chap +had come in from the west. In that event there should be an Odyssey +of some kind tucked away in the affair. + +Cutty resumed his pacing. The moment his imagination caught the +essentials he visualized the Odyssey. Across mountains and deserts, +rivers and seas, he followed Two-Hawks in fancy, pursued by an +implacable hatred, more or less historical, of which the lad was +less a cause than an abstract object. And Karlov - Cutty understood +Karlov now - always span near, his hate reenergizing his faltering +feet. + +There was evidently some iron in this Two-Hawks' blood. Fear never +would have carried him thus far. Fear would have whispered, +"Futility! Futility!" And he would have bent his head to the stroke. +So then there was resource and there was courage. And he lay in +yonder room, beaten and penniless. The top piece in the grim irony + - to have come all these thousands of miles unscathed, to be dropped +at the goal. But America? Well, that would be solved later. + +"By the Lord Harry!" Cutty stopped and struck his hands together. +"The drums!" + +>From the hour Kitty had pronounced the name Stefani Gregor an idea +had taken lodgment, an irrepressible idea, that somewhere in this +drama would be the drums of jeopardy. The mark of the thong! Never +any doubt of it now. Those magnificent emeralds were here in New +York, The mob - the Red Guard - hammering on the doors, what would +have been Two-Hawks' most natural first thought? To gather what +treasures the hand could be laid to and flee. Here in New York, +and in Karlov's hands, ultimately to be cut up for Bolshevik +propaganda! The infernal pity of it! + +The passion of the gem hunter blazed forth, dimming all other phases +of the drama. Here was a real game, a man's game; sport! Cutty +rubbed his hands together pleasurably. To recover those green flames +before they could be broken up; under the ancient ruling that +"Findings is keepings." The stones, of course, meant nothing to +Karlov beyond the monetary value; and upon this fact Cutty began +developing a plan. He stood ready to buy those stones if he could +draw them into the open. Lord, how he wanted them! Murder and loot, +always murder and loot! + +The thought of those two incomparable emeralds being broken up +distressed him profoundly. He must act at once, before the +desecration could be consummated. Two-Hawks - Hawksley hereafter, +for the sake of convenience - had an equity in the gems; but what +of that? In smuggling them in - and how the deuce had he done it? + - he had thrown away his legal right to them. Cutty kneaded his +conscience into a satisfactory condition of quiescence and went +on with his planning. If he succeeded in recovering the stones +and his conscience bit a little too deeply for comfort - why, he +could pay over to Hawksley twenty per cent. of the price Karlov +demanded. He could take it or leave it. In a case like this - to +a bachelor without dependents - money was no object. All his life +he had wanted a fine emerald to play with, and here was an +opportunity to acquire two! + +If this plan failed to draw Karlov into the open, then every +jeweller and pawnbroker in town would be notified and warned. What +with the secret-service operatives and the agents of the Department +of Justice on the watch for Karlov - who would recognize his +limitations of mobility - it was reasonable to assume that the +Bolshevik would be only too glad to dicker secretly for the disposal +of the stones. Now to work. Cutty looked at his watch. + +Nearly midnight. Rather late, but he knew all the tricks of this +particular kind of game. If the advertisement appeared isolated, +all the better. The real job would be to hide his identity. He +saw a way round this difficulty. He wrote out six advertisements, +all worded the same. He figured out the cost and was delighted to +find that he carried the necessary currency. Then he got into his +engineer's - dungarees, touched up his face and hands to the +required griminess, and sallied forth. + +Luck attended him until he reached the last morning newspaper on the +list. Here he was obliged to proceed to the city room - risky +business. A queer advertisement coming into the city room late at +night was always pried into, as he knew from experience. Still, he +felt that he ought not to miss any chance to reach Karlov. + +He explained his business to the sleepy gate boy, who carried the +advertisement and the cash to the night city editor's desk. +Ordinarily the night city editor would have returned the +advertisement with the crisp information that he had no authority +to accept advertisements. But the "drums of jeopardy" caught his +attention; and he sent a keen glance across the busy room to the +rail where Cutty stood, perhaps conspicuously. + +"Humph!" He called to one of the reporters. "This looks like a +story. I'll run it. Follow that guy in the overalls and see what's +in it." + +Cutty appreciated the interlude for what it was worth. Someone was +going to follow him. When the gate boy returned to notify him that +the advertisement had been accepted, Cutty went down to the street. + +"Hey, there; just a moment!" hailed the reporter. "I want a word +with you about that advertisement." + +Cutty came to a standstill. "I paid for it, didn't I?" + +"Sure. But what's this about the drums of jeopardy?" + +"Two great emeralds I'm hunting for," explained Cutty, recalling +the man who stood on London Bridge and peddled sovereigns at two +bits each, and no buyer. + +"Can it! Can it!" jeered the reporter. "Be a good sport and give +us the tip. Strike call among the city engineers?" + +"I'm telling you." + +"Like Mike you are!" + +"All right. It's the word to tie up the surface lines, like Newark, +if you want to know. Now, get t' hell out o' here before I hand +you one on the jaw!" + +The reporter backed away. "Is that on the level?" + +"Call up the barns and find out. They'll tell you what's on. And +listen, if you follow me, I'll break your head. On your way!" + +The reporter dashed for the elevator - and back to the doorway in +time to see Cutty legging it for the Subway. As he was a reporter +of the first class he managed to catch the same express uptown. + +On the way uptown Cutty considered that he had accomplished a shrewd +bit of work. Karlov or one of his agents would certainly see that +advertisement; and even if Karlov suspected a Federal trap he would +find some means of communicating with the issuer of the advertisement. + +The thought of Kitty returned. What the dickens would she say - how +would she act - when she learned who this Hawksley was? He fervently +hoped that she had never read "Thaddeus of Warsaw." There would +be all the difference in the world between an elegant refugee Pole +and a derelict of the Russian autocracy. Perhaps the best course to +pursue would be to say nothing at all to her about the amazing +discovery. + +Upon leaving Elevator Four Cutty said: "Bob, I've been followed by +a sharp reporter. Sheer him off with any tale you please, and go +home. Goodnight." + +"I'll fix him, sir." + +Cutty took a bath, put on his lounging robe, and tiptoed to the +threshold of the patient's room. The shaded light revealed the +nurse asleep with a book on her knees. The patient's eyes were +closed and his breathing was regular. He was coming along. +Cutty decided to go to bed. + +Meantime, when the elevator touched the ground floor, the operator +observed a prospective passenger. + +"Last trip, sir. You'll have to take the stairs." + +"Where'll I find the engineer who went up with you just now?" + +"The man I took up? Gone to bed, I guess." + +"What floor?" + +"Nothing doing, bo. I'm wise. You're the fourth guy with a subpoena +that's been after him. Nix." + +"I'm not a lawyer's clerk. I'm a reporter, and I want to ask him a +few questions." + +"Gee! Has that Jane of his been hauling in the newspapers? +Good-night! Toddle along, bo; there's nothing coming from me. Nix." + +"Would ten dollars make you talk?" asked the reporter, desperately. + +"Ye-ah - about the Kaiser and his wood-sawing. By-by!" + +The operator, secretly enjoying the reporter's discomfiture, shut +off the lights, slammed the elevator door to the latch, and walked +to the revolving doors, to the tune of Garry Owen. + +The reporter did not follow him but sat down on the first step of +the marble stairs to think, for there was a lot to think about. He +sensed clearly enough that all this talk about street-railway strikes +and subpoenas was rot. The elevator man and the engineer were in +cahoots. There was a story here, but how to get to it was a puzzler. +He had one chance in a hundred of landing it - tip the mail clerk in +the business office to keep an eye open for the man who called for +"Double C" mail. + +Eventually, the man who did call for that mail presented a card to +the mail clerk. At the bottom of this card was the name of the +chief of the United States Secret Service. + +"And say to the reporter who has probably asked to watch - hands +off! Understand? Absolutely - off!" + +When the reporter was informed he blew a kiss into air and sought +his city editor for his regular assignment. He understood, with the +wisdom of his calling, that one didn't go whale fishing with trout +rods. + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +Early the next morning in a bedroom in a rooming house for aliens +in Fifteenth Street, a man sat in a chair scanning the want columns +of a newspaper. Occasionally he jotted down something on a slip +of paper. This man's job was rather an unusual one. He hunted +jobs for other men - jobs in steel mills, great factories, in the +textile districts, the street-car lines, the shipping yards and +docks, any place where there might be a grain or two of the powder +of unrest and discontent. His business was to supply the human +matches. + +No more parading the streets, no more haranguing from soap boxes. +The proper place nowadays was in the yard or shop corners at +noontime. A word or two dropped at the right moment; perhaps a +printed pamphlet; little wedges wherever there were men who wanted +something they neither earned nor deserved. Here and there across +the land little flares, one running into the other, like wildfire +on the plains, and then - the upheaval. As in Russia, so now in +Germany; later, England and France and here. The proletariat was +gaining power. + +He was no fool, this individual. He knew his clay, the day labourer, +with his parrotlike mentality. Though the victim of this peculiar +potter absorbs sounds he doesn't often absorb meanings. But he +takes these sounds and respouts them and convinces himself that he +is some kind of Moses, headed for the promised land. Inflammable +stuff. Hence, the strikes which puzzle the average intelligent +American citizen. What is it all about? Nobody seems to know. + +Once upon a time men went on a strike because they were being cheated +and abused. Now they strike on the principle that it is excellent +policy always to be demanding something; it keeps capitalism where it +belongs - on the ragged edge of things. No matter what they demand +they never expect to give an equivalent; and a just cause isn't +necessary. Thus the present-day agitator has only one perplexity + - that of eluding the iron hand of the Department of Justice. + +Suddenly the man in the chair brought the newspaper close up and +stared. He jumped to his feet, ran out and up the next flight of +stairs. He stopped before a door and turned the knob a certain number +of times. Presently the door opened the barest crack; then it was +swung wide enough to admit the visitor. + +"Look!" he whispered, indicating Cutty's advertisement. + +The occupant of the room snatched the newspaper and carried it to a +window. + + Will purchase the drums of jeopardy at top price. No questions + asked. Address this office. + Double C. + +"Very good. I might have missed it. We shall sell the accursed +drums to this gentleman." + +"Sell them? But - " + +"Imbecile! What we must do is to find out who this man is. In the +end he may lead us to him." + +"But it may be a trap!" + +"Leave that to me. You have work of your own to do, and you had best +be about it. Do you not see beneath? Who but the man who harbours +him would know about the drums? The man in the evening clothes. I +was too far away to see his face. Get me all the morning newspapers. +If the advertisement is in all of them I will send a letter to each. +We lost the young woman yesterday. And nothing has been heard of +Vladimir and Stemmler. Bad. I do not like this place. I move to +the house to-night. My old friend Stefani may be lonesome. I dare +not risk daylight. Some fool may have talked. To work! All of us +have much to do to wake up the proletariat in this country of the +blind. But the hour will come. Get me the newspapers." + +Karlov pushed his visitor from the room and locked and bolted the +door. He stepped over to the window again and stared down at the +clutter of pushcarts, drays, trucks, and human beings that tried +to go forward and got forward only by moving sideways or worming +through temporary breaches, seldom directly - the way of humanity. +But there was no object lesson in this for Karlov, who was not +philosophical in the peculiar sense of one who was demanding a +reason for everything and finding allegory and comparison and +allusion in the ebb and flow of life. The philosophical is often +misapplied to the stoical. Karlov was a stoic, not a philosopher, +or he would not have been the victim of his present obsession. +The idea of live and let live has never been the propaganda of the +anarch. To the anarch the death of some body or the destruction +of some thing is the cornerstone to his madhouse. + +Nothing would ever cure this man of his obsession - the death of +Hawksley and the possession of the emeralds. Moreover, there was +the fanatical belief in his poor disordered brain that the +accomplishment of these two projects would eventually assist in the +liberation of mankind. Abnormally cunning in his methods of approach, +he lacked those imaginative scales by which we weigh our projects +and which we call logic. A child alone in a house with a box of +matches; a dog on one side of Fifth Avenue that sees a dog on the +other side, but not the automobiles - inexorable logic - irresistible +force - whizzing up and down the middle of that thoroughfare. It is +not difficult to prophesy what is going to happen to that child, +that dog. + +Karlov was at this moment reaching out toward a satisfactory solution +relative to the disappearance of the gems. They had not been found +on his enemy; they had not been found in the Gregor apartment; the +two men assigned to the task of securing them would not have risked +certain death by trying to do a little bargaining on their own +initiative. In the first instance they had come forth empty-handed. +In the second instance - that of intimidating the girl to disclose +his whereabouts - neither Vladimir nor Stemmler had returned. +Sinister. The man in the dress suit again? + +Conceivably, then, the drums were in the possession of this girl; +and she was holding them against the day when the fugitive would +reclaim them. The advertisement was a snare. Very good. Two could +play that game as well as one. + +The girl. Was it not always so? That breed! God's curse on them +all! A crooked finger, and the women followed, hypnotized. The girl +was away from the apartment the major part of the day; so it was in +order to search her rooms. A pretty little fool. + +But where were they hiding him? Gall and wormwood! That he should +slip through Boris Karlov's fingers, after all these tortuous windings +across the world! Patience. Sooner or later the girl would lead the +way. Still, patience was a galling hobble when he had so little time, +when even now they might be hunting him. Boris Karlov had left New +York rather well known. + +He expanded under this thought. For the spiritual breath of life to +the anarch is flattery, attention. Had the newspapers ignored +Trotzky's advent into Russia, had they omitted the daily chronicle of +his activities, the Russian problem would not be so large as it is +this day. Trotzky would have died of chagrin. + +He would answer this advertisement. Trap? He would set one himself. +The man who eventually came to negotiate would be made a prisoner and +forced to disclose the identity of the man who had interfered with +the great projects of Boris Karlov, plenipotentiary extraordinary for +the red government of Russia. + +Midtown, Cutty tapped his breakfast egg dubiously. Not that he +speculated upon the freshness of the egg. What troubled him was that +advertisement. Last night, keyed high by his remarkable discovery +of the identity of his guest and his cupidity relative to the +emeralds, he had laid himself open. If he knew anything at all about +the craft, that reporter would be digging in. Fortunately he had +resources unsuspected by the reporter. Legitimately he could send +a secret-service operative to collect the mail - if Karlov decided to +negotiate. Still within his rights, he could use another operative +to conduct the negotiations. If in the end Karlov strayed into the +net the use of the service for private ends would be justified. + +Lord, those green stones! Well, why not? Something in the world +worth a hazard. What had he in life but this second grand passion? +There shot into his mind obliquely an irrelevant question. Supposing, +in the old days, he had proceeded to reach for Molly as he was now +reaching for the emeralds - a bit lawlessly? After all these years, +to have such a thought strike him! Hadn't he stepped aside meekly +for Conover? Hadn't he observed and envied Conover's dazzling +assault? Supposing Molly had been wavering, and this method of +attack had decided her? Never to have thought of that before! What +did a woman want? A love storm, and then an endless after-calm. +And it had taken him twenty-odd years to make this discovery. + +Fact. He had never been shy of women. He had somehow preferred to +play comrade instead of gallant; and all the women had taken +advantage of that, used him callously to pair with old maids, faded +wives, and homely debutantes. + +What impellent was driving him toward these introspections? Kitty, +Molly's girl. Each time he saw her or thought of her - the uninvited +ghost of her mother. Any other man upon seeing Kitty or thinking +about her would have jumped into the future from the spring of a +dream. The disparity in years would not have mattered. It was all +nonsense, of course. But for his dropping into the office and +casually picking up the thread of his acquaintance with Kitty, Molly + - the memory of her - would have gone on dimming. Actions, +tremendous and world-wide, had set his vision toward the future; he +had been too busy to waste time in retrospection and introspection. +Thus, instead of a gently rising and falling tide, healthily +recurrent, a flood of mixed longings that was swirling him into +uncertain depths. Those emeralds had bobbed up just in time. The +chase would serve to pull him out of this bog. + +He heard a footstep and looked up. The nurse was beckoning to him. + +"What is it?" + +"He's awake, and there is sanity in his eyes." + +"Great! Has he talked?" + +"No. The awakening happened just this moment, and I came to you. +You never can tell about blows on the skull or brain fever - never +any two eases alike." + +Cutty threw down his napkin and accompanied the nurse to the bedside. +The glance of the patient trailed from Cutty to the nurse and back. + +"Don't talk," said Cutty. "Don't ask any questions. Take it easy +until later in the day. You are in the hands of persons who wish +you well. Eat what the nurse gives you. When the right time comes +we'll tell you all about ourselves, You've been robbed and beaten. +But the men who did it are under arrest." + +"One question," said the patient, weakly. + +"Well, just one." + +"A girl - who gave me something to eat?" + +"Yes. She fed you, and later probably your life." + +"Thanks." Hawksley closed his eyes. + +Cutty and the nurse watched him interestedly for a few minutes; but +as he did not stir again the nurse took up her temperature sheet and +Cutty returned to his eggs. Was there a girl? No question about +the emeralds, no interest in the day and the hour. Was there a +girl? The last person he had seen, Kitty; the first question, after +coming into the light: Had he seen her? Then and there Cutty knew +that when he died he would carry into the Beyond, of all his earthly +possessions - a chuckle. Human beings! + +The yarn that reporter had missed by a hair - front page, +eight-column head! But he had missed it, and that was the main thing. +The poor devil! Beaten and without a sou marque in his pockets, his +trail was likely to be crowded without the assistance of any +newspaper publicity. But what a yarn! What a whale of a yarn! + +In his fevered flights Hawksley had spoken of having paid Kitty for +that meal. + +Kitty had said nothing about it. Supposing - + +"Telephone, sair," announced the Jap. "Lady." + +Molly's girl! Cutty sprinted to the telephone. + +"Hello! That you, Kitty?" + +"Yes. How is Johnny Two-Hawks?" + +"Back to earth." + +'When can I see him? I'm just crazy to know what the story is!" + +"Say the third or fourth day from this. We'll have him shaved and +sitting up then." + +"Has he talked?" + +"Not permitted. Still determined to stay the run of your lease?" +Cutty heard a laugh. "All right. Only I hope you will never have +cause to regret this decision." + +"Fiddlesticks! All I've got to do in danger is to press a button, +and presto! here's Bernini." + +"Kitty, did Hawksley pay you for that meal?" + +"Good heavens, no! What makes you ask that?" + +"In his delirium he spoke of having paid you. I didn't know." +Cutty's heart began to rap against his ribs. Supposing, after all, +Karlov hadn't the stones? Supposing Hawksley had hidden them +somewhere in Kitty's kitchen? + +"Anything about Gregor?" + +"No. Remember, you're to call me up twice a day and report the news. +Don't go out nights if you can avoid it." + +"I'll be good," Kitty agreed. "And now I must hie me to the job. +Imagine, Cutty ! - writing personalities about stage folks and +gabfesting with Burlingame and all the while my brain boiling with +this affair! The city room will kill me, Cutty, if it ever finds +out that I held back such a yarn. But it wouldn't he fair to Johnny +Two-Hawks. Cutty, did you know that your wonderful drums of jeopardy +are here in New York?" + +"What?" barked Cutty. + +"Somebody is offering to buy them. There was an advertisement in +the paper this morning. Cutty?" + +"Yes." + +"The first problem in arithmetic is two and two make four. By-by!" + +Dizzily Cutty hung up the receiver. He had not reckoned on the +possibility of Kitty seeing that damfool advertisement. Two and +two made four; and four and four made eight; so on indefinitely. +That is to say, Kitty already had a glimmer of the startling truth. +The initial misstep on his part had been made upon her pronouncement +of the name Stefani Gregor. He hadn't been able to control his +surprise. And yesterday, having frankly admitted that he knew +Gregor, all that was needed to complete the circle was that +advertisement. Cutty tore his hair, literally. The very door he +hoped she might overlook he had thrown open to her. + +Thaddeus of Warsaw. But it should not be. He would continue to +offer a haven to that chap; but no nonsense. None of that sinister +and unfortunate blood should meddle with Kitty Conover's happiness. +Her self-appointed guardian would attend to that. + +He realized that his attitude was rather inexplicable; but there +were some adventures which hypnotized women; and one of this sort +was now unfolding for Kitty. That she had her share of common +sense was negligible in face of the facts that she was imaginative +and romantical and adventuresome, and that for the first time she +was riding one of the great middle currents in human events. She +was Molly's girl; Cutty was going to look out for her. + +Mighty odd that this fear for her should have sprung into being that +night, quite illogically. Prescience? He could not say. Perhaps +it was a borrowed instinct - fatherly; the same instinct that would +have stirred her father into action - the protection of that dearest +to him. + +If he told her who Hawksley really was, that would intrigue her. If +he made a mystery of the affair, that, too, would intrigue her. And +there you were, 'twixt the devil and the deep blue sea. Hang it, +what evil luck had stirred him to tell her about those emeralds? +Already she was building a story to satisfy her dramatic fancy. Two +and two made four - which signified that she was her father's +daughter, that she would not rest until she had explored every corner +of this dark room. Wanting to keep her out of it, and then dragging +her into it through his cupidity. Devil take those emeralds! Always +the same; trouble wherever they were. + +The real danger would rise during the convalescence. Kitty would be +contriving to drop in frequently; not to see Hawksley especially, but +her initial success in playing hide and seek with secret agents, +friendly and otherwise, had tickled her fancy. For a while it would +be an exciting game; then it might become only a means to an end. +Well, it should not be. + +Was there a girl! Already Hawksley had recorded her beauty. Very +well; the first sign of sentimental nonsense, and out he should go, +Karlov or no Karlov. Kitty wasn't going to know any hurt in this +affair. That much was decided. + +Cutty stormed into his study, growling audibly. He filled a pipe +and smoked savagely. Another side, Kitty's entrance into the drama +promised to spoil his own fun; he would have to play two games +instead of one. A fine muddle! + +He came to a stand before one of the windows and saw the glory of +the morning flashing from the myriad spires and towers and roofs, +and wondered why artists bothered about cows in pastures. + +Touching his knees was an antique Florentine bridal chest, with +exquisite carving and massive lock. He threw back the lid and +disclosed a miscellany never seen by any eye save his own. It was +all the garret he had. He dug into it and at length resurrected +the photograph of a woman whose face was both roguish and beautiful. +He sat on the floor a la Turk and studied the face, his own tender +and wistful. No resemblance to Kitty except in the eyes. How +often he had gone to her with the question burning his lips, only +to carry it away unspoken! He turned over the photograph and read: +"To the nicest man I know. With love from Molly." With love. And +he had stepped aside for Tommy Conover! + +By George! He dropped the photograph into the chest, let down the +lid, and rose to his feet. Not a bad idea, that. To intrigue Kitty +himself, to smother her with attentions and gallantries, to give her +out of his wide experience, and to play the game until this intruder +was on his way elsewhere. + +He could do it; and he based his assurance upon his experiences and +observations. Never a squire of dames, he knew the part. He had +played the game occasionally in the capitals of Europe when there +had been some information he had particularly desired. Clever, +scheming women, too. A clever, passably good-looking elderly man +could make himself peculiarly attractive to young women and women in +the thirties. Dazzlement for the young; the man who knew all about +life, the trivial little courtesies a younger man generally forgot; +the moving of chairs, the holding of wraps; the gray hairs which +served to invite trust and confidence, which lulled the eternal +feminine fear of the male. To the older women, no callow youth but +a man of discernment, discretion, wit and fancy and daring, who +remembered birthdays husbands forgot, who was always round when +wanted. + +There was no vanity back of these premises. Cutty was merely +reaching about for an expedient to thwart what to his anticipatory +mind promised to be an inevitability. Of course the glamour would +not last; it never did, but he felt he could sustain it until +yonder chap was off and away. + +That evening at five-thirty Kitty received a box of beautiful roses, +with Cutty's card. + +"Oh, the lovely things!" she cried. + +She kissed them and set them in a big copper jug, arranged and +rearranged them for the simple pleasure it afforded her. What a +dear man this Cutty was, to have thought of her in this fashion! +Her father's friend, her mother's, and now hers; she had inherited +him. This thought caused her to smile, but there were tears in her +eyes. A garden some day to play in, this mad city far away, a home +of her own; would it ever happen? + +The bell rang. She wasn't going to like this caller for taking her +away from these roses, the first she had received in a long time + - roses she could keep and not toss out the window. For it must not +be understood that Kitty was never besieged. + +Outside stood a well-dressed gentleman, older than Cutty, with +shrewd, inquiring gray eyes and a face with strong salients. + +"Pardon me, but I am looking for a man by the name of Stephen +Gregory. I was referred by the janitor to you. You are Miss +Conover?" + +"Yes," answered Kitty. "Will you come in?" She ushered the stranger +into the living room and indicated a chair. "Please excuse me for a +moment." Kitty went into her bedroom and touched the danger button, +which would summon Bernini. She wanted her watchdog to see the +visitor. She returned to the living room. "What is it you wish to +know?" + +"Where I may find this Gregory." + +"That nobody seems able to answer. He was carried away from here in +an ambulance; but we have been unable to locate the hospital. If +you will leave your name - " + +"That is not necessary. I am out of bounds, you might say, and I'd +rather my name should be left out of the affair, which is rather +peculiar." + +"In what way?" + +"I am only an agent, and am not at liberty to speak. Could you +describe Gregory?" + +"Then he is a stranger to you?" + +"Absolutely." + +Kitty described Gregor deliberately and at length. It struck her +that the visitor was becoming bored, though he nodded at times. She +was glad to hear Bernini's ring. She excused herself to admit the +Italian. + +"A false alarm," she whispered. "Someone inquiring for Gregor. I +thought it might be well for you to see him." + +"I'll work the radiator stuff." + +"Very well." + +Bernini went into the living room and fussed over the steam cock of +the radiator. + +"Nothing the matter with it, miss. Just stuck." + +"Sorry to have troubled you," said the stranger, rising and picking +up his hat. + +Bernini went down to the basement, obfuscated; for he knew the +visitor. He was one of the greatest bankers in New York - that is +to say, in America! Asking questions about Stefani Gregor! + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +About nine o'clock that same night a certain rich man, having +established himself comfortably under the reading lamp, a fine book +in his hands and a fine after-dinner cigar between his teeth, was +exceedingly resentful when his butler knocked, entered, and presented +a card. + +"My orders were that I was not at home to any one." + +"Yes, sir. But he said you would see him because he came to see you +regarding a Mr. Gregory." + +"What?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Damn these newspapers! ... Wait, wait!" the banker called, for +the butler was starting for the door to carry the anathema to the +appointed head. "Bring him in. He's a big bug, and I can't afford +to affront him." + +"Yes, sir" - with the colourless tone of a perfect servant. + +When the visitor entered he stopped just beyond the threshold. He +remained there even after the butler closed the door. Blue eye and +gray clashed; two masters of fence who had executed the same stroke. +The banker laughed and Cutty smiled. + +"I suppose," said the banker, "you and I ought to sign an armistice, +too." + +"Agreed." + +"And you've always been rather a puzzle to me. A rich man, a +gentleman, and yet sticking to the newspaper game." + +"And you're a puzzle to me, too. A rich man, a gentleman, and yet +sticking to the banking game." + +"What the devil was our row about?" + +"Can't quite recall." + +"Whatever it was it was the way you went at it." + +"A reform was never yet accomplished by purring and pussyfooting," +said Cutty. + +"Come over and sit down. Now, how the devil did you find out about +this Gregory affair?" The banker held out his hand, which Cutty +grasped with honest pressure. "If you are here in the capacity of a +newspaper man, not a word out of me. Have a cigar?" + +"I never smoke anything but pipes that ruin curtains. You should +have given your name to Miss Conover." + +"I was under promise not to explain my business. But before we +proceed, an answer. Newspaper?" + +"No. I represent the Department of Justice. And we'll get along +easier when I add that I possess rather unlimited powers under that +head. How did you happen to stumble into this affair?" + +"Through Captain Rathbone, my prospective son-in-law, who is in +Coblenz. A cable arrived this morning, instructing me to proceed +precisely in the manner I did. Rathbone is an intimate friend of +the man I was actually seeking. The apartment of this man Gregory +was mentioned to Rathbone in a cable as a possible temporary abiding +place. What do you want to know?" + +"Whether or not he is undesirable." + +"Decidedly, I should say, desirable." + +"You make that statement as an American citizen?" + +"I do. I make it unreservedly because my future son-in-law is +rather a difficult man to make friends with. I am acting merely +as Rathbone's agent. On the other hand, I should be a cheerful +liar if I told you I wasn't interested. What do you know?" + +"Everything," answered Cutty, quietly. + +"You know where this young man is?" + +"At this moment he is in my apartment, rather seriously battered and +absolutely penniless." + +"Well, I'll be tinker-dammed! You know who he is, of course?" + +"Yes. And I want all your information so that I may guide my future +actions accordingly. If he is really undesirable he shall be +deported the moment he can stand on his two feet." + +The banker pyramided his fingers, rather pleased to learn that he +could astonish this interesting beggar. "He has on account at my +bank half a million dollars. Originally he had eight hundred +thousand. The three hundred thousand, under cable orders from +Yokohama, was transferred to our branch in San Francisco. This was +withdrawn about two weeks ago. How does that strike you?" + +"All in a heap," confessed Cutty. "When was this fund established +with you?" + +"Shortly before Kerensky's government blew up. The funds were in +our London bank. There was, of course, a lot of red tape, excessive +charges in exchange, and all that. Anyhow, about eight hundred +thousand arrived." + +"What brought him to America? Why didn't he go to England? That +would have been the safest haven." + +"I can explain that. He intends to become an American citizen. Some +time ago he became the owner of a fine cattle ranch in Montana." + +"Well, I'll be tinker-dammed, too!" exploded Cutty. + +"A young man with these ideas in his head ought eventually to become +a first-rate citizen. What do you say?" + +"I am considerably relieved. His forbears, the blood - " + +"His mother was a healthy Italian peasant - a famous singer in her +time. His fortune, I take it, was his inheritance from her. She +made a fortune singing in the capitals of Europe and speculating +from time to time. She sent the boy, at the age of ten, to England. +Afraid of the home influence. He remained there, under the name of +Hawksley, for something like fourteen years, under the guardianship +of this fellow Gregory. Of Gregory I know positively nothing. The +young fellow is, to all purposes, methods of living, points of view, +an Englishman. Rathbone, who was educated at Oxford, met him there +and they shared quarters. But it was only in recent years that he +learned the identity of his friend. In 1914 the young fellow +returned to Russia. Military obligations. That's all I know. +Mighty interesting, though." + +"I am much obliged to you. The white elephant becomes a normal drab +pachyderm," said Cutty. + +"Still something of an elephant on your hands. I see. Bring him +here if you wish." + +"And sic the Bolshevik at your door." + +"That's so. You spoke of his having been beaten and robbed. +Bolshevik?" + +"Yes. An old line of reasoning first put into effect by Oliver +Cromwell. The axe." + +"The poor devil!" + +"Fact. I'm sorry for him, but I wish he would blow away conveniently." + +"Rathbone says he's handsome, gay, but decent, considering. Humanity +is being knocked about some. The hour has come for our lawyers to go +back to their offices. Politics must step aside for business. We +ought to hang up signs in every state capitol in the country: 'Men +Wanted - Specialists.' A steel man from Pittsburgh, a mining man from +Idaho, a shipowner from Boston, a meat packer from Omaha, a grain man +from Chicago. What the devil do lawyers know about these things - the +energies that make the wheels of this country go round? By the way, +that Miss Conover was a remarkably pretty girl. She seemed to be a bit +suspicious of me." + +"Good reasons. That chap went to Gregor's - Gregor is his name - +and was beaten, robbed, and left for dead. She saved his life." + +"Good Lord! Does she know?" + +"No. And what's more, I don't want her to. I am practically her +guardian." + +"Then you ought to get her out of that roost." + +"Hang it, I can't get her to leave. I'm not legally her guardian; +self-appointed. But she has agreed to leave in May." + +"I'm glad you dropped in. Command me in any way you please." + +"That's very good of you, considering." + +"The war is over. We'd be a fine pair of fools to let an ancient +grudge go on. They tell me you've a wonderful apartment on top of +that skyscraper of yours." + +"Will you come to dinner some night?" + +"Any time you say. I should like to bring my daughter." + +"She doesn't know?" + +"No. Heard of Hawksley; thinks he's English." + +"I am certainly agreeable." This would be a distinct advantage to +Kitty. "I see you have a good book there. I'll take myself off." + +In the Avenue Cutty loaded his pipe. He struck a match on the +flagstone and cupped it over the bowl of his pipe, thereby throwing +his picturesque countenance into ruddy relief. Opposite emotions +filled the hearts of the two men watching him - in one, chagrin; in +the other, exultation. + +Cutty decided to walk downtown, the night being fine. He set his +foot to a long, swinging stride. An elephant on his hands, truly. +Poor devil, for a fad! Nobody wanted him, not even those who wished +him well. Wanted to become an American citizen. He would have been +tolerably safe in England. Here he would never be free of danger. +A ranch. The beggar would have a chance out there in the West. The +anarchist and the Bolshevik were town cooties. His one chance, +actually. The poor devil! Kitty had the right idea. It was a +mighty fine thing, these times, to be a citizen under the protection +of the American doctrine. + +Three hundred thousand! And Karlov had got that along with the drums. +The devil's own for luck! The fool would be able to start some fine +ructions with all that capital behind him. Episodes in the night. + +Kitty dreamed of wonderful rose gardens, endless and changing; but +strive as she would she could not find Cutty anywhere, which worried +her, even in her dream. + +The nurse heard the patient utter a single word several times before +he fell asleep. + +"What is it?" she asked. + +"Fan!" And he smiled. + +She hunted for the palm leaf, but with a slight gesture he signified +that that was not what he wanted. + +Cutty played solitaire with his chrysoprase until the telephone +broke in upon his reveries. What he heard over the wire disturbed +him greatly. + +"You were followed from the Avenue to the apartment." + +"How do you know?" + +"I am Henderson. You assigned me to watch the apartment in Eightieth +through the night. I followed the man who followed you. He saw your +face when you lit the pipe. When the banker left Miss Conover he was +followed home. That established him in the affair. The follower hung +round, and so did I. You appeared. He took a chance shot in the dark. +Not sure, but doing a bit of clever guessing." + +"You still followed him?" + +"Yes." + +"Where did he wind up?" + +"A house in the warehouse district. Vacant warehouses on each side. +Some new nest. I can lead you to it, sir, any time you wish." + +"Thanks." + +Cutty pushed aside the telephone and returned to his green stones. +After all, why worry? It was unfortunate, of course, but the +apartment was more inaccessible than the top of the Matterhorn. +Still, they might discover what his real business was and interfere +seriously with his future work on the other side. A ruin in the +warehouse district? A good place to look for Stefani Gregor - if +he were still alive. + +He was. And in his dark room he cried piteously for water - water + - water! + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +A March day, sunny and cloudless, with fresh, bracing winds. Green +things pushed up from the soil; an eternal something was happening +to the tips of the tree branches; an eternal something was happening +in young hearts. A robin shook the dust of travel from his wings +and bathed publicly in a park basin. + +Here and there under the ten thousand roofs of the great city poets +were busy with inkpots, trying to say an old thing in a new way. +Woe to the pinched soul that did not expand this day, for it was +spring. Expansion! Nature - perhaps she was relenting a little, +perhaps she saw that humanity was sliding down the scale, withering, +and a bit of extra sunshine would serve to check the descension and +breed a little optimism. + +Cutty's study. The sunlight, thrown westward, turned windows and +roofs and towers into incomparable bijoux. The double reflection +cast a white light into the room, lifting out the blue and old-rose +tints of the Ispahan rug. + +Cutty shifted the chrysoprase, irresolutely for him. A dozen +problems, and it was mighty hard to decide which to tackle first. +Principally there was Kitty. He had not seen her in four days, +deeming it advisable for her not to call for the present. The +Bolshevik agent who had followed him from the banker's might +decide, without the aid of some connecting episode, that he had +wasted his time. + +It did not matter that Kitty herself was no longer watched and +followed from her home to the office, from the office home. Was +Karlov afraid or had he some new trick up his sleeve? It was not +possible that he had given up Hawksley. He was probably planning +an attack from some unexpected angle. To be sure that Karlov +would not find reason to associate him with Kitty, Cutty had +remained indoors during the daytime and gone forth at night in +his dungarees. + +Problem Two was quite as formidable. The secret agent who had +passed as a negotiator for the drums of jeopardy had disappeared. +That had sinister significance. Karlov did not intend to sell the +drums; merely wanted precise information regarding the man who had +advertised for them. If the secret-service man weakened under +torture, Cutty recognized that his own usefulness would be at an +end. He would have to step aside and let the great currents sweep +on without him. In that event these fifty-two years would pile +upon his head, full measure; for the only thing that kept him +vigorous was action, interest. Without some great incentive he +would shrivel up and blow away - like some exhumed mummy. + +Problem Three. How the deuce was he going to fascinate Kitty if +he couldn't see her? But there was a bit of silver lining here. +If he couldn't see her, what chance had Hawksley? The whole sense +and prompting of this problem was to keep Kitty and Hawksley apart. +How this was accomplished was of no vital importance. Problem +Three, then, hung fire for the present. Funny, how this idea stuck +in his head, that Hawksley was a menace to Kitty. One of those fool +ideas, probably, but worth trying out. + +Problem Four. That night, all on his own, he would make an attempt +to enter that old house sandwiched between the two vacant warehouses. +Through pressure of authority he had obtained keys to both warehouses. +There would be a trap on the roof of that house. Doubtless it would +be covered with tin; fairly impregnable if latched below. But he +could find out. From the third-floor windows of either warehouse +the drop was not more than six feet. If anywhere in town poor old +Stefani Gregor would be in one of those rooms. But to storm the +house frontally, without being absolutely sure, would be folly. +Gregor would be killed. The house was in fact an insane asylum, +occupied by super-insane men. Warned, they were capable of blowing +the house to kingdom come, themselves with it. + +Problem Five was a mere vanishing point. He doubted if he would +ever see those emeralds. What an infernal pity! + +He built a coronet and leaned back, a wisp of smoke darting up from +the bowl of his pipe. + +"I say, you know, but that's a ripping game to play!" drawled a +tired voice over his shoulder. + +Cutty turned his head, to behold Hawksley, shaven, pale, and +handsome, wrapped in a bed quilt and swaying slightly. + +"What the deuce are you doing out of your room?" growled Cutty, but +with the growl of a friendly dog. + +Hawksley dropped into a chair weakly. "End of my rope. Got to talk +to someone. Go dotty, else. Questions. Skull aches with 'em. Want +to know whether this is a foretaste of the life I have a right to +live - or the beginning of death. Be a good sport, and let's have +it out." + +"What is it you wish to know?" asked Cutty, gently. The poor beggar! + +"Where I am. Who you are. What happened to me. What is going to +happen to me," rather breathlessly. "Don't want any more suspense. +Don't want to look over my shoulder any more. Straight ahead. All +the cards on the table, please." + +Cutty rose and pushed the invalid's chair to a window and drew another +up beside it. + +"My word, the top of the world! Bally odd roost." + +"You will find it safer here than you would on the shores of Kaspuskoi +More," replied Cutty, gravely. "The Caspian wouldn't be a healthy place +for you now." + +With wide eyes Hawksley stared across the shining, wavering roofs. A +pause. "What do you know?" he asked, faintly. + +"Everything. But wait!" Cutty fetched one of the photographs and laid +it upon the young man's knees. "Know who this is - Two-Hawks?" + +A strained, tense gesture as Hawksley seized the photograph; then +his chin sank slowly to his chest. A moment later Cutty was +profoundly astonished to see something sparkle on its way down the +bed quilt. Tears! + +"I'm sorry!" cried Cutty, troubled and embarrassed. "I'm terribly +sorry! I should have had the decency to wait a day or two." + +"On the contrary, thank you!" Hawksley flung up his head. "Nothing +in all God's muddied world could be more timely - the face of my +mother! I am not ashamed of these tears. I am not afraid to die. +I am not even afraid to live. But all the things I loved - the +familiar earth, the human beings, my dog - gone. I am alone." + +"I'm sorry," repeated Cutty, a bit choked up. This was honest +misery and it affected him deeply. He felt himself singularly drawn. + +"I want to live. Because I am young? No. I want to prove to the +shades of those who loved me that I am fit to go on. So my identity +is known to you?" - dejectedly. + +"Yes. You wish me to forget what I know?" + +"Will you?" - eagerly. "Will you forget that I am anything but a +naked, friendless human being?" + +"Yes. But your enemies know." + +"I rather fancy they will keep the truth to themselves. Let them +publish my identity, and a hundred havens would be offered. Your +Government would protect me." + +"It is doing so now, indirectly. But why do you not want it known?" + +"Freedom! Would I have it if known? Could I trust anybody? Would +it not be essentially the old life in a new land? I want a new life +in a new land. I want to be born again. I want to be what you +patently are, an American. That is why I risked life a hundred +times in coming all these miles, why I sit in this chair before you, +with the room rocking because they battered in my head. I do not +offer a human wreck, an illiterate mind, in exchange for citizenship. +I bring a tolerably decent manhood. Try me! Always I have admired +you people. Always we Russians have. But there is no Russia now +that I can ever return to!" Hawksley's head drooped again and his +bloodshot eyes closed. + +Cutty sensed confusion, indecision; all his deductions were upset +in the face of this strange appeal. Russian, born of an Italian +mother and speaking Oxford English as if it were his birthright; and +wanting citizenship! Wasn't ashamed of his tears; wasn't afraid to +die or to live! Cutty searched quickly for a new handhold to his +antagonism, but he found only straws. He was honest enough to +realize that he had built this antagonism upon a want, a desire; +there was no foundation for it. Downright likeable. A chap who had +gone through so much, who was in such a pitiable condition, would +not have the wit to manufacture character, camouflage his soul. + +"Hang it!" he said, briskly. "You shall have your chance. Talk like +that will carry a man anywhere in this country. You shall stay here +until you are strong again. Then some night I'll put you on your +train for Montana. You want to ask questions. I'll save you the +trouble by telling you what I know." + +But his narrative contained no mention of the emeralds. Why? A bit +conscience-stricken because, if he could, he was going to rob his +guest on the basis that findings is keepings? Cutty wasn't ready to +analyze the omission. Perhaps he wanted Hawksley himself to inquire +about the stones; test him out. If he asked frankly that would +signify that he had brought the stones in honestly, paid his +obligations to the Customs. Otherwise, smuggling; and in that event +conscience wouldn't matter; the emeralds became a game anybody could +take a hand in - anybody who considered the United States Customs an +infringement upon human rights. + +What a devil of a call those stones had for him! Did they mean +anything to Hawksley aside from their intrinsic value? But for the +nebulous idea, originally, that the emeralds were mixed up somewhere +in this adventure, Cutty knew that he would have sent Hawksley to a +hospital, left him to his fate, and never known who he was. + +All through the narration Hawksley listened motionless, with his eyes +closed, possibly to keep the wavering instability of the walls from +interfering with his assimilation of this astonishing series of fact. + +"Found you insensible on the floor," concluded Cutty, "hoisted you to +my shoulders, took you to the street - and here you are!" + +Hawksley opened his eyes. "I say, you know, what a devil of an old +Sherlock you must be! And you carried me on your shoulders across that +fire escape? Ripping! When I stepped back into that room I heard a +rushing sound. I knew! But I didn't have the least chance.... You +and that bully girl!" + +Cutty swore under his breath. He had taken particular pains to +avoid mentioning Kitty; and here, first off, the fat was in the fire. +He remembered now that he had told Hawksley that Kitty had saved his +life. Fortunately, the chap wasn't keen enough with that banged-up +head of his to apply reason to the omission. + +"Saved my life. Suppose she doesn't want me to know." + +Cutty jumped at this. "Doesn't care to be mixed up with the +Bolshevik end of it. Besides, she doesn't know who you are." + +"The fewer that know the better. But I'll always remember her +kindness and that bally pistol with the fan in it. But you? Why +did you bother to bring me up here?" + +"Couldn't decently leave you where Karlov could get to you again." + +"Is Stefani Gregor dead?" + +"Don't know; probably not. But we are hunting for him." Cutty had +not explained his interest in Gregor. Those plaguey stones again. +They were demoralizing him. Loot. + +"You spoke of Karlov. Who is he?" + +"Why, the man who followed you across half the world." + +"There were many. What is he like?" + +"A gorilla." + +"Ah !" Hawksley became galvanized and extended his fists. "God let +me live long enough to put my hands on him! I had the chance the +other day - to blot out his face with my boots! But I couldn't do +it! I couldn't do it!" He sagged in the chair. "No, no! Just a +bit groggy. All right in a moment." + +"By the Lord Harry, I'll see you through. Now buck up. Hear that?" +cried Cutty, throwing up a window. + +"Music." + +"Look through that street there. See the glint of bayonets? +American soldiers, marching up Fifth Avenue, thousands of them, +freemen who broke the vaunted Hlndenburg Line. God bless 'em! +Americans, every mother's son of 'em; who went away laughing, who +returned laughing, who will go back to their jobs laughing. The +ability to laugh, that's America. Do you know how to laugh?" + +"I used to. I'm jolly weak just now. But I'll grin if you want me +to." And Hawksley grinned. + +"That's the way. A grin in this country will take you quite as far. +All right. In five years you'll be voting. I'll see to that. Now +back to bed with you, and no more leaving it until the nurse says so. +What you need is rest." + +Cutty sent a call to the nurse, who was standing undecidedly in the +doorway; and together they put the derelict back to bed. Then Cutty +fetched the photograph and set it on top of the dresser, where +Hawksley could see it. + +"Now, no more gallivanting about." + +"I promise, old top. This bed is a little bit of all right. I say!" + +"What?" + +"How long am I to be here?" + +"If you're good, two weeks," interposed the nurse. + +"Two weeks? I say, would you mind doing me a trifling favour? I'd +like a violin to amuse myself with." + +"A fiddle? I don't know a thing about 'em except that they sound +good." Cutty pulled at his chin. + +"Whatever it costs I'll reimburse you the day I'm up." + +"All right. I'll bring you a bundle of them, and you can do your +own selecting." + +Out in the corridor the nurse said: "I couldn't hold him. But he'll +be easier now that he's got the questions off his mind. He will +have to be humoured a lot. That's one of the characteristics of +head wounds." + +"What do you think of him?" + +"He seems to be gentle and patient; and I imagine he's hard to resist +when he wants anything. Winning, you'd call it. I suppose I mustn't +ask who he really is?" + +"No. Poor devil. The fewer that know, the better. I'll be home +round three." + +Once in the street, Cutty was besieged suddenly with the irresistible +desire to mingle with the crowd over in the Avenue, to hear the +military bands, the shouts, to witness the gamut of emotions which +he knew would attend this epochal day. Of course he would view it +all from the aloof vantage of the historian, and store away +commentaries against future needs. + +And what a crowd it was! He was elbowed and pushed, jostled and +trod on, carried into the surges, relegated to the eddies; and always +the metallic taptap of steel-shod boots on the asphalt, the bayonets +throwing back the radiant sunshine in sharp, clear flashes. The +keen, joyous faces of those boys. God, to be young like that! To +have come through that hell on earth with the ability still to smile! +Cutty felt the tears running down his cheeks. Instinctively he knew +that this was to be his last thrill of this order. He was fifty-two. + +"Quit your crowding there!" barked a voice under his chin. + +"Sorry, but it's those behind me," said Cutty, looking down into a +florid countenance with a raggedy gray moustache and a pair of blue +eyes that were blinking. + +"I'm so damned short I can't see anything!" + +"Neither can I." + +"You could if you wiped your eyes." + +"You're crying yourself," declared Cutty. + +"Blinking jackass! Got anybody out there?" + +"All of 'em." + +"I get you, old son of a gun! No flesh and blood, but they're ours +all the same. Couple of old fools; huh?" + +"Sure pop! What right have two old codgers got here, anyhow? What +brought you out?" + +"What brought you?" + +"Same thing." + +"Damn it! If I could only see something!" + +Cutty put his hands upon the shoulders of this chance acquaintance +and propelled him toward the curb. There were cries of protest, +curses, catcalls, but Cutty bored on ahead until he got his man where +he could see the tin hats, the bayonets, and the colours; and thus +they stood for a full hour. Each time the flag went by the little +man yanked off his derby and turned truculently to see that Cutty +did the same. + +"Say," he said as they finally dropped back, "I'd offer to buy a +drink, only it sounds flat." + +"And it would taste flat after a mighty wine like this," replied +Cutty. "Maybe you've heard of the nectar of the gods. Well, you've +just drunk it, my friend." + +"I sure have. Those kids out there, smiling after all that hell; +and you and me on the sidewalk, blubbering over 'em! What's the +answer? We're Americans!" + +"You said it. Good-bye." + +Cutty pressed on to the flow and went along with it, lighter in the +heart than he had been in many a day. These two million who lined +Fifth Avenue, who cheered, laughed, wept, went silent, cheered again, +what did their presence here signify? That America's day had come; +that as a people they were homogeneous at last; that that which laws +had failed to bring forth had been accomplished by an ideal. + +Bolshevism, socialism - call it what you will - would beat itself +into fragments against this Rock of Democracy, which went down to +the centre of the world and whose pinnacle touched the stars. +Reincarnation; the simple ideals of the forefathers restored. And +with this knowledge tingling in his thoughts - and perhaps there +was a bit of spring in his heart - Cutty continued on, without +destination, chin jutting, eyes shining. He was an American! + +He might have continued on indefinitely had he not seen obliquely +a window filled with musical instruments. + +Hawksley's fiddle! He had all but forgotten. All right. If the +poor beggar wanted to scrape a fiddle, scrape it he should. The +least he, Cutty, could do would be to accede to any and every whim +Hawksley expressed. Wasn't he planning to rob the beggar of the +drums, happen they ever turned up? But how the deuce to pick out +a fiddle which would have a tune in it? Of all the hypercritical +duffers the fiddler was the worst. Beside a fiddler of the first +rank the rich old maid with the poodle was a hail fellow well met. + +Of course Gregor had taught the chap. That meant he would know +instantly; just as his host would instantly observe the difference +between green glass and green beryl. + +Cutty turned into the shop, infinitely amused. Fiddles! What next? +Having constituted a guardianship over Kitty, he was now playing +impressario to Hawksley. As if he hadn't enough parts to play! +Wouldn't he be risking his life to-night trying to find where Stefani +Gregor was? Fiddles! Fiddles and emeralds! What a choice old +hypocrite he was! + +Fate has a way of telling you all about it - afterward; conceivably, +that humanity might continue to reproduce its species. Otherwise +humanity would proceed to extinguish itself forthwith. Thus, Cutty +was totally unaware upon entering the shop that he was about to tear +off its hinges the door he was so carefully bolting and latching and +padlocking between Kitty Conover and this duffer who wanted to fiddle +his way through convalescence. + +Where there is fiddling there is generally dancing. If it be not the +feet, then it will be the soul. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +There are some men who know a little about all things and a great +deal about many. Such a man was Cutty. But as he approached the +counter behind which stood an expectant clerk he felt for once that +he was in a far country. There were fiddles and fiddles, just as +there were emeralds and emeralds. Never again would he laugh over +the story of the man who thought Botticelli was a manufacturer of +spool thread. He attacked the problem, however, like the +thoroughbred he was - frankly. + +"I want to buy a violin," he began, knowing that in polite musical +circles the word fiddle was taboo. "I know absolutely nothing at +all about quality or price. Understand, though, while you might be +able to fool me, you wouldn't fool the man I'm buying it for. Now +what would you suggest?" + +The clerk - a salesman familiar with certain urban types, thinly +including the Fifth Avenue, which came in for talking-machine +records - recognized in this well-dressed, attractive elderly man +that which he designated the swell. Hateful word, yes, but having +a perfectly legitimate niche, since in the minds of the hoi polloi +it nicely describes the differences between the poor gentleman and +the gentleman of leisure. To proceed with the digression, to no one +is the word more hateful than to the individual to whom it is +applied. Cutty would have blushed at the clerk's thought. + +"Perhaps I'd better get the proprietor," was the clerk's suggestion. + +"Good idea," Cutty agreed. "Take my card along with you." This was +a Fifth Avenue shop, and Cutty knew there would be a Who's Who or a +Bradstreet somewhere about. + +In the interim he inspected the case-lined walls. Trombones. He +chuckled. Lucky that Hawksley's talent didn't extend in this +direction. True, he himself collected drums, but he did not play +them. Something odd about music; human beings had to have it, the +very lowest in the scale. A universal magic. He was himself very +fond of good music; but these days he fought shy of it; it had the +faculty of sweeping him back into the twenties and reincarnating +vanished dreams. + +After a certain length of time, from the corner of his eye he saw +the clerk returning with the proprietor, the latter wearing an +amiable smile, which probably connoted a delving into the aforesaid +volumes of attainment and worth. Cutty hoped this was so, as it +would obviate the necessity of going into details as to who he was +and what he had. + +"Your name is familiar to me," began the proprietor. "You collect +antique drums. My clerk tells me that you wish to purchase a good +violin." + +"Very good. I have in my apartment rather a distinguished guest +who plays the violin for his own amusement. He is ill and cannot +select for himself. Now I know a little about music but nothing +about violins." + +"I suggest that I personally carry half a dozen instruments to your +apartment and let your guest try them. How much is he willing to +pay?" + +"Top price, I should say. Shall I make a deposit?" + +"If you don't mind. Merely precautionary. Half a dozen violins +will represent quite a sum of money; and taxicabs are unreliable +animals. A thousand against accidents. What time shall I call?" +The proprietor's curiosity was stirred. Musical celebrities, as he +had occasion to know, were always popping up in queer places. Some +new star probably, whose violin had been broken and who did not +care to appear in public before the hour of his debut. + +"Three o'clock," said Cutty. + +"Very well, sir. I promise to bring the violins myself." + +Cutty wrote out his check for a thousand and departed, the chuckle +still going on inside of him. Versatile old codger, wasn't he? + +Promptly at three the dealer arrived, his arms and his hands gripping +violin cases. Cutty hurried to his assistance, accepted a part of +the load, and beckoned to the man to follow him. The cases were +placed on the floor, and the dealer opened them, putting the rosin +on a single bow. + +Hawksley, a fresh bandage on his head, his shoulders propped by +pillows, eyed the initial manoeuvres with frank amusement. + +"I say, you know, would you mind tuning them for me? I'm not top +hole." + +The dealer's eyebrows went up. An Englishman? Bewildered, he bent +to the trifling labour of tuning the violins. Hawksley rejected the +first two instruments after thrumming the strings with his thumb. +He struck up a melody on the third but did not finish it. + +"My word! If you have a violin there why not let me have it at once?" + +The dealer flushed. "Try this, sir. But I do not promise you that +I shall sell it." + +"Ah!" Hawksley stretched out his hands to receive the instrument. + +Of course Cutty had heard of Amati and Stradivari, master and pupil. +He knew that all famous violinists possessed instruments of these +schools, and that such violins were practically beyond the reach of +many. Only through some great artist's death or misfortune did a +fine violin return to the marts. But the rejected fiddles had +sounded musically enough for him and looked as if they were well up +in the society of select fiddles. The fiddle Hawksley now held in +his hands was dull, almost black. The maple neck was worn to a +shabby gray and the varnish had been sweated off the chin rest. + +Hawksley laid his fingers on the strings and drew the bow with a +powerful flourishing sweep. The rich, sonorous tones vibrated after +the bow had passed. Then followed the tricks by which an artist +seeks to discover flaws or wolf notes. A beatific expression settled +upon Hawksley face. He nestled the violin comfortably under his chin +and began to play softly. Cutty, the nurse, and the dealer became +images. + +Minors; a bit of a dance; more minors; nothing really begun, nothing +really finished - sketches, with a melancholy note running through +them all. While that pouring into his ears enchained his body it +stirred recollections in Cutty's mind: The fair at Novgorod; the +fiddling mountebanks; Russian. + +Perhaps the dealer's astonishment was greatest. An Englishman! Who +ever heard of an Englishman playing a violin like that? + +"I will buy it," said Hawksley, sinking back. + +"Sir," began the dealer, "I am horribly embarrassed. I cannot sell +that violin because it isn't mine. It is an Amati worth ten thousand +dollars." + +"I will give you twelve." + +"But, sir - " + +"Name a price," interrupted Hawksley, rather imperiously. "I want it." + +Cutty understood that he was witnessing a flash of the ancient blood. +To want anything was to have it. + +"I repeat, sir, I cannot sell it. It belongs to a Hungarian who is +now in Hungary. I loaned him fifteen hundred and took the Amati as +security. Until I learn if he is dead I cannot dispose of the +violin. I am sorry. But because you are a real artist, sir, I will +loan it to you if you will make a deposit of ten thousand against any +possible accident, and that upon demand you will return the instrument +to me." + +"That's fair enough," interposed Cutty. + +"I beg pardon," said Hawksley. "I agree. I want it, but not at the +price of any one's dishonesty." + +He turned his head toward Cutty, "You're a thoroughbred, sir. This +will do more to bring me round than all the doctors in the world." + +"But what the deuce is the difference?" Cutty demanded with a gesture +toward the rejected violins. + +The dealer and Hawksley exchanged smiles. Said the latter: "The +other violins are pretty wooden boxes with tolerable tunes in their +insides. This has a soul." He put the violin against his cheek +again. + +Massenet's "Elegie," Moszkowski's "Serenata," a transcription, and +then the aria from Lucia. Not compositions professional violinists +would have selected. Cutty felt his spine grow cold as this aria +poured goldenly toward heaven. He understood. Hawksley was telling +him that the shade of his glorious mother was in this room. The boy +was right. Some fiddles had souls. An odd depression bore down +upon him. Perhaps this surprising music, topping his great emotions +of the morning, was a straw too much. There were certain exaltations +that could not be sustained. + +A whimsical forecast: This chap here, in the dingy parlour of his +Montana ranch, playing these indescribable melodies to the stars, +his cowmen outside wondering what was the matter with their "inards." +Somehow this picture lightened the depression. + +"My fingers are stiff," said Hawksley. "My hand is tired. I should +like to be alone." He lay back rather inertly. + +In the corridor Cutty whispered to the dealer: "What do you think +of him?" + +"As he says, his touch shows a little stiffness, but the wonderful +fire is there. He's an amateur, but a fine one. Practice will +bring him to a finish in no time. But I never heard an Englishman +play a violin like that before." + +"Nor I," Cutty agreed. "When the owner sends for that fiddle let +me know. Mr. Hawksley might like to dicker for it. If you know +where the owner is you might cable that you have an offer of twelve +thousand." + +"I'm sorry, but I haven't the least idea where the owner is. However, +there is an understanding that if the loan isn't covered in eighteen +months the instrument becomes salable for my own protection. There +is a year still to run." + +Four o'clock found Cutty pacing his study, the room blue with smoke. +Of all the queer chaps he had met in his varied career this Two-Hawks +topped the lot. The constant internal turmoil that must be going on, +the instincts of the blood - artist and autocrat! And in the end, +the owner of a cattle ranch, if he had the luck to get there alive! +Dizzy old world. + +Something else happened at four o'clock. A policeman strolled into +Eightieth Street. He was at peace with the world. Spring was in +his whistle, in his stride, in the twirl of his baton. Whenever +he passed a shop window he made it serve as a mirror. No waistline +yet - a comforting thought. + +Children swarmed the street and gathered at corners. The older ones +played boldly in midstreet, while the toddlers invented games that +kept them to the sidewalk and curb. The policeman came stealthily +upon one of these latter groups - Italians. At the sight of his +brass buttons they fled precipitately. He laughed. Once in a month +of moons he was able to get near enough to touch them. Natural. +Hadn't he himself hiked in the old days at the sight of a copper? +Sure, he had. + +A bit of colour on the sidewalk attracted his eye, and he picked up +the object. Something those kids had been playing with. A bit of +red glass out of a piece of cheap jewellery. Not half bad for a +fake. He would put one over on Maggie when he turned in for supper. +Certainly this was the age of imitation. You couldn't buy a brass +button with any confidence. He put the trinket in his pocket and +continued on, soon to forget it. + +At six he was off duty. As he was leaving the precinct the desk +sergeant called him back. + +"Got change for a dollar, an' I'll settle that pinochle debt," +offered the sergeant. + +"I'll take a look." The policeman emptied his coin pocket. + +"What's that yuh got there?" + +"Which?" + +"The red stone?" + +"Oh, that? Picked it up on the sidewalk. Some Italian kids dropped +it as they skedaddled." + +"Let's have a look." + +"Sure." The policeman passed over the stone. + +"Gee! That looks like real money. Say, they can do anything with +glass these days." + +"They sure can. + +A man in civilian clothes - a detective from headquarters - went up +to the desk. "What you guys got there?" + +"A ruby this boob picks up off'n the sidewalk," said the sergeant, +winking at the finder, who grinned. + +"Let's have a squint at it." + +The stone was handed to him. The detective stared at it carefully, +holding it on his palm and rocking it gently under the desk light. +Crimson darts of flame answered to this treatment. He pushed back +his hat. + +"Well, you boobs!" he drawled. + +"What's the matter?" + +"Matter? Why, this is a ruby! A whale of a ruby, an' pigeon blood +at that! I didn't work in the' appraiser's office for nothing. But +for a broken point - kids probably tried to crack it - it would +stack up somewhere between three and four thousand dollars!" + +The sergeant and the policemen barked simultaneously: "What?" + +"A pigeon blood. Where was it you found it?" + +"Holy Moses! On Eightieth." + +"Any chance of finding that bunch of kids?" + +"Not a chance, not a chance! If I got the hull district here there +wouldn't be nothin' doin'. The kids'd be too scared t' remember +anything. A pigeon-blood ruby, an' I wasn't gonna pick it up at +first!" + +"Lock it up, sergeant," ordered the detective. "I'll pass the word +to headquarters. Too big for a ring. Probably fallen from a pin. +But there'll be a holler in a few hours. Lost or stolen, there'll +be some big noise. You two boobs!" + +"Well, whadda yuh know about that?" whined the policeman. "An' me +thinkin' it was glass!" + +But there was no big noise. No one had reported the loss or theft +of a pigeon-blood ruby of unusual size and quality. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +Kitty came home at nine that night, dreadfully tired. She had that +day been rocked by so many emotions. She had viewed the parade from +the windows of a theatrical agency, and she had cheered and cried +like everybody else. Her eyes still smarted, and her throat betrayed +her every time she recalled what she had seen. Those boys! + +Loneliness. She had dined downtown, and on the way home the shadow +had stalked beside her. Loneliness. Never before had these rooms +seemed so empty, empty. If God had only given her a brother and he +had marched in that glorious parade, what fun they two would be +having at this moment! Empty rooms; not even a pet. + +Loneliness. She had been a silly little fool to stand so aloof, +just because she was poor and lived in a faded locality. She mocked +herself. Poor but proud, like the shopgirl in the movies. Denied +herself companionship because she was ashamed of her genteel poverty. +And now she was paying for it. Silly little fool! It wasn't as if +she did not know how to make and keep friends. She knew she had +attractions. Just a senseless false pride. The best friends in the +world, after a series of rebuffs, would drop away. Her mother's +friends never called any more, because of her aloofness. She had +only a few girl friends, and even these no doubt were beginning to +think her uppish. + +She did not take off her hat and coat. She wandered through the +empty rooms, undecided. If she went to a movie the rooms would be +just as lonely when she returned. Companionship. The urge of it +was so strong that there was a temptation to call up someone, even +someone she had rebuffed. She was in the mood to confess everything +and to make an honest attempt to start all over again - to accept +friendship and let pride go hang. Impulsively she started for the +telephone, when the doorbell rang. + +Immediately the sense of loneliness fell away. Another chapter in +the great game of hide and seek that had kept her from brooding +until to-night? The doorbell carried a new message these days. +Nine o'clock. Who could be calling at that hour? She had forgotten +to advise Cutty of the fact that someone had gone through the +apartment. She could not positively assert the fact. Those articles +in her bureau she herself might have disturbed. She might have taken +a handkerchief in a hurry, hunted for something under the lingerie +impatiently. Still she could not rid herself of the feeling that +alien hands had been rifling her belongings. Not Bernini, decidedly. + +Remembering Cutty's advice about opening the door with her foot +against it, she peered out. No emissary of Bolshevisim here. A +weary little messenger boy with a long box in his arms called her +name. + +"Miz Conover?" + +"Yes." + +The boy thrust the box into her hands and clumped to the stairhead. +Kitty slammed the door and ran into the living room, tearing open +the box as she ran. Roses from Cutty; she knew it. The old darling! +Just when she was on the verge of breaking down and crying! She let +the box fall to the floor and cuddled the flowers to her heart, her +eyes filling. Cutty. + +One of those ideas which sometime or another spring into the minds +of all pretty women who are poor sprang into hers - an idea such as +an honest woman might muse over, only to reject. Sinister and +cynical. Kitty was at this moment in rather a desperate frame of +mind. Those two inherent characteristics, which she had fought +valiantly - love of good times and of pretty clothes - made ingress +easy for this sinister and cynical idea. Having gained a foothold +it pressed forward boldly. Cutty, who had everything - strength, +comeliness, wisdom, and money. To live among all those beautiful +things, never to be lonely again, to be waited on, fussed over, made +much of, taken into the high world. Never more to add up accounts, +to stretch five-dollar bills across the chasm of seven days. An +old man's darling! + +"No, no, no!" she burst out, passionately. She drew a hand across +her eyes. As if that gesture could rub out an evil thought! It is +all very well to say "Avaunt!" But if the idea will not? "I +couldn't, I couldn't! I'd be a liar and a cheat. But he is so +nice! If he did want me! ... No, no! Just for comforts! I +couldn't! What a miserable wretch I am!" + +She caught up the copper jug and still holding the roses to her +heart, the tears streaming down her cheeks, rushed out to the kitchen +for water. She dropped the green stems into the jug, buried her +face in the buds to cool the hot shame on her cheeks, and remembered + - what a ridiculous thing the mind was! - that she had three shirt +waists to iron. She set the jug on the kitchen table, where it +remained for many hours, and walked over to the range, to the +flatiron shelf. As she reached for a flatiron her hand stopped in +midair. + +A fat black wallet! Instantly she knew who had placed it there. +That poor Johnny Two-Hawks! + +Kitty lifted out the wallet from behind the flatirons. No doubt of +it, Johnny Two-Hawks had placed it there when she had gone to the +speaking tube to summon the janitor. Not knowing if he would ever +call for it! Preferring that she rather than his enemies should +have it. And without a word! What a simple yet amazing hiding +place; and but for the need of a flatiron the wallet would have +stayed there until she moved. Left it there, with the premonition +that he was heading into trouble. But what if they had killed him? +How would she have explained the wallet's presence in her apartment? +Good gracious, what an escape! + +Without direct consciousness she raised the flap. She saw the edges +of money and documents; but she did not touch anything. There was +no need. She knew it belonged to Johnny Two-Hawks. Of course there +was an appalling attraction. The wallet was, figuratively, begging +to be investigated. But resolutely she closed the flap. Why? +Because it was as though Two-Hawks had placed the wallet in her +hands, charging her to guard it against the day he reclaimed it. +There was no outward proof that the wallet was his. She just knew, +that was all. + +Still, she examined the outside carefully. In one corner had been +originally a monogram or a crest; effectually obliterated by the +application of fire. + +Who he was and what he was, by a simple turn of the wrist. It was +Cutty's affair now, not hers. He had a legal right to examine the +contents. He was an agent of the Federal Government. The drums of +jeopardy and Stefani Gregor and Johnny Two-Hawks, all interwoven. +She had waited in vain for Cutty to mention the emeralds. What +signified his silence? She had indirectly apprised him of the fact +that she knew the author of that advertisement offering to purchase +the drums, no questions asked. Who but Cutty in New York would know +about them? The mark of the thong. Johnny Two-Hawks had been +carrying the drums, and Karlov's men had torn them from their +victim's neck during the battle. Was there any reason why Cutty +should not have taken her completely into his confidence? Palaces +looted. If Stefani Gregor had lived in a palace, why not his +protege? Still, it was possible Cutty was holding back until he +could tell her everything. + +But what to do with it? If she called him up and made known her +discovery, Cutty would rush up as fast as a taxicab could bring him. +He had peremptorily ordered her not to come to his apartment for +the present. But to sit here and wait, to be alone again after he +had gone! It was not to be borne. Orders or no orders, she would +carry the wallet to him. He could lecture her as much as he pleased. +To-night, at least, she would lay aside her part as parlour maid +in the drama. It would give her something to do, keep her mind +off herself. Nothing but excitement would pull her out of this +semi-hysterical doldrum. + +She hid the wallet in the pocket of her underskirt. Already her +blood was beginning to dance. She ran into her bedroom for two +veils, a gray automobile puggree and one of those heavy black +affairs with butterflies scattered over it, quite as effectual as +a mask. She wound the puggree about her hat. When the right +moment came she would discard the puggree and drop the black veil. +Her coat was of dark blue, lined with steel-gray taffeta. Turned +inside out it would fool any man. She wore spats. These she would +leave behind when she made the change. + +Someone might follow her as far as the Knickerbocker, but beyond +there, never. She was sorry, but she dared not warn Bernini. He +might object, notify Cutty, and spoil everything. + +By the time she reached the street exhilaration suffused her. The +melancholia was gone. The sinister and cynical idea had vanished +apparently. Apparently. Merely it had found a hiding place and +was content to abide there for the present. Such ideas are not +without avenues of retreat; they know the hours of attack. Kitty +was alive to but one fact: The game of hide and seek was on again. +She was going to have some excitement. She was going into the +night on an adventure, as children play at bears in the dark. The +youth in her still rejected the fact that the woof and warp of this +adventure were murder and loot and pain. + +En route to the Subway she never looked back. At Forty-second Street +she detrained, walked into the Knickerbocker, entered the ladies +dressing room, turned her coat, redraped her hat, checked her +gaiters, and sought a taxi. Within two blocks of Cutty's she +dismissed the cab and finished the journey on foot. + +At the left of the lobby was an all-night apothecary's, with a door +going into the lobby. Kitty proceeded to the elevator through this +avenue. Number Four was down, and she stepped inside, raising her +veil. + +"You, miss?" + +"Very important. Take me up." + +"The boss is out." + +"No matter. Take me up. + +"You're the doctor!" What a pretty girl she was. No come-on in her +eyes, though. "The boss may not get back until morning. He just +went out in his engineer's togs. He sure wasn't expecting you. + +"Do you know where he went?" + +"Never know. But I'll be in this bird cage until he comes back." + +"I shall have to wait for him." + +"Up she goes!" + +As Kitty stepped out into the corridor a wave of confusion assailed +her. She hadn't planned against Cutty's absence. There was nothing +she could say to the nurse; and if Johnny Two-Hawks was asleep + - why, all she could do would be to curl up on a divan and await +Cutty's return. + +The nurse appeared. "You, Miss Conover?" + +"Yes." Kitty realized at once that she must take the nurse into her +confidence. "I have made a really important discovery. Did Cutty +say when he would return?" + +"No. I am not in his confidence to that extent. But I do know that +you assumed unnecessary risks in coming here." + +Kitty shrugged and produced the wallet. "Is Mr. Hawksley awake?" + +"He is." + +"It appears that he left this wallet in my kitchen that night. It +might buck him up if I gave it to him." + +The nurse, eyeing the lovely animated face, conceded that it might. +"Come, I've been trying futilely to read him asleep, but he is +restless. No excitement, please." + +"I'll try not to. Perhaps, after all, you had better give him the +wallet." + +"On the contrary, that would start a series of questions I could +not answer. Come along." + +When Kitty saw Hawksley she gave a little gasp of astonishment. Why, +he was positively handsome! His dark head, standing out boldly +against the bolstering pillows, the fine lines of his face definite, +the pallor - he was like a Roman cameo. Who and what could he be, +this picturesque foundling? + +His glance flashed into hers delightedly. For hours and hours the +constant wonder where she was, why no one mentioned her, why they +evaded his apparently casual questions. To burst upon his vision +in the nadir of his boredom and loneliness like this! She was +glorious, this American girl. She made him think of a golden +scabbard housing a fine Toledo blade. Hadn't she saved his life? +More, hadn't she assumed a responsibility in so doing? Instantly +he purposed that she should not be permitted to resign the office +of good Samaritan. He motioned toward the nurse's chair; and Kitty +sat down, her errand in total eclipse. + +"Just when I never felt so lonely! Ripping!" + +His quick smile was so engaging that Kitty answered it - kindred +spirits, subconsciously recognizing each other. Fire; but neither +of them knew that; or that two lonely human beings of opposite sex, +in touch, constitute a first-rate combustible. + +Quietly the nurse withdrew. There would be a tonic in this meeting +for the patient. Her own presence might neutralize the effect. She +had not spent all those dreadful months in base hospitals without +acquiring a keen insight into the needs of sick men. No harm in +letting him have this pretty, self-reliant girl alone to himself for +a quarter of an hour. She would then return with some broth. + +"How - how are you?" asked Kitty, inanely. + +"Top-hole, considering. Quite ready to be killed all over again." + +"You mustn't talk like that!" she protested. + + +"Only to show you I was bucking up. Thank you for doing what you +did." + +"I had to do it." + +"Most women would have run away and left me to my fate." + +"Not my kind." + +"Rather not! Your kind would risk its neck to help a stray cat. +I say, what's that you have in your hand?" + +"Good gracious!" Kitty extended the wallet. "It is yours, isn't it?" + +"Yes. I wanted you to bring it to me the way you have. If I hadn't +come back - out of that - it was to be yours." + +"Mine?" - dumfounded. "But - - " + +"Why not? Gregor gone, there wasn't a soul in the world. I was +hungry, and you gave me food. I wanted that to pay you. I'll wager +you've never looked into it." + +"I had no right to." + +"See!" He opened the wallet and spread the contents on the +counterpane. "I wasn't so stony as you thought. What? Cash and +unregistered bonds. They would have been yours absolutely." + +"But I don't - I can't quite," Kitty stammered - "but I couldn't +have kept them!" + +"Positively yes. You would have shown them to that ripping guardian +of yours, and he would have made you see." + +"Indeed, yes! He would have been scared to death. You poor man, +can't you see? Circumstantial evidence that I had killed you!" + +"Good Lord! And you're right, too! So it goes. You can't do +anything you want to do. The good Samaritan is never requited; and +I wanted to break the rule. Lord, what a bally mix-up I'd have +tumbled you in! I forgot that you were you, that you would have +gone straight to the authorities. Of course I knew if I pulled +through and you found the wallet you would bring it to me." + +Kitty no longer had a foot on earth. She floated. Her brain +floated, too, because she could not make it think coherently for +her. A fortune - for a dish of bacon and eggs! The magnificence, +the utter prodigality of such generosity! For a dish of bacon and +eggs and a bottle of milk! Had she left home? Hadn't she fallen +asleep, the victim of another nightmare? A corner of the atmosphere +cleared a little. A desire took form; she wanted the nurse to +come back and stabilize things. In a wavering blur she saw the +odd young man restore the money and bonds and other documents to +the wallet. + +"I want you to give this to your guardian when he comes in. I want +him to understand. I say, you know, I'm going to love that old +thoroughbred! He's fine. Fancy his carrying me on his shoulders +and eventually bringing me up here among the clouds! Americans.... +Are you all like that? And you!" + +Kitty's brain began to make preparations to alight, as it were. +Cutty. That gave her a touch of earth. She heard herself say +faintly: "And what about me?" + +"You were brave and kind. To help an unknown, friendless beggar +like that, when you should have turned him over to the police! +Makes me feel a bit stuffy. They left me for dead. I wonder - " + +"What?" + +"If - it wouldn't have been just as well!" + +"You mustn't talk like that! You just mustn't! You're with friends, +real friends, who want to help you all they can." And then with a +little flash of forced humour, because of the recurrent tightening +in her throat - "Who could be friendless, with all that money?" +Instantly she felt like biting her tongue. He would know nothing +of the sad American habit of trying to be funny to keep a wobbly +situation on its legs. He would interpret it as heartlessness. "I +didn't mean that!" With the Irish impulsiveness which generally +weighs acts in retrospection, she reached over and gripped his +hand. + +"I say, you two!" Hawksley closed his eyes for a second. "Wanting +to buck up a chap because you re that sort! All right. I'll stick +it out! You two! And I might be the worst scoundrel unhung!" + +He drew her hand toward his lips, and Kitty had not the power to +resist him. She felt strangely theatrical, a character in a play; +for American men, except in playful burlesque, never kissed their +women's hands. The moment he released the hand the old wave of +hysteria rolled over her. She must fly. The desire to weep, +little fool that she was! was breaking through her defences. +Loneliness. The two of them all alone but for Cutty. She rose, +crushing the wallet in her hand. + +Ah, never had she needed that darling mother of hers so much as +now. Tears did not seem to afford relief when one shed them into +handkerchiefs and pillows. But on that gentle bosom, to let +loose this brimming flood, to hear the tender voice consoling! + +"Oh, I say, now! Please!" she heard Johnny Two-Hawks cry out. + +But she rushed on blindly, knocking against the door jamb and almost +upsetting the nurse, who was returning. Somehow she managed to +reach the living room, glad it was dark. Alter sundry reaching about +she found the divan and flung herself upon it. What would he think? +What would the nurse think? That Kitty Conover had suddenly gone +stark, raving crazy! And now that she was in the dark, alone, the +desire to weep passed over and she lay quietly with her face buried +in the pillow. But not for long. + +She sat up. Music - violin music! A gay waltz that made her think +of flashing water, the laughter of children. Tschaikowsky. Thrilled, +she waited for the finale. Silence. Scharwenka's "Polish Dance," +with a swing and a fire beyond anything she had ever heard before. +Another stretch of silence - a silence full of interrogation points. +Then a tender little sketch, quite unfamiliar. But all at once she +understood. He was imploring her to return. She smiled in the dark; +but she knew she was going to remain right where she was. + +"Miss Conover?" It was the voice of the nurse. + +"Yes. I'm over here on the divan." + +"Anything wrong?" + +"Good gracious, no! I'm overtired. A little hysterical, maybe. +The parade to-day, with all those wounded boys in automobiles, the +music and colour and excitement - have rather done me up. And the +way I rushed up here. And not finding Cutty " + +"Anything I can get for you?" + +"No, thanks. I'll try to snatch a little sleep before Cutty returns." + +"But he may be gone all night!" + +"Will it be so very scandalous if I stay here?" + +"You poor child! Go ahead and sleep. Don't hesitate to call me if +you want anything. I have a mild sedative if you would like it." + +"No, thanks. I did not know that Mr. Hawksley played." + +"Wonderfully! But does it bother you?" + +"It kind of makes me choky." + +"I'll tell him." + +Kitty, now strangely at peace, snuggled down among the pillows. +Some great Polish violinist, who had roused the bitter enmity of +the anarchist? But no; he was Russian. Cutty had admitted that. +It struck her that Cutty knew a great deal more than Kitty Conover; +and so far as she could see there was no apparent reason for this +secrecy. She rather believed she had Cutty. Either he should tell +her everything or she would run loose, Bolshevik or no Bolshevik. + +Sheep. She boosted one over the bars, another and another. Round +somewhere in the thirties the bars dissolved. The next thing she +knew she was blinking in the light, Cutty, his arms folded, staring +down at her sombrely. There was blood on his face and blood on his +hands. + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +Karlov moodily touched the shoulder of the man on the cot. Stefani +Gregor puzzled him. He came to this room more often than was wise, +driven by a curiosity born of a cynical philosophy to discover what +it was that reenforced this fragile body against threats and thirst +and hunger. He knew what he wanted of Gregor - the fiddler on his +knees begging for mercy. And always Gregor faced him with that +silent calm which reminded him of the sea, aloof, impervious, +exasperating. Only once since the day he had been locked in this +room had Gregor offered speech. He, Karlov, had roared at him, +threatened, baited, but his reward generally had been a twisted +wintry smile. + +He could not offer physical torture beyond the frequent omissions +of food and water; the body would have crumbled. To have planned +this for months, and then to be balked by something as visible yet +as elusive as quicksilver! Born in the same mudhole, and still +Boris Karlov the avenger could not understand Stefani Gregor the +fiddler. Perhaps what baffled him was that so valiant a spirit +should be housed in so weak a body. It was natural that he, Boris, +with the body of a Carpathian bear, should have a soul to match. +But that Stefani, with his paper body, should mock him! The +damned bourgeoisie! + +The quality of this unending calm was understandable: Gregor was +always ready to die. What to do with a man to whom death was +release? To hold the knout and to see it turn to water in the +hand! In lying he had overreached. Gregor, having accepted as +fact the reported death of Ivan, had nothing to live for. Having +brought Gregor here to torture he had, blind fool, taken away the +fiddler's ability to feel. The fog cleared. He himself had given +his enemy this mysterious calm. He had taken out Gregor's soul and +dissipated it. + +No. Not quite dissipated. What held the body together was the iron +residue of the soul. Venom and blood clogged Karlov's throat. He +could kill only the body, as he had killed the fiddle; he could not +reach the mystery within. Ah, but he had wrung Stefani's heart there. +There were pieces of the fiddle on the table where Gregor had placed +them, doubtless to weep over when he was alone. Why hadn't he +thought to break the fiddle a little each day? + +"Stefani Gregor, sit up. I have come to talk." This was formula. +Karlov did not expect speech from Gregor. + +Slowly the thin arms bore up the torso; slowly the legs swung to the +floor. But the little gray man's eyes were bright and quick to-night. + +"Boris, what is it you want?" + +"To talk" - surprised at this unexpected outburst. + +"No, no. I mean, what is it all about - these killings, these +burnings?" + +Karlov was ready at all times to expound the theories that appealed +to his dark yet simple mind - humanity overturned as one overturned +the sod in the springtime to give it new life. + +"To give the proletariat what is his." + +"Ha!" said the little man on the cot. "What is his?" + +"That which capitalism has taken away from him." + +"The proletariat. The lowest in the human scale - and therefore +the most helpless. They shall rule, say you. My poor Russia! +Beaten and robbed for centuries, and now betrayed by a handful of +madmen - with brains atrophied on one side! You are a fool, Boris. +Your feet are in strange quicksands and your head among chimeras. +You write some words on a piece of paper, and lo! you say they are +facts. Without first proving your theories correct you would ram +them down the throat of the world. The world rejects you." + +"Wait and see, damned bourgeoisie!" thundered Karlov, not alive to +the fact that he was being baited. + +"Bourgeoisie? Yes, I am of the middle class; the rogue on top and +the fool below. I see. The rogue and the fool cannot combine +unless the bourgeoisie is obliterated. Go on. I am interested." + +"Under the soviet the government shall be everything." + +"As it was in Prussia." + +Karlov ignored this. "The individual shall never again become rich +by exploiting the poor." + +Karlov strove to speak calmly. Gregor's willingness to discuss the +aims of the proletariat confused him. He suspected some ulterior +purpose behind this apparent amiability. He must hold down his fury +until this purpose was in the open. + +"Well, that is good," Gregor admitted. "But somehow it sounds +ancient on my ear. Was there not a revolution in France?" + +"Fool, it is the world that is revolting!" Karlov paused. "And no +man in the future shall see his sister or his daughter made into a +loose woman without redress." + +"Your proletariat's sister and daughter. But the daughter of the +noble and the daughter of the +bourgeoisie - fair game!" + +Sometimes there enters a man's head what might be called a sick idea; +when the vitality is at low ebb and the future holds nothing. Thus +there was a grim and sick idea behind Gregor's gibes. It was in his +mind to die. All the things he had loved had been destroyed. So +then, to goad this madman into a physical frenzy. Once those +gorilla-like hands reached out for him Stefani Gregor's neck would +break. + +"Be still, fiddler! You know what I mean. There will be no upper +class, which is idleness and wastefulness; no middle class, the +usurers, the gamblers of necessities, the war makers. One great +body of equals shall issue forth. All shall labour." + +"For what?" + +"The common good." + +"Your Lenine offered peace, bread, and work for the overthrow of +Kerensky. What you have given - murder and famine and idleness. Can +there be common good that is based upon the blood of innocents? Did +Ivan ever harm a soul? Have I?" + +"You!" Karlov trembled. "You - with your damned green stones! Did +you not lure Anna to dishonour with the promise to show her the +drums, the sight of which would make all her dreams come true? A +child, with a fairy story in her head!" + +"You speak of Anna! If you hadn't been spouting your twaddle in +taverns you would have had time to instruct Anna against +guilelessness and superstition." + +"How much did they pay you? Did you fiddle for her to dance? ... But +I left their faces in the mud!" + +A madman, with two obsessions. A pitiable Samson with his arms round +the pillars of society to drag it down upon his head because society +had defiled his sister! Ah, how many thousands in Russia like him! +A great yearning filled Gregor's heart, because he understood; but he +suppressed expression of it because the sick idea was stronger. + +"Yes, yes! I loved those green stones because it was born in me to +love beautiful things. Have you forgotten, Boris, the old days in +Moscow, when we were students and I made you weep with my fiddle? +There was hope for you then. You had not become a pothouse orator +on the rights of the proletariat - the red-combed rooster on the +smouldering dungheap! Beauty, no matter in what form, I loved it. +Yes, I was mad about those emeralds. I was always stealing in to +see them, to hold them to the light, simply because they were +beautiful." Gregor's hands flew to his throat, which he bared. "I +lured her there! Twas I, Boris! ... Those beautiful hands of yours, +fit for the butcher's block! Kill me! Kill me!" + +But Karlov shrank back, covering his eyes. "No! I see now! You +wish to die! You shall live!" He rushed toward the far wall, a +huge grotesque shadow rising to meet him - his own, thrown upon the +wall by the wavering candlelight. He turned shaking, for the +temptation had been great. + +At once Gregor realized his failure. The tenseness went out of him. +He spoke calmly. "Yes, I wanted to die. I no longer possess +anything. I lied, Boris; but it is useless to tell you that. I knew +nothing of Anna until it was too late. I wanted to die." + +Karlov began to pace furiously, the candle flame springing after him +each time he passed it. + +There was a question in Gregor's mind. It rushed to his lips a dozen +times but he dared not voice it. Olga. Since Karlov could not be +tempted to murder, it would be futile to ask for an additional burden +of mental torture. Perhaps it had not happened - the terrible picture +he drew in his mind - since Karlov had not boasted of it. + +"Come, Boris. There is blood on your hands. What is one more daub +of it?" + +Karlov stopped, scowled, and ran his fingers through his hair. +Perhaps some ugly memory stirred the roots of it. "You wish to die!" + +Gregor bent his head to his hands and Karlov resumed his pacing. +After a while Gregor looked up. + +"Private vengeance. You begin your rule with private vengeance." + +"The vengeance of a people. All the breed. Did France stop at +Louis? Do we tear up the roots of the poisonous toadstool that +killed someone we loved and leave the other toadstools thriving?" + +"To cure the world of all its ills by tearing up the toadstools and +the flowers together - do you call that justice? The proletariat +shall have everything, and he begins by killing off noble and +bourgeoisie and dividing up the loot! Even with his oppression the +noble had a right to live. The bourgeoisie must die because of his +benefactions to a people. The world for the proletariat, and +damnation for the rest!" + +"Let each become one of us," cried Karlov, hoarsely. "We give +them that right." + +"You lie! You have done nothing but assassinate them when they +surrendered. But tell me, have not you, Lenine, and Trotzky +overlooked something?" + +"What?" Karlov was vaguely grateful for this diversion. The lust +to kill was still upon him and he was fighting it. He must remember +that Gregor wished to die. "What have we overlooked?" + +"Human nature. Can you tear it apart and reconstruct it, as you +would a clock? What of creative genius in this proletariat +millennium of yours?" + +"The state will carefully mother that." + +Gregor laughed sardonically. "Will there be creative genius under +your rule? Will you not suffocate it by taking away the air that +energizes it - ambition? You will have all the present marvels of +invention to start with, but will you ever go beyond? Have you read +history and observed the inexorable? I doubt it. What is progress? +A series of almost imperceptible steps." + +"Which capitalism has always obstructed," flung back Karlov. + +"Which capitalism has always made possible. Curb it, yes; but +abolish it, as you have done in unhappy Russia! Why do you starve +there? Poor fool, because you have assassinated those forces which +created food - that is to say, put it where you could get it. Three +quarters of Russia are against you. You read nothing in that? The +efficient and the inefficient, they shall lie down together as the +lion and the ass, to paraphrase. They shall become equal because +you say so. What is, fundamentally, this Bolshevism? The revolt +of the inefficient. The mantle of horror that was Germany's you +have torn from her shoulders and thrown upon yours. Fools!" + +The anarch's huge fists became knotted; wrinkles corrugated his +forehead; but he did not stir. Gregor wanted to die. + +Gregor pointed with trembling hand toward the brown litter on the +table. "To destroy. You shattered a soul there. You tore mine +apart when you did it. For what? To better humanity? No; to rend +something, to obliterate something that was beautiful. Demolition. +Go on. You will tear and rend until exhaustion comes, then some +citizen king, some headstrong Napoleon, will step in. The French +Revolution taught you nothing. You play 'The Marseillaise' in the +Neva Prospekt and miss the significance of that song. Liberty? +You choose license. Equality? You deny it in your acts. +Fraternity? You slaughter your brothers." + +"Be silent!" roared Karlov, wavering. + +But Gregor continued with a new-found hope. He saw that his jeers +were wearing down the other's control. Perhaps the weak side was +the political. Karlov was a fanatic. There might yet be death +in those straining fingers. + +"To seize by confiscation, without justice, indiscriminately all +that the group efficient laboriously constructed. I enter your +house, kill your family and steal your silver. Are your acts +fundamentally different from mine? Remember, I am speaking from +the point of view as three quarters of Russia see it, and all the +other civilized nations. There may be something magnificent in +that soviet constitution of yours; but you have deluged it in +blood and folly. Ostensibly you are dividing up the great estates, +but actually you are parcelling them out and charging rent. You +will not own anything. The state shall own all the property. What +will be the patriotism of the man who has nothing? Why defend +something that is only his government's, not his own? You are +legalizing women as cows. The sense of motherhood will vanish when +a woman may not select her mate. What is the greatest thing in the +world? The human need of possession. To own something, however +little. The spur of creative genius. Human beings will never be +equal except in lawful privileges. The skillful will outpace the +unskillful; the thrifty will take from the improvident; genius will +overtop mediocrity. And you will change all this with a scrape of +your bloody pen!" + +Karlov's body began to rock and sway like an angry bear's; but +still he held his ground. Gregor wanted to die, to cheat him. + +"What of power?" went on his baiter. "Capitalism of might. Lenine +and Trotzky; are they - have they been - honest? Has Russia +actually voted them into office? They sit in the seats of the mighty +by the capitalism of force. For the capitalism of money, which is +progress physical and moral, you substitute the capitalism of force, +which is terror. You speak of yourselves as internationalists. +Bats, that is the judgment day of God - internationalism! For +only on the judgment day will nations become a single people." + +A short silence. Gregor was beginning to grow weak. Presently he +picked up the thread of his diatribe. + +"I have lived in England, France, Italy, and here. I am competent +to draw comparisons. Where you went to distill poison I went to +absorb facts. And I found that here in this great democracy is the +true idea. But you will not read the lesson." + +Sweat began to drop from Karlov's beetling eyebrows. + +"You will fail miserably here. Why? Because the Americans are the +greatest of individual property owners. The sense of possession is +satisfied. And woe to the fool who suggests they surrender this. +Little wooden houses, thousands and thousands of them, with a small +plot of ground in the rear where a man in the springtime may dig his +hands into the soil and say gratefully to God, 'Mine, mine!' I, too, +am a Russ. I thought in the beginning that you would take this +country as an example, a government of the people, by the people, +for the people. Wrongs? Yes. But day by day these wrongs are +being righted. No lesson in this for Trotzky, a beer-hall orator +like yourself. Ten million men drafted to carry arms. Did they +revolt? Shoulder to shoulder the selected millions marched to the +great ships, shoulder to shoulder they pressed toward the Rhine. +No lesson in that! + +"Capitalism, seeking to save its loans, you rant! Capitalism of +blood and money that asked only for simple justice to mankind. The +ideal of a great people - a mixture of all bloods, even German! No +lessons in these tremendous happenings! And you babble about your +damned proletariat who represents the dregs of Russia. What is he? +The inefficient, whining that the other man has the luck, so kill +him! Russia, the kindly ox, fallen among wolves! You cannot tear +down the keystone of civilization - which took seven thousand years +to construct - insert it upside down, and expect the arch to stand. +You have your chance to prove your theories. Prove them in +Petrograd and Moscow, and you will not have to go forth with the +torch. And what is this torch but the hidden fear that you may be +wrong? ... To wreck the world before you are found out! You are +idiots, and you have turned Russia into a madhouse! Spawns from +the dung-heap!" + +"Damn you, Stefani Gregor!" Karlov rushed to the cot, raised his +terrible fists, his chest heaving. Gregor waited. "No, no! You +wish to die!" The madman swung on his heels and dashed toward the +door, sweeping the pieces of the violin to the floor as he passed +the table. + +Gregor feebly drew himself back upon his cot and laid his face in +the pillow. + +"Ivan - my violin - all that I knew and loved - gone! And God will +not let me die!" + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +>From a window in one of the vacant warehouses, twenty-odd feet away +Cutty, from an oblique angle, had witnessed the peculiar drama +without being able to grasp head or tail to it. For two hours he +had crouched behind his window, watching the man on the cot and +wondering if he would ever turn his face toward the candlelight. +Then Karlov had entered. Gregor's ironic calm - with the exception +of the time he had bared his throat - and Karlov's tempestuous exit +baffled him. To the eye it had the appearance of a victory for +Gregor and a defeat for Karlov, but Cutty had long ago ceased to +believe his eyes without some corroborative evidence of auricular +character. + +He had recognized both men. Karlov answered to Kitty's description +as an old glove answers to the hand. And no man, once having seen +Gregor, could possibly forget his picturesque head. The old chap +was alive! This fact made the night's adventure tally one hundred +per cent. How to get a cheery word to him, to buck him up with, +the promise of help? A hard nut to crack; so many obstacles. +Primarily, this was a Federal affair. Yonder hid the werewolf and +his pack, and it would be folly to send them scattering just for the +sake of advising Gregor that he was being watched over. + +Underneath the official obligation there was a personal interest in +not risking the game to warn Gregor. Cutty was now positive that +the drums of jeopardy were hidden somewhere in this house. To +perform three acts, then: Save Gregor, capture Karlov and his pack, +and privately confiscate the emeralds. Findings were keepings. No +compromise regarding those green stones. It would not particularly +hurt his reputation with St. Peter to play the half rogue once in +a lifetime. Besides, St. Peter, hadn't he stolen something himself +back there in the Biblical days ; or got into a scrape or something? +The old boy would understand. Cutty grinned in the dark. + +Any obsession is a blindfold. A straight course lay open to Cutty, +but he chose the labyrinthian because he was obsessed. He wanted +those emeralds. Nothing less than the possession of them would, to +his thinking, round out a varied and active career. Later, perhaps, +he would declare the stones to the customs and pay the duty; perhaps. +Thus his subsequent mishaps this night may be laid to the fact that +he thought and saw through green spectacles. + +The idea that the jewels were hidden near by made it imperative that +he should handle this affair exclusively. Coles, the operative he +had sent to negotiate with Karlov, was conceivably a prisoner +upstairs or down. Coles knew about the drums, and they must not +turn up under his eye. Federal property, in that event. + +If ever he laid his hands upon the drums he would buy something +gorgeous for Kitty. Little thoroughbred! + +Time for work. Without doubt Karlov had cellar exits through this +warehouse or the other. The job on hand would be first to locate +these exits, and then to the trap on the roof. With his pocket lamp +blazing a trail he went down to the cellar and carefully inspected +the walls that abutted those of the house. Nothing on this side. + +He left the warehouse and hugged the street wall for a space. The +street was deserted. Instead of passing Karlov's abode he wisely +made a detour of the block. He reached the entrance to the second +warehouse without sighting even a marauding tom. In the cellar of +this warehouse he discovered a newly made door, painted skillfully +to represent the limestone of the foundation. Tiptop. + +Immediately he outlined the campaign. There should be two drives + - one from the front and another from the roof - so that not an +anarchist or Bolshevik could escape. The mouth of the Federal sack +should be held at this cellar exit. No matter what kind of game he +played offside, the raid itself must succeed absolutely. Nothing +should swerve him from making these plans as perfect as it was +humanly possible. He would be on hand to search Karlov himself. +If the drums were not on him he would return and pick the old +mansion apart, lath by lath. Gay old ruffian, wasn't he? + +Another point worth considering: He would keep his discoveries under +cover until the hour to strike came. Some over-zealous subordinate +might attempt a coup on his own and spoil everything. + +He picked his way to the far end of the cellar, to the doors. Locks +gone. He took it for granted that the real-estate agent would not +come round with prospective tenants. These doors would take them +into the trucking alley, where there were a dozen feasible exits. +There was no way out of the house yard, as the brick wall, ten feet +high and running from warehouse to warehouse, was blind. Now for +the trap on the roof. + +He climbed the three flights of stairs crisscrossed and festooned +with ancient cobwebs. Occasionally he sneezed in the crook of his +elbow, philosophizing over the fact that there was a lot of deadwood +property in New York. Americans were eternally on the move. + +The window from which he intended dropping to the house roof was +obdurate. Only the upper half was movable. With hardly any noise +at all he pulled this down, straddled it, balanced himself, secured +a good grip on the ledge, and let himself down. The tips of his +shoes, rubber-soled, just reached the roof. He landed silently. + +The glare of the street lamp at the corner struck the warehouse, +and this indirect light was sufficient to work by. He made the +trap after a series of extra-cautious steps. The roof was slanting +and pebbled, and the least turn of the foot might start a cascade +and bell an alarm. A comfort-loving dress-suiter like himself, +playing Old Sleuth, when he ought to be home and in bed! It was all +of two-thirty. What the deuce would he do when there were no more +thrills in life? + +He stooped and caught hold of a corner of the trap to test it - and +drew back with a silent curse. Glass! He had cut his hand. The +beggars had covered the trap with cement and broken glass, sealing +it. It would take time to cut round the trap; and even then he +wouldn't be sure; they might have nailed it down from the inside. +The worst of it was he would have to do the work himself; and in the +meantime Karlov would have a fair wind for his propaganda gas, and +perhaps the disposal of the drums to some collector who wasn't above +bargaining for smuggled emeralds. Odd, though, that Karlov should +have made a prisoner of Coles. What lay behind that manoeuvre? +Well, this trap must be liberated; no getting round that. + +Hang it, he wasn't going to be dishonest exactly; it would be simply +a double play, half for Uncle Sam and half for himself. The idea +of offering freely his blood and money to Uncle Sam and at the same +time putting one over on the old gentleman had a novel appeal. + +He stood up and wiped a tickling cobweb from his cheek. As the +window from which he had descended came into range he stared, +loose-jawed. Then be chuckled, as thoroughbred adventurers generally +chuckle when they find themselves at the bottom of the sack, the +mouth of which has subitaneously and automatically closed. Wasn't +he the brainy old top? Wasn't he Sherlock Holmes plus? Old fool, +how the devil was he going to get back through that window? + +The drums of jeopardy - even to think of them was unlucky! Not to +have planned a retreat; to have climbed down a well and cut the +bucket rope! For in effect that was precisely what he had done. +Only wings could carry him up to that window. With sardonic humour +he felt of his shoulder blades. Not a feather in sight. Then he +touched his ears. Ah, here was something definite; they had grown +several inches during the past few hours. Monumental ass! + +Of course there would be the drain. He could escape; but, dear Lord! +with enough noise to wake the dead. And that would write "Finis" to +this particular adventure. The quarry and the emeralds would be +gone before he could return with help. When everything had gone so +smoothly - a jolt like this! + +A crowded day, and no mistake, as full of individual acts as a bill +at a vaudeville, trained-animal act last. Was it possible that he +had gone fiddle hunting that morning, netting an Amati worth ten +thousand dollars? Hawksley - no, he couldn't blame Hawksley. Still, +if this young Humpty-Dumpty hadn't been pushed off his wall he, +Cutty, would not now be marooned upon this roof 'twixt the devil +and the deep blue sea. To remain here until sunrise would be +impossible; to slide down the drain was equally impossible - that +is, if he ever wanted to see Boris Karlov again. The way of the +transgressor was hard. + +He sat on his heels and let his gaze rove four-square, permitting +no object to escape. He saw a clothes pole leaning against the +chimney. Evidently the former tenants had hung up their laundry +here. There was no clothesline, however. Caught, jolly well, +blooming well caught! If ever this got abroad he would be laughed +out of the game. He wasn't going to put one over on Uncle Sam after +all. There might be some kind of a fire escape on the front of +the house. No harm in taking a look; it would serve to pass the +time. + +There was the usual frontal parapet about three feet in height. +Upturned in the shadow lay a gift from the gods-a battered kitchen +chair, probably used to reach the clothesline in the happy days when +the word "Bolshevism" was known to only a select few dark angels. + +Cutty waved a hand cheerfully if vaguely toward his guiding star, +picked up the chair, commandeered the clothes pole, and silently +manoeuvred to the wall of the warehouse. Standing on the chair he +placed the tip of the pole against the top of the upper frame and +pushed the frame halfway up. He repeated this act upon the obdurate +lower half. He heaved slowly but with all his force. Glory be, +the lower half went up far enough to afford ingress! He would eat +his breakfast in the apartment as usual. To-morrow night he would +establish his line of retreat by fetching a light rope ladder. +There was sweat at the roots of his hair, however, when he finally +gained the street. He was very tired. He observed mournfully that +the vigour which had always recharged itself, no matter how +recklessly he had drawn upon it, was beginning to protest. +Fifty-two. + +Well, his troubles were over for the night. So he believed. +Arriving home, dirty and spent, he had to find Kitty asleep on the +divan! + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +"Kitty," he said, breaking the tableau, "what are you doing here?" + +"You've been hurt! There is blood on you!" + +"A trifling cut. But I'm hurt, nevertheless, that you should be so +thoughtless as to come here against my orders. It doesn't matter +that Karlov has given up the idea of having you followed. But for +the sake of us all you must be made to understand that we are +dealing with high explosives and poison gas. It's not what might +happen to me or to Uncle Sam's business. It's you. Any moment +they may take it into their heads to get at me and Hawksley through +you. That's why we watch over you. You don't want to see Hawksley +done in, do you? It's real tragedy, Kitty, and nobody can guess +what the end is going to + +Kitty's lip quivered. "Cutty, if you talk like that to me I shall +cry." + +"Good Lord, what about?" - bewildered. + +"About everything. I've been on the verge of hysterics all day." + +"Kitty, you poor child, what's happened?" + +"Nothing - everything. Lonesome. When I saw all those mothers and +wives and sisters and sweethearts on the curb to-day, watching their +boys march by, it hit me hard. I was alone. Nobody. So please +don't be cross with me. I'm on the ragged edge. Silly, I know. +But we women often go to pieces over nothing, without any logical +reason. Ready to face murder and battle and sudden death; and then +to blow up, as you men say it, over nothing. I had to move, go +somewhere, do something; so I came here. But I came on - what do +you call it? - official business. Here!" She offered him the +wallet. + +"What's this?" + +"Belongs to Johnny Two-Hawks. He hid it that night behind my +flatirons on the range. Why, Cutty, he's rich!" + +"Did he show the contents?" + +"Only the money and the bonds. He said if he had died the money +and bonds would have been mine. + +"Providing Gregor was also dead." Cutty looked into the wallet, but +disturbed nothing. "I imagine these funds are actually Gregor's." + +"He told me to give the wallet to you. And so I waited. I fell +asleep. So please don't scold me." + +"I'm a brute! But it's because you've become so much to me that +I was angry. You're Tommy and Molly's girl, and I've got to watch +out for you until you reach some kind of a port." + +"Thank you for the flowers. You'll never know just what they did +for me. There was somebody who gave me a thought." + +"Kitty, I honestly don't get you. A beauty like you, lonesome!" + +"That's it. I am pretty. Why should I deny it? If I'd been homely +I shouldn't have been ashamed to invite my friends to my shabby home. +I shouldn't have cold shouldered everybody through false pride. But +where have you been, and what have you been doing?" + +"Official business. But I just missed being a fine jackass. I'll +look into the wallet after I've cleaned up. I'm a mess of gore and +dust. Is it interesting stuff?" dreading her answer. + +"The wallet? I did not look into it. I had no right." + +"Ah! Well, I'll be back in two jigs. + +He hurried off, relieved to learn that the secret was still beyond +Kitty's knowledge. Of course Hawksley wouldn't carry anything in +the wallet by which his true identity might be made known. Still, +there would be stuff to excite her interest and suspicion. Hawksley +had shown her some of that three hundred thousand probably. What +a game! + +He would say nothing about his own adventures and discoveries. He +worked on the theory that the best time to tell about something was +after it had become a fact. But no theory is perfect; and in this +instance his reticence was going to cost him intolerable agony in +the near future. + +Within a quarter of an hour he was back in the living room. Kitty +was out of sight; probably had curled up on the divan again. He +would not disturb her. Hawksley's wallet! He drew a chair under +the reading lamp and explored the wallet. Money and bonds he rather +expected, but the customs appraiser's receipt was like a buffet. +The emeralds belonged honorably to his guest! All his own plans +were knocked galley-west by this discovery. + +An odd sense of indignation blazed up in him, as though someone had +imposed upon him. The sport was gone, the fun of the thing; it +became merely official business. To appropriate a pair of smuggled +emeralds was a first-class sporting proposition, with a humorous +twist. As it stood now, he would be picking Hawksley's pocket; and +he wasn't rogue enough for that. Hang the luck! + +Emeralds, rubies, sapphires, pearls, and diamonds! No doubt many of +them with histories - in a bag hung to his neck - and all these +thousands of miles! Not since the advent of the Gaekwar of Baroda +into San Francisco, in 1910, had so many fine stones passed through +that port of entry. + +But why hadn't Hawksley inquired about them? Stoic indifference? +A good loser? How had he got through the customs without a lot of +publicity? The Russian consul of the old regime probably; and an +appraiser who was a good sport. To have come safely to his +destination, and then to have lost out! The magnificent careless +generosity of putting the wallet behind Kitty's flatirons, to be +hers if he didn't pull through! Why, this fiddling derelict was +a man! Stood up and fought Karlov with his bare fists; wasn't +ashamed to weep over his mother's photograph; and fiddled like +Heifetz. All right. This Johnny Two-Hawks, as Kitty persisted in +calling him, was going to reach his Montana ranch. His friend Cutty +would take it upon himself to see to that. + +It struck him that after all he would have to play the game as he +had planned it. Those gems falling into the hands of the Federal +agents would surely bring to light Hawksley's identity; and Hawksley +should have his chance. + +Cutty then came upon the will. Somehow the pathos of it went deep +into his heart. The poor devil! - a will that hadn't been witnessed, +the handwriting the same as that on the passport. If he had fallen +into the hands of the police they would have justifiably locked him +up as a murder suspect. Two-Hawks! It was a small world. He +returned the contents to the wallet, leaving out the will, however. +This he thrust into a drawer. + +"Coffee?" said Kitty at his elbow. + +"Kitty? I'd forgotten you! I thought I smelt coffee. Just what I +wanted, too, only I hadn't brains enough left to think of it. Smells +better than anything Kuroki makes.... Tastes better, too. You're +going to make some lucky duffer a fine wife." + +"Is there anything you can tell me, Cutty?" + +"A whole lot, Kitty; only I'm twenty years too old." + +"I mean the wallet. Who is he?" + +Cutty drained the cup slowly. A good coherent lie, to appease +Kitty's curiosity; half a truth, something hard to nail. He set +down the empty cup, building. By the time he had filled his pipe +and lit it he was ready. + +Something bored up through the subconscious, however - a query. Why +hadn't he told her the plain truth at the start? Wasn't on account +of the drums. He hadn't kept her in the dark because of the drums. +He could have trusted her with that part of it - his tentative +piracy. That to divulge Hawksley's identity would be a menace to +her peace of mind now appeared ridiculous; and yet he had worked +forward from this assumption. No answer to the query. Generally +he thought clearly enough; but somewhere along this route he had +made a muddle of things and couldn't find the spot. The only point +clearly defined was that he should wish to keep her out of the +affair because there were elements of positive danger. But somewhere +inside of him was a question asking for recognition, and it eluded +him. Nothing could be solved until this question got out of the fog. +Even now he might risk the whole truth; but the lie he had woven +appeared too good to waste. + +Human frailty. The most accomplished human being is the finished +liar. Never to forget a detail, to remember step by step the +windings, over a ticklish road. And Cutty, for all his wide +newspaper experience, was a poor liar because he had been brought +up on facts. Perhaps his lie might have passed had he not been so +fagged. The physical labours of the night had dulled his +perceptions. + +"Ab, but that tastes good!" - as he blew forth a wavering ring of +smoke. + +"It ought to have at least one merit," replied Kitty, wrinkling her +nose. What a fine profile Cutty had! "Now, who and what is he? +I'm dying to know." + +"An odd story; probably hundreds like it. You see, the Bolsheviki +have driven out of the country or killed all the nobles and +bourgeoisie. Some of them have escaped - into China, Sweden, India, +wherever they could find an open route. To his story there are many +loose ends, and Hawksley is not the talking kind. You mustn't repeat +what I tell you. Hawksley, with all that money and a forged English +passport, would have a good deal of trouble explaining if he ran +afoul the police. There is no real proof that the money is his or +Gregor's. As a matter of fact, it is Gregor's, and Hawksley was +bringing it to him. Hawksley is Gregor's protege." + +Kitty nodded. This dovetailed with what Johnny Two-Hawks had told +her that night. + +"How the two came together originally I don't know. Gregor was in +his younger days a great violinist, but unknown to the American +public. Early in his career he speculated with his concert earnings +and turned a pot of money. He dropped the professional career for +that of a country gentleman. He had a handsome estate, and lived +sensibly. He sent Hawksley to England to school and spent a good +deal of time there with him, teaching him how to play the fiddle, +for which it seems Hawksley had a natural bent. He had to Anglicize +his name; for Two-Hawks would have made people laugh. To be a +gentleman, Kitty, one does not have to be a prince or a grand duke. +Gregor was a polished gentleman, and he turned Hawksley into one." + +Again Kitty nodded, her eyes sparkling. + +"The Russ - the educated Russ - is a queer biscuit. Got to have a +finger in some political pie, and political pies in Russia before +the war were lese-majesty. The result - Gregor got in wrong with +his secret society and the political police and was forced to fly +to save his life. But before he fled he had all his convertible +funds transferred. Only his estate was confiscated. Hawksley was +in London when the war broke out. There was a lot of red tape, +naturally, regarding the funds. I shan't bother you with that, +Hawksley, hoping to better his protector's future, returned to +Russia and joined his regiment and fought until the Czar abdicated. +Foretasting the trend of events, he tried to get back to England, +but that was impossible. He was permitted to retire to the Gregor +estate, where he remained until the uprising of the Bolsheviki. +Then he started across the world to join Gregor." + +"That was brave." + +"It certainly was. I imagine that Hawksley's journey has that of +Ulysses laid away on the shelf. Karlov was the head of the +society which had voted Gregor's death. So he had agents watching +Hawksley. And Karlov himself undertook the chase across Russia, +China, and the Pacific." + +"I'm glad I gave him something to eat. But Gregor, a valet in a +hotel, with all that money!" + +"The red tape." + +"What a dizzy world we live in, Cutty!" + +"Dizzy is the word." Cutty sighed. His yarn had passed a very shrewd +censor. "Karlov feels it his duty to kill off all his countryman +who do not agree with his theories. He wanted these funds here, but +Hawksley was too clever for him. Remember, now, not a word of this +to Hawksley. I tell you this in confidence." + +"I promise." + +"You'll have to spend the night here. It's round four, and the power +has been shut off. There's the stairs, but it would be dawn before +you reach the street." + +"Who cares?" + +"I do. I don't believe you're in a good mood to send back to that +garlicky warren. I wish to the Lord you'd leave it!" + +"It's difficult to find anything desirable within my means. Rents +are terrifying. I'll sleep on the divan. A rug or a blanket. I'm +a silly fool, I suppose." + +"You can have a guest room." + +"I'd rather the divan; less scandalous. Cutty, I forgot. He played +for me." + +"What? He did?" + +"I had to run out of the room because some things he said choked me +up. Didn't care whether he died or not. He was even lonelier than +I. I lay down on the divan, and then I heard music. Funny, but +somehow I fancied he was calling me back; and I had to hang on to +the divan. Cutty, he is a great violinist." + +"Are you fond of music?" + +"I am mad about it! I'm always running round to concerts; and I'd +walk from Battery to Bronx to hear a good violinist." + +Fiddles and Irish hearts. Swiftly came the vision of Hawksley +fiddling the heart out of this lonely girl - if he had the chance. +And he, Cutty, was going to fascinate her - with what? He rose and +took her by the shoulders, bringing her round so that the light was +full in her face. Slate-blue eyes. + +"Kitty, what would you say if I kissed you?" Inwardly he asked: +"Now, what the devil made me say that?" + +The sinister and cynical idea leaped from its ambush. "Why, Cutty, +I - I don't believe I should mind. It's - it's you!" Vile wretch +that she was! + +Cutty, noting the lily succeeding the rose, did not kiss her. Fate +has a way of reversing the illogical and giving it logical semblance. +It was perfectly logical that he should not kiss her; and yet that +was exactly what he should have done. The fatherliness of the +salute - and he couldn't have made it anything else - would have +shamed Kitty's peculiar state of mind out of existence and probably +sent back to its eternal sleep that which was strangely reawaking +in his lonely heart. + +"Forgive me, Kitty. That wasn't exactly nice of me, even if I was +trying to be funny." + +She tore away from him, flung herself upon the divan, her face in +the pillows, and let down the dam. + +This wild sobbing - apparently without any reason terrified Cutty. +He put both hands into his hair, but he drew them out immediately +without retaining any of the thinning gray locks. Done up, both of +them; that was the matter. He longed to console her, but knew not +what to say or how to act. He had not seen a woman weep like this +in so many years that he had forgotten the remedies. + +Should he call the nurse? But that would only add to Kitty's +embarrassment, and the nurse would naturally misinterpret the +situation. He couldn't kneel and put his arms round her; and yet +it was a situation that called for arms and endearments. He had +sense enough to recognize that. Molly's girl crying like that, and +he able to do nothing! It was intolerable. But what was she +weeping about? + +Covering the divan was a fine piece of Bokhara embroidery. He drew +this down over Kitty and tucked her in, turned off the light, and +proceeded to +his bedroom. + +Kitty's sobs died eventually. There was an occasional hiccup. That, +too, disappeared. To play - or even think of playing - a game like +that! She was despicable. A silly little fool, too, to suppose +that so keen a mind as Cutty's would not see through the artifice! +What was happening to her that she could let such a thought into her +head? + +By and by she was able to pick up Cutty's narrative and review it. +Not a word about the drums of jeopardy, the mark of the thong +round Hawksley's neck. Hadn't she let him know that she knew the +author of that advertisement offering to buy the drums, no +questions asked? Very well, then; if he would not tell her the +truth she would have to find it out herself. + +Meanwhile, Cutty sat on the edge of his bed staring blankly at the +rug, trying to find a pick-up to the emotions that beset him. One +thing issued clearly: He had wanted to kiss the child. He still +wanted to kiss her. Why hadn't he? Unanswerable. It was still +unanswerable even when the pallor of dawn began slowly to absorb the +artificial light of his bed lamp. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +When Cutty awoke - having had about two hours' sleep - he was +instantly conscious that the zest had gone from the adventure. It +had resolved itself into official business into which he had +projected himself gratuitously; and having assumed the offices of +chief factor, he would have to see the affair through, victim of +his own greediness. It did not serve to marshal excuses. He had +frankly entered the affair in the role of buccaneer; and here he +was, high and dry on the reef. + +The drums of jeopardy, so far as he was concerned, had been shot +into the moon two hundred thousand miles out of reach. He found +himself resenting Hawksley's honesty in the matter of the customs. + +But immediately this sense of resentment caused him to chuckle. +Certainly some ancestor of his had been a Black Bart or a Galloping +Dick. + +He would put a few straight questions to Hawksley, however. To have +lost all those precious stones and not to have inquired about them +was a bit foggy, wasn't normal, human. Unless - bang on the plexus +came the thought! - the beggar had hidden them himself. He had been +exceedingly clever in hiding the wallet. Come to think of it, he +hadn't mentioned that, either. Of course he had hidden the stones + - either in Gregor's apartment or m Kitty's. Blind as a bat. Now +he understood why Karlov had made a prisoner of Coles. The old +buzzard had sensed a trap and had countered it. The way of the +transgressor was hard. His punishment for entertaining a looter's +idea would be work when he wanted to loaf and enjoy himself. + +Arriving at Hawksley's door he was confronted by a spectacle not +without its humorous touch: The nurse extending a bowl and Hawksley +staring at the +sky beyond the window, stonily. + +"But you must!" insisted Miss Frances. + +"Chops or beefsteak!" + +"It will give you nausea." + +"Permit me to find out. Dash it, I'm hungry!" Hawksley declared. +"I'm no fever patient. A smart rap on the head; nothing more than +that. Healthy food will draw the blood down from there. Haven't +lost anything but a few hours of consciousness, and you treat me +as though I'd been jolly well peppered with shrapnel and gassed. +Touch that stuff? Rather not! Chops or beefsteak!" + +"Let him have it, Miss Frances," advised Cutty from the doorway. + +"But it's unusual," replied the nurse as a final protest. + +"Give it a try. Is he strong enough to sit up through breakfast?" + +"He's really not fit. But if he insists on doing the one he might +as well do the other." + +"Righto!" - from the patient. + +"Will you tell Kuroki to make it a beefsteak breakfast for four? +I know how Mr. Hawksley feels. Been through the same bout." Cutty +wanted Miss Frances out of the room. + +"Very well. Only, I've warned him." Miss Frances left, somewhat +miffed. + +"Thanks," said Hawksley, smiling. "She thinks I'm a canary." + +"Whereas you're an eagle." + +"Or a vulture." + +Cutty chew up a chair. "Frankly, I believe a good breakfast will +put you a peg up." + +"A beefsteak!" Hawksley stared ecstatically at the ceiling. "You +see, I'm naturally tough. Always went in for rough sports - football, +rowing, boxing. Poor old Stefani's idea; and not so bad, either. Of +course he was always worrying about my hands; but I always took great +care to keep them soft and pliant. Which sounds rummy, considering +the pounding I used to give and take. My word, I used to go to bed +with my hands done up in ointments like a professional beauty! Of +course I'm dizzy yet, and the bally spot is sore; but solid food +and some exercise will have me off your hands in no time. I don't +fancy being coddled, y'know. I've been trouble enough." + +"Don't let that worry you. I'll bring some togs in; flannels and +soft shirts. We're about the same height. Anyhow, the difference +won't be noticeable in flannels. I've had to tell Miss Conover a +bit of fiction. I'll tell you, so if need arises you can back me up. + +When Cutty finished his romance Hawksley frowned. "All said and +done, if I'm not that splendid old chap's protege, what am I? But +for his patience and kindness I'd have run true to the blood. He +was with me at the balancing age, when a chap becomes a man or a +rotter. He actually gave up a brilliant career because of me. He +is a great musician, with that strange faculty of taking souls out +of people and untwisting them. I have the gift, too, in a way; but +there's always a bit of the devil in me when I play. Natural bent, +I fancy. And they've killed him!" + +"No," said Cutty, slowly. "But this is for your ear alone: He's +alive; and one of these days I'll bring him to you. So buck up." + +"Alive! Stefani alive!" whispered Hawksley. He stretched out his +hand rather blindly, and Cutty was surprised at the strength of the +grip. "Makes me feel choky. I say, are all Americans good +Samaritans?" + +Cutty put this aside because he did not care to disillusion Hawksley. +"I found an appraiser's receipt in your wallet. You carried some +fine jewels. Did you hide them or did Karlov get them? It struck +me as odd that you haven't inquired about them." The change that +came into Hawksley's face alarmed Cutty. The rich olive skin became +chalky and the eyes closed. "What is it? Shall I call Miss Frances?" + +"No." Hawksley opened his eyes, but looked dully straight ahead. +"The stones! I was trying to forget! My God, I was trying to forget!" + +"But they were yours?" Cutty was mystified beyond expression. + +"Yes, mine, mine, mine!" - panting. "Damn them! Some day I'll tell +you. But just now I can't toe the mark. I was trying to forget +them! Against my heart, gnawing into my soul like the beetle of the +Spanish Inquisition!" Silence. "But they were future bread and +butter - for Gregor as well as for myself. They got them, and may +they damn Karlov as they have damned me! I had no chance when I +returned to Gregor's. They were on me instantly. I put up a fight, +but I'd come from a lighted room and was practically blind. Let +them go. Most of those stones came out of hell, anyhow. Let them +go. There is an unknown grave between those stones and me." + +The level despair of the tone appalled Cutty. A crime somewhere? +There was still a bottom to this affair he had not plumbed? He rose, +deeply agitated. + +"I'll fetch those togs for you. Miss Conover will breakfast with us, +and the sight of her will give you a brace. I'm sorry. I had to +ask you." + +"Beefsteak and a pretty girl! That's something. I suppose she was +trapped by the lift not running." Hawksley was trying to meet Cutty +halfway to cover up the tragedy. "I say, why the deuce do you let +her live where she does?" + +"Because I'm not legally her guardian. She is the daughter of the +man and woman I loved best. All I can do is to watch over her. She +lives on her earnings as a newspaper writer. I'd give her half of +all I have if I had the least idea she would accept it." + +"Fond of her?" + +"Fond of her!" repeated Cutty. "Why, of course I'm fond of her!" +There was a touch of indignation in his tone. + +"Is she fond of you?" + +"I suppose so." What was the chap driving at? + +"Then marry her," suggested Hawksley with a cynical smile; "make a +settlement and give her her freedom. Simple enough. What?" + +Cutty stepped back, stunned and terrified. "She would laugh at me!" + +"You never can tell," replied Hawksley, maintaining the crooked +smile. The devil was blazing in his eyes now. "Try it. It's being +done every day; even here in this big America of yours. From the +European point of view you have compromised her - or she has +compromised herself, by spending the night here. Convention has +been disregarded. A ripping good chance, I call it. You tell me +she wouldn't accept benefits, and you want to help her. If she's +the kind I believe her to be, even if she refuses you she will not +be angry. You never can tell what woman will or won't do." + +An old and forgotten bit of mental machinery began to set up a +ditter-datter in Cutty's brain. Marry Kitty? Make a settlement, +and then give her her freedom? Rot! Girls of Kitty's calibre were +above such expediencies. He tried to resurrect his interest in the +drums of jeopardy, which he might now appropriate without having to +shanghai his conscience. The clitter-clatter smothered it; indeed, +this new racket upset and demoralized the well-ordered machinery of +his thinking apparatus as applied daily. Marry Kitty! + +"I'm old enough to be her father." + +"What's that to do with it so long as convention is satisfied?" + +Cutty was so shaken and confused that he missed the tragic irony of +the voice. All the receptive avenues to his brain seemed to have +shut down suddenly. He was conscious only of the clitter-clatter. +Marry Kitty! + +"You can't settle money on her," went on Hawksley, "without scandal. +You can't offer her anything without offending her. And you can't +let her go to rust without having her bit of good times." + +"Utterly impossible," said Cutty, to the idea rather than to his +tormentor. + +"Oh, of course, if you have an affair - No, God forgive me, I don't +mean that! I'm a damned ingrate! But your bringing up those stones +and knocking off the top of all the misery piling up in my heart! I +was only trying to hurt you, hurt myself, everybody. Please have a +little patience with me, for I've come out of hell!" Hawksley turned +aside his head. + +"Buck up," said Cutty, his blazing wrath dropping to a smoulder. +"I'll fetch those togs." + +What had the boy done to fill him with such tragic bitterness? Was +he Two-Hawks? Cutty dismissed this doubt instantly. He recalled +the episode of the boy's conduct when confronted by the photograph +of his mother. No human being could be a play actor in such a +moment. The boy's emotion had been deep and real. Cutty recognized +the fact that he had become as a block in the middle of a Chinese +puzzle; only Fate could move him to his appointed place. + +But offer marriage to Kitty so that he could provide for her! +Mechanically he rummaged his clothes press for the suit he was to +take to Hawksley. Well, why not? He could settle five thousand a +year on her. His departure for the Balkans - he might be gone a +year or more - could be legally construed as desertion. And with +pretty clothes and freedom she would soon find some young chap to +her liking. But would a girl like Kitty see it from his point of +view? The marriage could take place an hour or two before he went +aboard his ship. Hang it, Hawksley wasn't so far off. Kitty +couldn't possibly be offended if he laid the business squarely on +the table. To provide for Molly's girl! + +When Kuroki announced that breakfast was ready, Cutty went into the +living room for Kitty, whom he bad not yet seen. He found her by a +window fascinated by the splendour of the panorama as seen in the +morning light. Not a vestige of the tears and disorder in which +he had left her. What had been behind those tears? Dainty and +refreshing; to the eye as though she had stepped out of a bandbox. +Compromised? That was utter rot! Wasn't Miss Frances here? +Clitter-clatter, clitter-clatter. But Cutty was not aware that it +was no longer in his head but in his heart. + +"Breakfast is served, Your Highness," he announced with a grave +salaam. + +Kitty pirouetted. For some reason she could not explain to herself +she wanted to laugh, sing, dance. Perhaps it was because she was +only twenty-four. Or it might have had its origin in the tonicky +awakening among all these beautiful furnishings. + +She assumed a haughty expression - such as the Duchess of Gerolstein +assumes when she appoints the private to the office of generalissimo + - and with a careless wave of the hand said: "Summon His Highness!" + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +Between Cutty's heart and his throat there was very little space at +that moment for the propelment of sound. Kitty Conover had +innocently - he understood that almost immediately and recovered +his mental balance - Kitty had innocently thrown a bomb at his feet. +It did not matter that it was a dud. The result was the same. For +a second, then, all the terror, all the astounding suspension of +thought and action attending the arrival of a shell on the +battlefield were his. As an aftermath he would have liked very +much to sit down. Instead, maintaining the mock gravity of his +expression, he offered his arm, which Kitty accepted, still the +Grand Duchess of Gerolstein. Pompously they marched into the +dining room. But as Kitty saw Hawksley she dropped the air +confusedly, and hesitated. "Good gracious!" she whispered. + +"What's the matter?" Cutty whispered in turn. + +"My clothes!" + +"What's the matter with 'em?" + +"I slept in them!" + +If that wasn't like a woman! It did not matter how she might look +to an old codger, aetat. fifty-two; he didn't count. But a handsome +young chap, now, in white flannels and sport shirt, his head +bound picturesquely - + +"Don't let that bother you," he said. "Those duds of his are mine." + +Still, Cutty was grateful for this little diversion. As he drew +back Kitty's chair he was wholly himself again. At once he dictated +the trend of the conversation, moved it whither he willed, into +strange channels, gave them all a glimpse of his amazing versatility, +with vivid shafts of humour to light up corners. + +Kuroki, who had travelled far with his master these ten years, +sometimes paused in his rounds to nod affirmatively. + +Hawksley listened intently, wondering a bit. What was the dear old +beggar's idea, throwing such fireworks round at breakfast? He stole +a glance at Kitty to see how she was taking it - and caught her +stealing a glance at him. Instantly both switched back to Cutty. +Shortly the little comedy was repeated because neither could resist +the invisible force of some half-conscious inquiry. Third time, +they smiled unembarrassedly. Mind you, they were both hanging upon +Cutty's words; only their eyes were like little children at church, +restless. It was spring. + +Without being exactly conscious of what he was doing, Hawksley began +to dress Kitty - that is, he visualized her in ball gowns, in sports, +in furs. He put her on horses, in opera boxes, in limousines. But +in none of these pictures could he hold her; she insisted upon +returning to her kitchen to fry bacon and eggs. + +Then came a twisted thought, rejected only to return; a surprising +thought, so alluring that the sense of shame, of chivalry, could not +press it back. Cutty's words began to flow into one ear and out of +the other, without sense. There was in his heart - put there by +the recollection of the jewels - an indescribable bitterness, a +desperate cynicism that urged him to strike out, careless of friend +or foe. Who could say what would happen to him when he left here? +A flash of spring madness, then to go forth devil-may-care. + +She was really beautiful, full of unsuspected fire. To fan it into +white flame. The whole affair would depend upon whether she cared +for music. If she did he would pluck the soul out of her. She had +saved his life. Well, what of that? He had broken yonder man's +bread and eaten his salt. Still, what of that? Hadn't he come from +a race of scoundrels? The blood - he had smothered and repressed +it all his life - to unleash it once, happen what might. If she +were really fond of music! + +Once again Kitty's glance roved back to Hawksley. This time she +encountered a concentration in his unwavering stare. She did not +quite like it. Perhaps he was only thinking about something and +wasn't actually seeing her. Still, it quieted down the fluttering +gayety of her mood. There was a sun spot of her own that became +visible whenever her interest in Cutty's monologue lagged. Perhaps +Hawksley had his sun spot. + +"And so," she heard Cutty say. "Mr. Hawksley is going to become +an American citizen. Kitty, what are some of the principles of good +citizenship?" + +"To be nice to policemen. Not to meddle with politics, because it +is vulgar. To vote perfunctorily. To 'let George do it' when there +are reforms to be brought about. To keep your hat on when the flag +goes by because otherwise you will attract attention. To find fault +without being able to offer remedies. To keep in debt because life +here in America would be monotonous without bill collectors." + +Cutty interrupted with a laugh. "Kitty, you'll 'scare Hawksley off +the map!" + +"Let him know the worst at once," retorted Kitty, flashing a smile +at the victim. + +"Spoofing me - what?" said Hawksley, appealing to his host. + +This quality of light irony in a woman was a distinct novelty to +Hawksley. She had humour, then? So much the better. An added +zest to the game he was planning. He recalled now that she was +not of the clinging kind either. A woman with a humorous turn of +mind was ten times more elusive than a purely sentimental one. +Give him an hour or two with that old Amati - if she really cared +for music! She would be coming to the apartment again - some +afternoon, when his host was out of the way. Better still, he +would call her by telephone; the plea of loneliness. Scoundrel? +Of course he was. He was not denying that. He would embark +upon this affair without the smug varnish of self-lies. Fire - to +play with it! + +He ate his portion of beefsteak, potatoes, and toast, and emptied +his coffee cup. It was really the first substantial meal he had +had in many hours. A feeling of satisfaction began to permeate +him. He smiled at Miss Frances, who shook her head dubiously. She +could not quite make him out pathologically. Perhaps she had been +treating him as shell-shocked when there was nothing at all the +matter with his nerves. + +Presently Kuroki came in with a yellow envelope, which he laid at +the side of Cutty's plate. + +"Telegrams!" exploded Cutty. "Hang it, I don't want any telegrams!" + +"Open it and have it over with," suggested Kitty. + +"If you don't mind." + +It was the worst kind of news - a summons to Washington for +conference. Which signified that the Government's plans were +completed and that shortly he would be on his way to Piraeus. + +A fine muddle! Hawksley in no condition to send upon his way; +Kitty's affair unsettled; the emeralds still in camera obscura; +Karlov at liberty with his infernal schemes, and Stefani Gregor +his prisoner. Wild horses, pulling him two ways. A word, and +Karlov would come to the end of his rope suddenly. But if he +issued that word the whole fabric he had erected so painstakingly +would blow away like cardboard. If those emeralds turned up in +the possession of any man but himself the ensuing complications +would be appalling. For he himself would be forced to tell what +he knew about the stones: Hawksley would be thrust conspicuously +into the limelight, and sooner or later some wild anarch would +kill him. Known, Hawksley would not have one chance in a +thousand. Kitty would be dragged into the light and harassed +and his own attitude toward her misunderstood. All these things, +if he acted upon his oath. Nevertheless, he determined to risk +suspension of operations until he returned from Washington. There +was one sound plank to cling to. He had first-hand information +that anarchistic elements would remain in their noisome cellars +until May first. If he were not ordered abroad until after that, +no harm would follow his suspension of operations. + +"Bad news?" asked Kitty, anxiously. + +"Aggravating rather than bad. I am called to Washington. May be +gone four or five days. Official business. Leaves things here a +bit in the air." + +"I'll stay as long as you need me," said Miss Frances. + +"I'd rather a man now. You've been a brick. You need rest. I've +a chap in mind. He'll make our friend here toe the mark. A +physical instructor, ex-pugilist; knows all about broken heads." + +"I say, that's ripping!" cried Hawksley. "Give me your man, and +I'll be off your hands within a week. The sooner you stop fussing +over me the sooner the crack in my head will cease to bother me. + +"Kuroki will cook for you and Ryan will put you through the necessary +stunts. The roof, when the weather permits, makes a good exercising +ground. If you'll excuse me I'll do some telephoning. Kuroki, pack +my bag for a five-day trip to Washington. I'll take you down to the +office, Kitty." + +"I don't fancy I ever will quite understand you," said Hawksley, +leaning back in his chair, listlessly. "Honestly, now, you'd be +perfectly justified in bundling me off to some hotel. I have funds. +Why all this pother about me?" + +Cutty smiled. "When I tackle anything I like to carry it through. +I want to put you on your train." + +"To be reasonably sure that I shan't come back?" + +"Precisely" - but without smiling. With a vague yet inclusive nod +Cutty hurried off. + +"It is because he is such a thorough sportsman. Mr. Hawksley," Kitty +explained. "Having accepted certain obligations he cannot abrogate +them off. hand." + +"Did I bother you last night? I mean, did my fiddling?" + +"Mercy, no! From the hurdy-gurdy of my childhood, down to Kubelik +and his successors, I have been more or less music-mad. You play + - wonderfully!" Sudden, inexplicable shyness. + +Hawksley smiled. An hour or two with that old Amati. + +"I am only an unconventional amateur. You should hear Stefani +Gregor when the mood is on. He puts something into your soul that +makes you wish to go forth at once to do some fine, unselfish +act." + +Stefani Gregor! He thought of the clear white soul of the man who +had surrendered imperishable fame to stand between him and the curse +of his blood; who had for ten years stood between his mother and +the dissolute man whom irony had selected for the part of father. +Ten years of diplomacy, tact, patience. Stefani Gregor! There was +the blood, predatory and untamed; and there was the spirit which +the old musician had moulded. He could not harm this girl. Dead +or alive, Stefani Gregor would not permit it. + +Hawksley rose slowly and without further speech walked to the +corridor door. He leaned against the jamb for a moment, then went +on to his bedroom. + +"I'm afraid that breakfast was too much for him," the nurse ventured. +"An odd young man." + +"Very," replied Kitty, rather absently. She was trying to analyze +that flash of shyness. + +Meantime, Cutty sat down before the telephone. He wanted Kitty out +of town during his absence. In her present excitable mood he was +afraid to trust her. She might surrender to any mad impulse that +stirred her fancy. So he called up Burlingame. Kitty's chief, and +together they manufactured an assignment that was always a pleasant +recollection to Kitty. + +Next, Cutty summoned Professor Billy Ryan to the wire, argued and +cajoled for ten minutes, and won his point. He was always dealing +in futures - banking his favours here and there and drawing checks +against them when needed. + +Then he tackled his men and issued orders suspending operations +temporarily. He was asked what they should do in case Karlov came +out into the open. He answered in such an event not to molest him +but to watch and take note of those with whom he associated. There +were big things in the air, and only he himself had hold of all the +threads. He relayed this information to the actual chief of the +local service, from whom he had borrowed his men. There was no +protest. Green spectacles. + +Quarter to nine he and Kitty entered a subway car and found a corner +to themselves, while Karlov's agent was content with a strap in the +crowded end of the car. + +Karlov for once had outthought Cutty. He had withdrawn his watchers, +confident that after a day or so his unknown opponent would withdraw +his. During the lull Karlov matured his plans, then resumed +operations, calculating that he would have some forty-odd hours' +leeway. + +His agent was clever. He had followed Kitty from Eightieth Street +to the Knickerbocker Hotel. There he had lost her. He had loitered +on the sidewalk until midnight, and was then convinced that the girl +had slipped by. So he had returned to Eightieth Street; but as late +as five in the morning she had not returned. + +This agent had followed the banker after his visit to Kitty. He had +watched the banker's house, seen Cutty arrive and depart. Taking a +chance shot in the dark, he had followed Cutty to the office +building, learned that Cutty was the owner and lived in the loft. +As Kitty had not returned home by five he proceeded to take a second +chance shot in the dark, stationing himself across the street from +the entrance to the office building, thereby solving the riddle +uppermost in Karlov's mind. He had found the man in the dress suit. + +"Cutty, I'm sorry I was such a booby last night. But it was the best +thing that could have happened. The pentupness of it was simply +killing me. I hadn't any one to come to but you - any one who would +understand. I don't know of any man who has a better right to kiss +me. I know. You were just trying to buck me up." + +Clitter-clatter! Clitter-clatter! Cutty stared hard at the cement +floor. Marry her, settle a sum on her, and give her her freedom. +Molly's girl. Give her a chance to play. He turned. + +"Kitty, do you trust me?" + +"Of all the foolish questions!" She pressed his arm. "Why shouldn't +I trust you?" + +"Will you marry me? Wait! Let me make clear to you what I have in +mind. I'm all alone. I loved your mother. It breaks my heart that +while I have everything in the way of luxuries you have nothing. I +can't settle a sum on you - an income. The world wouldn't +understand. Your friends would be asking questions among themselves. +This telegram from Washington means but one thing: that in a few +weeks I shall be on my way to the East. I shall be mighty unhappy +if I have to go leaving you in the rut. This is my idea: marry me +an hour or so before the ship sails. I will leave you a comfortable +income. Lord knows how long I shall be gone. Well, I won't write. +After a year you can regain your freedom on the grounds of desertion. +Simple as falling off a log. It's the one logical way I can help +you. Will you?" + +Station after station flashed by. Kitty continued stare through the +window across the way. by and by she turned her face toward him, her +eyes shining with tears. + +"Cutty, there is going to be a nice place in heaven for you some day. +I understand. I believe Mother understands, too. Am I selfish? I +can't say No to you and I can't say Yes. Yet I should be a liar if +I did not say that everything in me leaps toward the idea. It is +both hateful and fascinating. Common sense says Yes; and something +else in me says No. I like dainty things, dainty surroundings. I +want to travel, to see something of the world. I once thought I had +creative genius, but I might as well face the fact that I haven't. +Only by accident will I ever earn more than I'm earning now. In a +few years I'll grow old suddenly. You know what the newspaper game +does to women. The rush and hurry of it, the excitements, the +ceaseless change. It is a furnace, and women shrivel up in it +quicker than men." + +"There won't be any nonsense, Kitty. An hour before I go aboard my +ship. I'll go back to the job the happiest of men. Molly's girl +taken care of! Just before your father died I promised him I'd keep +an eye on you. I never forgot, but conditions made it impossible. +The apartment will be yours as long as you need it. Kuroki, of +course, goes with me. It's merely going by convention on the blind +side. To leave you something in my will wouldn't serve at all, +I'm a tough old codger and may be marked down for a hale old ninety. +All I want is to make you happy and carefree." + +"Cutty, I'd like to curl up in some corner and cry, gratefully. I +didn't know there were such men. I just don't know what to do. It +isn't as if you were asking me to be your wife. And as you say, I +can't accept money. There is a pride in me that rejects the whole +thing; but it may be the same fool pride that has cut away my +friends. I ought to fall on your neck with joy: and here I am +trying to look round corners! You are my father's friend, my +mother's, mine. Why shouldn't I accept the proposition? You are +alone, too. You have a perfect right to do as you please with your +money, and I have an equally perfect right to accept your gifts. +We are all afraid of the world, aren't we? That's probably at the +bottom of my doddering. Cutty, what is love?" she broke off, +whimsically. + +"Looking into mirrors and hunting for specks," he answered, readily. + +"I mean seriously." + +"So do I. Before I went round to the stage entrance to take your +mother out to supper I used to preen an hour before the mirror. My +collar, my cravat, my hair, the nap on my stovepipe, my gloves + - terrible things! And what happened? Your dad, dressed in his +office clothes, came along like a cyclone, walked all over my toes, +and swooped up your mother right from under my nose. Now just look +the proposition over from all angles. Think of yourself; let the +old world go hang. They'll call it alimony. In a year or so you'll +be free; and some chap like Tommy Conover will come along, and bang! +You'll know all about love. Here's old Brooklyn Bridge. I'll see +you to the elevator. All nonsense that you should have the least +hesitance." + +Fifteen minutes later he was striding along Park Row. By the swing +of his stride any onlooker would have believed that Cutty was in a +hurry to arrive somewhere. Instead, one was only walking. Suddenly +he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk with the two currents of +pedestrians flowing on each side of him, as a man might stop who +saw some wonderful cloud effect. But there was nothing ecstatical +in his expression; on the contrary, there was a species of bewildered +terror. The psychology of all his recent actions had in a flash +become vividly clear. + +An unbelievable catastrophe had overtaken him. He loved Kitty, +loved her with an intense, shielding passion, quite unlike that +which he had given her mother. Such a thing could happen! He +offered not the least combat; the revelation was too smashing to +admit of any doubt. It was not a recrudescence of his love for +Molly, stirred into action by the association with Molly's daughter. +He wanted Kitty for himself, wanted her with every fibre in his +body, fiercely. And never could he tell her - now. + +The tragic irony of it all numbed him. Fate hadn't played the +game fairly. He was fifty-two, on the far side of the plateau, +near sunset. It wasn't a square deal. + +Still he stood there on the sidewalk, like a rock in the middle of +a turbulent stream, rejecting selfish thoughts. Marry Kitty, and +tell her the truth afterward. He knew the blood of her - loyalest +of the loyal. He could if he chose play that sort of game - cheat +her. He could not withdraw his proposition. If she accepted it he +would have to carry it through. Cheat her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +Kitty hung up her hat and coat. She did not pat her hair or tuck +in the loose ends before the mirror - a custom as invariable as +sunrise. The coat tree stood at the right of the single window, +and out of this window Kitty stared solemnly, at everything and at +nothing. + +Burlingame eyed her seriously. Cutty had given him a glimmer of +the tale - enough to make known to him that this pretty, sensible +girl, though no fault of her own, was in the shadow of some actual +if unknown danger. And Cutty wanted her out of town for a few +days. Burlingame had intended sending Kitty out of town on an +assignment during Easter week. An exchange of telegrams that +morning had closed the gap in time. + +"Well, you might say 'Good morning.'" + +"I beg your pardon, Burly!" In newspaper offices you belong at +once or you never belong; and to belong is to have your name +sheared to as few syllables as possible. You are formal only to +the city editor, the managing editor, and the auditor. + +"What's the matter?" + +"I've been set in the middle of a fairy story," said Kitty, "and +I'm wondering if it's worth the trouble to try to find a way out. +A Knight of the Round Table, a prince of chivalry. What would +you say if you saw one in spats and a black derby?" + +"Why," answered Burlingame, "I suppose I'd consider July first as +the best thing that could happen to me." + +Kitty laughed; and that was what he wanted. + +What had that old rogue been doing now - offering Kitty his +eighteen-story office building? + +"It's odd, isn't it, that I shouldn't possess a little histrionic +ability. You'd think it would be in my blood to act." + +"It is, Kitty; only not to mimic. You're an actress, but the Big +Dramatist writes your business for you. Now, I've got some fairly +good news for you. An assignment." + +"Work! What is it?" + +"I am going to send you on a visit to the most charming movie queen +in the business. She is going to return to Broadway this autumn, +and she has a trunkful of plays to read. I have found your judgment +ace-high. Mornings you will read with her; afternoons you will +visit. She remembers your mother, who was the best comedienne of +her day. So she will be quite as interested in you as you are +in her. I want you to note her ways, how she amuses herself, eats, +exercises. I want you to note the contents of her beautiful home; +if she likes dogs or cats or horses. You will take a camera and +get half a dozen good pictures, and a page yarn for Easter Sunday. +Stay as long as she wants you to." + +"But who?" + +Burlingame jerked his thumb toward a photograph on the wall. + +"Oh! This will be the most scrumptious event in my life. I'm +wild about her! But I haven't any clothes!" + +Burlingame waved his hands. "I knew I'd hear that yodel. Eve +didn't have anything to speak of, but she travelled a lot. Truth +is, Kitty, you'd better dress in monotones. She might wake up to +the fact that you're a mighty pretty young woman and suddenly +become temperamental. She has a husband round the lot somewhere. +Make him think his wife is a lucky woman. Here's all the dope + - introduction, expenses, and tickets. Train leaves at two-fifty. +Run along home and pack. Remember, I want a page yarn. No +flapdoodle or mush; straight stuff. She doesn't need any +advertising. If you go at it right you two will react upon each +other as a tonic. + +Kitty realized that this little junket was the very thing she needed + - open spaces, long walks in which to think out her problem. She +hurried home and spent the morning packing. When this heartrending +business was over she summoned Tony Bernini. + +"I am going out of town, Mr. Bernini. I may be gone a week." + +"All right, Miss Conover." Bernini hid a smile. He knew all about +this trip, having been advised by Cutty over the wire. + +"Am I being followed any more?" + +"Not that we know of. Still, you never can tell. What's your +destination?" Kitty told him. "Better not go by train. I can get +a fast roadster and run you out in a couple of hours. Right after +lunch you go to the boss's garage and wait for me. I'll take care +of your grips and camera. I'll follow on your heels." + +"Anybody would consider that Karlov was after me instead of Hawksley." + +Bernini smiled. "Miss Conover, the moment Karlov puts his hands +on you the whole game goes blooey. That's the plain fact. There +is death in this game. These madmen expect to blow up the United +States on May first. We are easing them along because we want the +top men in our net. But if Karlov takes it into his head to get you, +and succeeds, he'll have a stranglehold on the whole local service; +because we'd have to make great concessions to free you." + +"Why wasn't I told this at the start?" + +"You were told, indirectly. We did not care to frighten you." + +"I'm not frightened," said Kitty. + +"Nope. But we wish to the Lord you were, Miss Conover. When you +want to come home, wire me and I'll motor out for you." + +Another fragment. Karlov's agent sought his chief and found him in +the cellar of the old house, sinisterly engaged. The wall bench +was littered with paraphernalia well known to certain chemists. Had +the New York bomb squad known of the existence of this den, the +short hair on their necks would have risen. + +"Well?" greeted Karlov, moodily. + +"I have found the man in the dress suit." + +"He and the Conover girl left that office building together this +morning, and I followed them to Park Row. This man uses the loft +of the building for his home. No elevator goes up unless you have +credentials. Our man is hiding there, Boris." + +Karlov dry-washed his hands. "We'll send him one of the samples if +we fail in regard to the girl. You say she arrives daily at the +newspaper office about nine and leaves between five and six?" + +"Every day but Sunday." + +"Good news. Two bolts; one or the other will go home." + +About the same time in Cutty's apartment rather an amusing comedy +took place. Professor Ryan, late physical instructor at one of +the aviation camps, stood Hawksley in front of him and ran his +hard hands over the young man's body. Miss Frances stood at +one side, her arms folded, her expression skeptical. + +"Nothin' the matter with you, Bo, but the crack on the conk." + +"Right-o!" agreed Hawksley. + +"Lemme see your hands. Humph. Soft. Now stand on that threshold. +That's it. Walk t' the' end o' the hall an' back. Step lively." + +"But "began Miss Frances in protest. This was cruelty. + +"I'm the doctor, miss," interrupted Ryan, crisply. "If he falls +down he goes t' bed, an' you stay. If he makes it, he follows my +instructions." + +When Hawksley returned to the starting line the walls rocked, there +were two or three blinding stabs of pain; but he faced this unusual +Irishman with never a hint of the torture. A wild longing to be +gone from this kindly prison - to get away from the thought of the +girl. + +"All right," said Ryan. "Now toddle back t' bed." + +"Bed?" + +"Yep. Goin' t' give you a rub that'll start all your machinery +workin'." + +Docilely Hawksley obeyed. He wasn't going to let them know, but +that bed was going to be tolerably welcome. + +"Well!" said Miss Frances. "I don't see how he did it." + +"I do," said the ex-pugilist. "I told him to. Either he was a +false alarm, or he'd attempt the job even if he fell down. The +hull thing is this: Make a guy wanta get well an' he'll get well. +If he's got any pride, dig it up. Go after 'em. He hasn't lost +any blood. No serious body wound. A crack on the conk. It +mighta killed him. It didn't. He didn't wabble an' fall down. +So my dope is right. Drop in in a few days an' I'll show yuh." + +Miss Frances held out her hand. "You've handled men," she said, +with reluctant admiration. + +"Oh, boy! - millions of 'em, an' each guy different. Believe me! +Make 'em wanta." + +Cutty attended his conferences. He learned immediately that he was +booked to sail the first week in May. His itinerary began at +Piraeus, in Greece, and might end in Vladivostok. But they detained +him in Washington overtime because he was a fount of information the +departments found it necessary to draw upon constantly. The +political and commercial aspects of the polyglot peoples, what they +wanted, what they expected, what they needed; racial enmities. The +bugaboo of the undesirable alien was no longer bothering official +heads in Washington. Stringent immigration laws were in the making. +What they wanted to know was an American's point of view, based upon +long and intimate associations. + +Washington reminded him of nothing so much as a big sheep dog. The +hazardous day was over; the wolves had been driven off and the sheep +into the fold; and now the valiant guardian was turning round and +round and round preparatory to lying down to sleep. For Washington +would go to sleep again, naturally. + +Often it occurred to him what a remarkable piece of machinery the +human brain was. He could dig up all this dry information with the +precise accuracy of an economist, all the while his actual thoughts +upon Kitty. His nights were nightmares. And all this unhappiness +because he had been touched with the lust for loot. Fundamentally, +this catastrophe could be laid to the drums of jeopardy. + +The alluring possibility of finding those damnable green stones - the +unsuspected kink in his moral rectitude - had tumbled him into this +pit. Had not Kitty pronounced the name Stefani Gregor - in his +mind always linked with the emeralds - he would have summoned an +ambulance and had Hawksley carried off, despite Kitty's protests; +and perhaps he would have seen her but two or three times before +sailing, seen her in conventional and unemotional parts. At any +rate, there would have been none of this peculiar intimacy - Kitty +coming to him in tears, opening her young heart to him and +discovering all its loneliness. If she loved some chap it would +not be so hard, the temptation would not be so keen - to cheat her. +Marry her, and then tell her. This dogged his thoughts like a +murderer's deed, terrible in the watches of the night. Marry her, +and then tell her. Cheat her. Break her heart and break his own. + +Fifty-two. Never before had he thought old. His splendid health +and vigorous mentality were the results of thinking young. But now +he heard the avalanche stirring, the whispering slither of the +first pebbles. He would grow old swiftly, thunderously. Kitty's +youth would shore up the debacle, suspend it indefinitely. Marry +her, cheat her, and stay young. Green stones, accursed. + +Kitty's days were pleasant enough, but her nights were sieges. One +evening someone put Elman's rendition of Schubert's "Ave Maria" on +the phonograph. Long after it was over she sat motionless in her +chair. Echoes. The Tschaikowsky waltz. She got up suddenly, +excused herself, and went to her room. + +Six days, and her problem was still unsolved. Something in her + - she could not define it, she could not reach it, it defied +analysis - something, then, revolted at the idea of marrying Cutty, +divorcing him, and living on his money. There was a touch of +horror in the suggestion. It was tearing her to pieces, this hidden +repellence. And yet this occult objection was so utterly absurd. +If he died and left her a legacy she would accept it gratefully +enough. Cutty's plan was only a method of circumventing this +indefinite wait. + +Comforts, the good things of life, amusements - simply by nodding +her head. Why not? It wasn't as if Cutty was asking her to be +his wife; he wasn't. Just wanted to dodge convention, and give her +freedom and happiness. He was only giving her a mite out of his +income. Because he had loved her mother; because, but for an +accident of chance, she, Kitty, might have been his daughter. Why, +then, this persistent and unaccountable revulsion? Why should she +hesitate? The ancient female fear of the trap? That could not be +it. For a more honourable, a more lovable man did not walk the +earth. Brave, strong, handsome, whimsical - why, Cutty was a catch! + +Comfy. Never any of that inherent doubt of man when she was with +him. Absolute trust. An evil thought had entered her head; fate +had made it honourably possible. And still this mysterious +repellence. + +Romance? She was not surrendering her right to that. What was a +year out of her life if afterward she would be in comfortable +circumstances, free to love where she willed? She wasn't cheating +herself or Cutty: she was cheating convention, a flimsy thing at +best. + +Windows. We carry our troubles to our windows; through windows we +see the stars. We cannot visualize God, but we can see His stars +pinned to the immeasurable spaces. So Kitty sought her window and +added her question to the countless millions forlornly wandering +about up there, and finding no answer. + +But she would return to New York on the morrow. She would not +summon Bernini as she had promised. She would go back by train, +alone, unhampered. + +And in his cellar Boris Karlov spun his web for her. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +Hawksley heard the lift door close, and he knew that at last he was +alone. He flung out his arms, ecstatically. Free! He would see +no more of that nagging beggar Ryan until tomorrow. Free to put +into execution the idea that had been bubbling all day long in his +head, like a fine champagne, firing his blood with reckless +whimsicality. + +Quietly he stole down the corridor. Through a crack in the kitchen +door he saw Kuroki's back, the attitude of which was satisfying. +It signified that the Jap was pegging away at his endless studies +and that only the banging of the gong would rouse him. The way was +as broad and clear as a street at dawn. Not that Kuroki mattered; +only so long as he did not know, so much the better. + +With careful step Hawksley manoeuvred his retreat so that it brought +him to Cutty's bedroom door. The door was unlocked. He entered +the room. What a lark! They would hide his own clothes; so much +the worse for the old beggar's wardrobe. Street clothes. Presently +he found a dark suit, commendable not so much for its style as for +the fact that it was the nearest fit he could find. He had to roll +up the trouser hems. + +Hats. Chuckling like a boy rummaging a jam closet, he rifled the +shelves and pulled down a black derby of an unknown vintage. Large; +but a runner of folded paper reduced the size. As he pressed the +relic firmly down on his head he winced. A stab over his eyes. He +waited doubtfully; but there was no recurrence. Fit as a fiddle. +Of course he could not stoop without a flash of vertigo; but on his +feet he was top-hole. He was gaining every day. + +Luck. He might have come out of it with the blank mind of a newborn +babe; and here he was, keen to resume his adventures. Luck. They +had not stopped to see if he was actually dead. Some passer-by in +the hall had probably alarmed them. That handkerchief had carried +him round the brink. Perhaps Fate intended letting him get through + - written on his pass an extension of his leave of absence. Or she +had some new torture in reserve. + +Now for a stout walking stick. He selected a blackthorn, twirled it, +saluted, and posed before the mirror. Not so bally rotten. He would +pass. Next, he remembered that there were some flowers in the +dining room - window boxes with scarlet geraniums. He broke off a +sprig and drew it through his buttonhole. + +Outside there was a cold, pale April sky, presaging wind and rain. +Unimportant. He was going down into the streets for an hour or so. +The colour and action of a crowded street; the lure was irresistible. +Who would dare touch him in the crowd? These rooms had suddenly +become intolerable. + +He leaned against the side of the window. Roofs, thousands of them, +flat, domed, pinnacled; and somewhere under one of these roofs +Stefani Gregor was eating his heart out. It did not matter that +this queer old eagle whom everybody called Cutty had promised to +bring Stefani home. It might be too late. Stefani was old, highly +strung. Who knew what infernal lies Karlov had told him? Stefani +could stand up under physical torture; but to tear at his soul, to +twist and rend his spirit! + +The bubble in the champagne died down - as it always will if one +permits it to stand. He felt the old mood seep through the dikes +of his gayety. Alone. A familiar face - he would have dropped on +his knees and thanked God for the sight of a familiar face. These +people, kindly as they were - what were they but strangers? +Yesterday he had not known them; to-morrow he would leave them +behind forever. All at once the mystery of this bubbling idea was +bared: he was going to risk his life in the streets in the vague +hope of seeing some face he had known in the days before the world +had gone drunk on blood. One familiar face. + +Of course he would never forget - at any rate, not the girl whose +courage had made possible this hour. Those chaps, scared off +temporarily, might have returned. What had become of her? He was +a1ways seeing her lovely face in the shadows, now tender, now +resolute, now mocking. Doubtless he thought of her constantly +because his freedom of action was limited. He hadn't diversion +enough. Books and fiddling, these carried him but halfway through +the boredom. Where was she? Daily he had called her by telephone; +no answer. The Jap shook his head; the slangy boy in the lift shook +his. + +She was a thoroughbred, even if she had been born of middle -class +parentage. He laughed bitterly. Middle class. A homeless, +countryless derelict, and he had the impudence to revert to +comparisons that no longer existed in this topsy-turvy old world. +He was an upstart. The final curtain had dropped between him and +his world, and he was still thinking in the ancient make-up. Middle +class! He was no better than a troglodyte, set down in a new +wilderness. + +He heard the curtain rings slither on the pole. Believing the +intruder to be Kuroki he turned belligerently. And there she stood + - the girl herself! The poise of her reminded him of the Winged +Victory in the Louvre. Where there had been a cup of champagne in +his veins circumstance now poured a magnum. + +"You!" he cried. + +"What has happened? Where are you going in those clothes?" demanded +Kitty. + +"I am running away - for an hour or so." + +"But you must not! The risks - after all the trouble we've had to +help you!" + +"I shall be perfectly safe, for you are going with me. Aren't you +my guardian angel? Well, rather! The two of us - people, lights, +shop windows! Perfectly splendiferous! Honestly, now, where's the +harm?" He approached her rapidly as he spoke, and before the spell +of him could be shaken off Kitty found her hands imprisoned in his. +"Please! I've been so damnably bored. The two of us in the streets, +among the crowds! No one will dare touch us. Can't you see? And +then - I say, this is ripping ! - we'll have dinner together here. +I will play for you on the old Amati. Please!" + +The fire of him communicated to the combustibles in Kitty's soul. +A wild, reckless irony besieged her. This adventure would be +exactly what she needed; it would sweep clear the fog separating +one side of her brain from the other. For it was plain enough +that part of her brain refused to cooperate with the other. A +break in the trend of thought: she might succeed in getting hold +of the puzzle if she could drop it absolutely for a little while +and then pick it up again. + +She had not gone home. She had not notified Bernini. She had +checked her luggage in the station parcel room and come directly +here. For what? To let the sense of luxury overcome the hidden +repugnance of the idea of marrying Cutty, divorcing him, and +living on his money. To put herself in the way of visible +temptation. What fretted her so, what was wearing her down to +the point of fatigue, was the patent imbecility of her reluctance. +There would have been some sense of it if Cutty had proposed a +real marriage. All she had to do was mumble a few words, sign +her name to a document, live out West for a few months, and be +in comfortable circumstances all the rest of her life. And she +doddered! + +She would run the streets with Johnny Two-Hawks, return, and dine +with him. Who cared? Proper or improper, whose business was it but +Kitty Conover's? Danger? That was the peculiar attraction. She +wanted to rush into danger, some tense excitement the strain of +which would lift her out of her mood. A recurrent touch of the wild +impulsiveness of her childhood. Hadn't she sometimes flown out into +thunderstorms, after merited punishment, to punish the mother whom +thunder terrorized? And now she was going to rush into unknown +danger to punish Fate - like a silly child! Nevertheless, she would +go into the streets with Johnny Two-Hawks. + +"But are you strong enough to venture on the streets?" + +"Rot! Dash it all, I'm no mollycoddle! All nonsense to keep me +pinned in like this. Will you go with me - be my guide?" + +"Yes!" She shot out the word and crossed the Rubicon before reason +could begin to lecture. Besides, wasn't reason treating her shabbily +in withholding the key to the riddle? "Johnny Two-Hawks, I will go +as far as Harlem if you want me to." + +"Johnny Two-Hawks!" He laughed joyously, then kissed her hands. +But he had to pay for this bending - a stab that filled his eyes +with flying sparks. He must remember, once out of doors, not to +stoop quickly. "I say, you're the jolliest girl I ever met! Just +the two of us, what?" + +"The way you speak English is wonderful!" + +"Simple enough to explain. Had an English nurse from the beginning. +Spoke English and Italian before I spoke Russian." + +He seized the wooden mallet and beat the Burmese gong - a flat piece +of brass cut in the shape of a bell. The clear, whirring vibrations +filled the room. Long before these spent themselves Kuroki appeared +on the threshold. He bobbed. + +"Kuroki, Miss Conover is dining here with me to-night. Seven +o'clock sharp. The best you have in the larder." + +"Yes, sair. You are going out, sair?" + +"For a bit of fresh air." + +"And I am going with him, Kuroki," said Kitty. Kuroki bobbed again. +"Dinner at seven, sair." Another bob, and he returned to the +kitchen, smiling. The girl was free to come and go, of course, but +the ancient enemy of Nippon would not pass the elevator door. Let +him find that out for himself. + +When the elevator arrived the boy did not open the door. He noted +the derby on Hawksley's head. + +"I can take you down, Miss Conover, but I cannot take Mr. Hawksley. +When the boss gives me an order I obey it - if I possibly can. On +the day the boss tells me you can go strolling, I'll give you the +key to the city. Until then, nix! No use arguing, Mr. Hawksley." + +"I shan't argue," replied Hawksley, meekly. "I am really a prisoner, +then?" + +"For your own good, sir. Do you wish to go down, Miss Conover?" + +"No." + +The boy swung the lever, and the car dropped from sight. + +"I'm sorry," said Kitty. + +Hawksley smiled and laid a finger on his lips. "I wanted to know," +he whispered. "There's another way down from this Matterhorn. Come +with me. Off the living room is a storeroom. I found the key in +the lock the other day and investigated. I still have the key. Now, +then, there's a door that gives to the main loft. At the other end +is the stairhead. There is a door at the foot of the first flight +down. We can jolly well leave this way, but we shall have to return +by the lift. That bally young ruffian can't refuse to carry us up, +y' know!" + +Kitty laughed. "This is going to be fun!" + +"Rather!" + +They groped their way through the dim loft - for it was growing dark +outside - and made the stairhead. The door to the seventeenth floor +opened, and they stepped forth into the lighted hallway. + +"Now what?" asked Kitty, bubbling. + +"The floor below, and one of the other lifts, what?" Twenty minutes +later the two of them, arm in arm, turned into Broadway. + +"This, sir," began Kitty with a gesture, "is Broadway - America's +backyard in the daytime and Ali Baba's cave at night. The way of +the gilded youth; the funnel for papa's money; the chorus lady; the +starting point of the high cost of living. We New Yorkers despise +it because we can't afford it." + +"The lights!" gasped Hawksley. + +"Wreckers' lights. Behold! Yonder is a highly nutritious whisky +blinking its bloomin' farewell. Do you chew gum? Even if you +don't, in a few minutes I'll give you a cud for thought. Chewing +gum was invented by a man with a talkative wife. He missed the +physiological point, however, that a body can chew and talk at the +same time. Come on!" + +They went on uptown, Hawksley highly amused, exhilarated, but +frequently puzzled. The pungent irony of her observations conveyed +to him that under this gayety was a current of extreme bitterness. +"I say, are all American girls like you?" + +"Heavens, no! Why?" + +"Because I never met one like you before. Rather stilted - on their +good behaviour, I fancy." + +"And I interest you because I'm not on my good behaviour?" Kitty +whipped back. + +"Because you are as God made you - without camouflage." + +"The poor innocent young man! I'm nothing but camouflage to-night. +Why are you risking your life in the street? Why am I sharing +that risk? Because we both feel bound and are blindly trying +to break through. What do you know about me? Nothing. What do +I know about you? Nothing. But what do we care? Come on, come on!" + +Tumpitum - tump! tumpitum - tump! drummed the Elevated. Kitty +laughed. The tocsin! Always something happened when she heard it. + +"Pearls!" she cried, dragging him toward a jeweller's window. + +"No!" he said, holding back. "I hate - jewels! How I hate them!" +He broke away from her and hurried on. + +She had to run after him. Had she hesitated they might have become +separated. Hated jewels? No, no! There should be no questions, +verbal or mental, this night. She presently forced him to slow down. +"Not so fast! We must never become separated," she warned. "Our +safety - such as it is - lies in being together." + +"I'm an ass. Perhaps my head is ratty without my realizing it. I +fancy I'm like a dog that's been kicked; I'm trying to run away +from the pain. What's this tomb?" + +"The Metropolitan Opera House." + +As they were passing a thin, wailing sound came to the ears of both. +Seated with his back to the wall was a blind fiddler with a tin cup +strapped to a knee. He was out of bounds; he had no right on +Broadway; but he possessed a singular advantage over the law. He +could not be forced to move on without his guide - if he were +honestly blind. Hundreds of people were passing; but the fiddler's +"Last Rose of Summer" wasn't worth a cent. His cup was empty. + +"The poor thing!" said Kitty. + +"Wait!" Hawksley approached the fiddler, exchanged a few words with +him, and the blind man surrendered his fiddle. + +"Give me your hat!" cried Kitty, delighted. + +Carefully Hawksley pried loose his derby and handed it to Kitty. +No stab of pain; something to find that out. He turned the +instrument, tucked it under his chin and began "Traumerei." Kitty, +smiling, extended the hat. Just the sort of interlude to make the +adventure memorable. She knew this thoroughfare. Shortly there +would be a crowd, and the fiddler's cup would overflow - that is, +if the police did not interfere too soon. + +As for the owner of the wretched fiddle, he raised his head, his +mouth opened. Up there, somewhere, a door to heaven had opened. + +True to her expectations a crowd slowly gathered. The beauty of +the girl and the dark, handsome face of the musician, his picturesque +bare head, were sufficient for these cynical passers-by. They +understood. Operatic celebrities, having a little fun on their own. +So quarters and dimes and nickels began to patter into Cutty's +ancient derby hat. Broadway will always contribute generously toward +a novelty of this order. Famous names were tossed about in +undertones. + +Entered then the enemy of the proletariat. Kitty, being a New +Yorker born, had had her weather eye roving. The brass-buttoned +minion of the law was always around when a bit of innocent fun was +going on. As the policeman reached the inner rim of the audience +the last notes of Handel's "Largo" were fading on the ear. + +"What's this?" demanded the policeman. + +"It's all over, sir," answered Kitty, smiling. + +"Can't have this on Broadway, miss. Obstruction." He could not +speak gruffly in the face of such beauty - especially with a +Broadway crowd at his back. + +"It's all over. Just let me put this money in the blind man's cup." +Kitty poured her coins into the receptacle. At the same time +Hawksley laid the fiddle in the blind man's lap. Then he turned to +Kitty and boomed a long Russian phrase at her. Her quick wit caught +the intent. "You see, he doesn't understand that this cannot be +done in New York. I couldn't explain." + +"All right, miss; but don't do it again." The policeman grinned. + +"And please don't be harsh with the blind man. Just tell him he +mustn't play on Broadway again. Thank you!' + +She linked her arm in Hawksley's, and they went on; and the crowd +dissolved; only the policeman and the blind man remained, the one +contemplating his duty and the other his vision of heaven. + +"What a lark!" exclaimed Hawksley. + +"Were you asking me for your hat?" + +"I was telling the bobby to go to the devil!" + +They laughed like children. + +"March hares!" he said. + +"No. April fools! Good heavens, the time! Twenty minutes to +seven. Our dinner!" + +"We'll take a taxi.... Dash it!" + +"What's wrong?" + +"Not a bally copper in my pockets!" + +"And I left my handbag on the sideboard! We'll have to walk. If +we hurry we can just about make it." + +Meantime, there lay in wait for them - this pair of April fools - a +taxicab. It stood snugly against the curb opposite the entrance to +Cutty's apartment. The door was slightly ajar. + +The driver watched the south corner; the three men inside never took +their gaze off the north corner. + +"But, I say, hasn't this been a jolly lark?" + +"If we had known we could have borrowed a dollar from the blind man; +he'd never have missed it." + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +Champagne in the glass is a beautiful thing to see. So is water, +the morning after. That is the fault with frolic; there is always +an inescapable rebound. The most violent love drops into humdrum +tolerance. A pessimist is only a poor devil who has anticipated the +inevitable; he has his headache at the start. Mental champagnes have +their aftermaths even as the juice of the grape. + +Hawksley and Kitty, hurrying back, began to taste lees. They began +to see things, too - menace in every loiterer, threat in every alley. +They had had a glorious lark; somewhere beyond would be the piper +with an appalling bill. They exaggerated the dangers, multiplied +them; perhaps wisely. There would be no let-down in their vigilance +until they reached haven. But this state of mind they covered with +smiling masks, banter, bursts of laughter, and flashes of wit. + +They were both genuinely frightened, but with unselfish fear. Kitty's +fear was not for herself but for Johnny Two-Hawks. If anything +happened the blame would rightly be hers. With that head he wasn't +strictly accountable for what he did; she was. A firm negative on her +part and he would never have left the apartment. And his fear was +wholly for this astonishing girl. He had recklessly thrust her into +grave danger. Who knew, better than he, the implacable hate of the +men who sought to kill him? + +Moreover, his strength was leaving him. There was an alarming +weakness in his legs, purely physical. He had overdone, and if need +rose he would not be able to protect her. Damnable fool! But she +had known. That was the odd phase of it. She hadn't come blindly. +What mood had urged her to share the danger along with the lark? +Somehow, she was always just beyond his reach, this girl. He would +never forget that fan popping out of the pistol, the egg burning in +the pan. + +The apartment was only three blocks away when Kitty decided to drop +her mask. "I'd give a good deal to see a policeman. They are never +around when you really want them. Johnny Two-Hawks, I'm a little +fool! You wouldn't have left the apartment but for me. Will you +forgive me?" + +"It is I who should ask forgiveness. I say, how much farther is it?" + +"Only about two blocks; but they may be long ones. Let's step into +this doorway for a moment. I see a taxicab. It looks to be standing +opposite the building. Don't like it. Suppose we watch it for a few +minutes?" + +Hawksley was grateful for the respite; and together they stared at +the unwinking red eye of the tail light. But no man approached the +cab or left it. + +"I believe I've hit upon a plan," said Kitty. "Certainly we have +not been followed. In that event they would have had a dozen +chances. If someone saw us leave together, naturally they will +expect us to return together. We'll walk to the corner of our block, +then turn east; but I shall remain just out of sight while you will +go round the block. Fifteen minutes should carry you to the south +corner. I'll be on watch for you. The moment you turn I'll walk +toward you. It will give us a bit of a handicap in case that taxi +is a menace. If any one appears, run for it. Where's the cane you +had?" + +"What a jolly ass I am! I remember now. I left the stick against +the wall of the opera house. Blockhead! With a stick, now! ... I'm +hopeless!" + +"Never mind. Let's start. That taxi may be perfectly honest. It's +our guilty consciences that are peopling the shadows with goblins. +What really bothers us is that we have broken our word to the +kindliest man in all this world." + +Hawksley wondered if he could walk round the block without falling +down. He saw that he was facing a physical collapse, hastened by +the knowledge that the safety of the girl depended largely upon +himself. What he had accepted at the beginning as strength had +been nothing more than exhilaration and nerve energy. There was now +nothing but the latter, and only feeble straws at that. Oh, he +would manage somehow; he jolly well had to; and there was a bare +chance of falling in with a bobby. But run? Honestly, now, how +the devil was a chap to run on a pair of spools? + +Arriving at the appointed spot they separated. He waved his hand +airily and marched off. If he fell it would be out of sight, where +the girl could not see him. Clever chap - what? Damned rotter! +For himself he did not care. He was weary of this game of hide and +seek. But to have lured the girl into it! When he turned the +first corner of his journey he paused and leaned against the wall, +his eyes shut. When he opened them the sidewalk and the street +lamps were normal again. + +As soon as he disappeared a new plan came to Kitty. She put it +into execution at once, on the basis that yonder taxicab was an +enemy machine. She left her retreat and walked boldly down the +street, her eyes alert for the least suspicious sign. If she +could make the entrance before they suspected the trick, she could +obtain help before Johnny Two-Hawks made the south turn. She +reached her objective, pushed through the revolving doors, and +turned. Dimly she could see the taxi driver; but he appeared to +be dozing on the seat. + +As a matter of fact, one of the three men in the taxi recognized +Kitty, but too late to intercept her. Her manoeuvre had confused +him temporarily. And while he and his companions were debating, +Kitty had time to summon Cutty's man from Elevator Four. + +"Step into the car!" he roughly ordered, after she had given him a +gist of her suspicions. He turned off the lights, stepped out, and +shut the gates with a furious bang. "And stick to the corner! I'll +attend to the other fool." + +He rushed into the street, his automatic ready, eyed the taxicab +speculatively, wheeled suddenly, and ran south at a dog-trot. He +rounded the south corner, but he did not see Hawksley anywhere. The +dog-trot became a dead run. As he wheeled round the corner of the +parallel street he almost bumped into Hawksley, who had a policeman +in tow. + +"Officer," said the man with the boy's face, "this is Federal +business. Aliens. Come along. There may be trouble. If there +should be any shooting don't bother with the atmosphere. Pick out +a real target." + +"Anarchists?" + +"About the size of it." + +"Miss Conover?" asked Hawksley. + +"Safe. No thanks to you, though. I'd like to knock your block off, +if you want to know!" + +"Do it! Damned little use to me," declared Hawksley, sagging. + +"Here, what's the matter with you?" cried the policeman, throwing +his arm round Hawksley. + +"They nearly killed him a few days gone. A crack on the bean; but +he wasn't satisfied. Help him along. I'll be hiking back." + +But the taxicab was gone. + +Before Cutty's lieutenant opened the gate to the apartment he spoke +to Hawksley. "The boss is doing everything he can to put you +through, sir. Miss Conover's wit saved you. For if you hadn't +separated they'd have nailed you. I've been running round like a +chicken with its head cut off. I forgot that door on the +seventeenth floor. I tell you honestly, you've been playing with +death. It wasn't fair to Miss Conover." + +"It was my fault," volunteered Kitty. + +"Mine," protested Hawksley. + +"Well, they know where you roost now, for a fact. You've spilled +the beans. I'm sorry I lost my temper. The devil fly away with +you both!" The boy laughed. "You're game, anyhow. But darn it +all, if anything had happened to you the boss would never have +forgiven me. He's the whitest old scout God ever put the breath +of life into. He's always doing something for somebody. He'd give +you the block if you had the gall to ask for it. Play the game +fifty-fifty with him and you'll land on both feet. And you, Miss +Conover, must not come here again." + +"I promise." + +"I'll tell you a little secret. It was the boss who sent you out +of town. He was afraid you'd do something like this. When you are +ready to go home you'll find Tony Bernini downstairs. Sore as a +crab, too, I'll bet." + +"I'll be glad to go home with him," said Kitty, thoroughly chastened +in spirit. + +"That's all for to-night." + +Kitty and Hawksley stepped out into the corridor, the problem they +had sought to shake off reestablished in their thoughts, added too, +if anything. + +"How do you feel?" + +"Top-hole," lied Hawksley. "My word, though, I wobbled a bit going +round that block. I almost kissed the hobby. I say, he thought I'd +been tilting a few. But it was a lark!" + +"Dinner is served," announced Kuroki at their elbows. His expression +was coldly bland. + +"Dinner!" cried Hawksley, brightening. "What does the American +soldier say?" + +"Eats!" answered Kitty. + +All tension vanished in the double laughter that followed. They +approached dinner with something of the spirit that had induced +Hawksley to fiddle and Kitty to pass the hat in front of the +Metropolitan Opera House. Hawksley's recuperative powers promised +well for his future. By the time coffee was served his head had +cleared and his legs had resumed their normal functions of support. + +"I was so infernally bored!" + +"And now?" asked Kitty, recklessly. + +"Fancy asking me that!" + +"Do you realize that all this is dreadfully improper?" + +"Oh, I say, now! Where's the harm? If ever there was a young +woman capable of taking care of herself - " + +"That isn't it. It's just being here alone with you." + +"But you are not alone with me!" + +"Kuroki?" Kitty shrugged. + +"No. At my side of the table is Stefani Gregor; at yours the man +who has befriended me." + +"Thank you for that. I don't know of anything nicer you could say. +But the outside world would see neither of our friends. I did not +come here to see you." + +"No need of telling me that." + +"I had a problem - a very difficult one - to solve; and I believed +that I might solve it if I came to these rooms. I had quite +forgotten you." + +Instantly, upon receiving this blunt explanation, he determined that +she should never cease to remember him after this night. His vanity +was not touched; it was something far more elusive. It was perhaps +a recurrence of that inexplicable desire to hurt. Somehow he sensed +the flexible steel behind which lay the soul of this baffling girl. +He would presently find a chink in the armour with that old Amati. + +Blows on the head have few surgical comparisons. That which kills +one man only temporarily stuns another. One man loses his identity; +another escapes with all his faculties and suffers but trifling +inconvenience. In Hawksley's case the blow had probably restricted +some current of thought, and that which would have flowed normally +now shot out obliquely, perversely. It might be that the natural +perverseness of his blood, unchecked by the noble influence of +Stefani Gregor and liberated by the blow, governed his thoughts in +relation to Kitty. The subjugation of women, the old cynical +warfare of sex - the dominant business of his rich and idle +forbears, the business that had made Boris Karlov a deadly and +implacable enemy - became paramount in his disordered brain. + +She had forgotten him! Very well. He would stir the soul of her, +play with it, lift it to the stars and dash it down - if she had a +soul. Beautiful, natural, alone. He became all Latin under the +pressure of this idea. + +"I will play for you," he said, quietly. + +"Please! And then I'll go home where I belong. I'll be in the +living room." + +When he returned he found her before a window, staring at the myriad +lights. + +"Sit here," he said, indicating the divan. "I shall stand and walk +about as I play." + +Kitty sat down, touching the pillows, reflectively. She thought of +the tears she had wept upon them. That sinister and cynical thought! +Suddenly she saw light. Her problem would have been none at all if +Cutty had said he loved her. There would have been something sublime +in making him happy in his twilight. He had loved and lost her +mother. To pay him for that! He was right. Those twenty-odd years + - his seniority - had mellowed him, filled him with deep and tender +understanding. To be with him was restful; the very thought of him +now was resting. No matter how much she might love a younger man he +would frequently torture her by unconscious egoism; and by the time +he had mellowed, the mulled wine would be cold. If only Cutty had +said he loved her! + +"What shall I play?" + +Kitty raised her eyes in frank astonishment. There was a fiercely +proud expression on Hawksley's face. It was not the man, it was the +artist who was angry. + +"Forgive me! I was dreaming a little," she apologized with quick +understanding. "I am not quite - myself." + +"Neither am I. I will play something to fit your dream. But wait! +When I play I am articulate. I can express myself - all emotions. +I am what I play - happy, sad, gay, full of the devil. I warn +you. I can speak all things. I can laugh at you, weep with you, +despise you, love you! All in the touch of these strings. I warn +you there is magic in this Amati. Will you risk it?" + +Ordinarily - had this florid outburst come from another man - Kitty +would have laughed. It had the air of piqued vanity; but she knew +that this was not the interpretation. On the streets he had been +the most amusing and surprising comrade she had ever known, as +merry and whimsical as Cutty - young and handsome - the real man. +He had been real that night when he entered through her kitchen +window, with the drums of jeopardy about his neck. He had been real +that night she had brought him his wallet. + +Electric antagonism - the room seemed charged with it. The man had +stepped aside for a moment and the great noble had taken his place. +It was not because she had been reared in rather a theatrical +atmosphere that she transcribed his attitude thus. She knew that +he was noble. That she did not know his rank was of no consequence. +Cutty's narrative, which she had pretended to believe, had set this +man in the middle class. Never in this world. There was only one +middle class out of which such a personality might, and often did, +emerge - the American middle class. In Europe, never. No peasant +blood, no middle-class corpuscle, stirred in this man's veins. The +ancient boyar looked down at her. + +"Play!" said Kitty. There was a smile on her lips, but there was +fiery challenge in her slate-blue eyes. The blood of Irish kings + - and what Irishman dares deny it? - surged into her throat. + +We wear masks, we inherit generations of masks; and a trivial +incident reveals the primordial which lurks in each one of us. +Savages - Kitty with her stone hatchet and Hawksley swinging the +curved blade of Hunk. + +He began one of those tempestuous compositions, brilliant and +bewildering, that submerge the most appreciative lay mentality + - because he was angry, a double anger that he should be angry +over he knew not what - and broke off in the middle of the +composition because Kitty sat upright, stonily unimpressed. + +Tschaikowsky's "Serenade Melancolique." Kitty, after a few +measures, laid aside her stone hatchet, and her body relaxed. +Music! She began to absorb it as parched earth absorbs the tardy +rain. Then came the waltz which had haunted her. Her face grew +tenderly beautiful; and Hawksley, a true artist, saw that he had +discovered the fifth string; and he played upon it with all the +artistry which was naturally his and which had been given form by +the master who had taught him. + +For the physical exertions he relied upon nerve energy again. +Nature is generous when we are young. No matter how much we draw +against the account she always has a little more for us. He forgot +that only an hour gone he had been dizzy with pain, forgot +everything but the glory of the sounds he was evoking and their +visible reaction upon this girl. The devil was not only in his +heart, but in his hand. + +Never had Kitty heard such music. To be played to in this manner + - directly, with embracing tenderness, with undivided fire - would +have melted the soul of Gobseck the money lender; and Kitty was +warm-blooded, Irish, emotional. The fiddle called poignantly to the +Irish in her. She wanted to go roving with this man; with her hand +on his shoulder to walk in the thin air of high places. Through it +all, however, she felt vaguely troubled; the instinct of the trap. +The sinister and cynical idea which had clandestinely taken up +quarters in her mind awoke and assailed her from a new angle, that +of youth. Something in her cried out: "Stop! Stop!" But her lips +were mute, her body enchained. + +Suddenly Hawksley laid aside the fiddle and advanced. He reached +down and drew her up. Kitty did not resist him; she was numb with +enchantment. He held her close for a second, then kissed her - her +hair, eyes, mouth - released her and stepped back, a bantering smile +on his lips and cold terror in his heart. The devil who had +inspired this phase of the drama now deserted his victim, as he +generally does in the face of superior forces. + +Kitty stood perfectly still for a full minute, stunned. It was that +smile - frozen on his lips - that brought her back to intimacy with +cold realities. Had he asked her pardon, had he shown the least +repentance, she might have forgiven, forgotten. But knowing mankind +as she did she could give but one interpretation to that smile - of +which he was no longer conscious. + +Without anger, in quiet, level tones she said: "I had foolishly +thought that we two might be friends. You have made it impossible. +You have also abused the kindly hospitality of the man who has +protected you from your enemies. A few days ago he did me the honour +to ask me to marry him. I am going to. I wish you no evil." She +turned and walked from the room. + +Even then there was time. But he did not move. It was not until +he heard the elevator gate crash that be was physically released +from the thraldom of the inner revelation. Love - in the blinding +flash of a thunderbolt! He had kissed her not because he was the +son of his father, but because he loved her! And now he never +could tell her. He must let her go, believing that the man she +had saved from death had repaid her with insult. On top of all +his misfortunes, his tragedies - love! There was a God, yes, but +his name was Irony. Love! He stepped toward the divan, stumbled, +and fell against it, his arms spread over the pillows; and in +this position he remained. + +For a while his thoughts were broken, inconclusive; he was like a +man in the dark, groping for a door. Principally, his poor head +was trying to solve the riddle of his never-ending misfortunes. +Why? What had he done that these calamities should be piled upon +his head? He had lived decently; his youth had been normal; he +had played fair with men and women. Why make him pay for what his +forbears had done? He wasn't fair game. + +He! A singular revelation cleared one corner. Kitty had spoken of +a problem; and he, by those devil-urged kisses, had solved it for +her. She had been doddering, and his own act had thrust her into +the arms of that old thoroughbred. That cynical suggestion of his +the other morning had been acted upon. God had long ago deserted +him, and now the devil himself had taken leave. Hawksley buried +his face in the pillow once made wet with Kitty's tears. + +The great tragedy in life lies in being too late. Hawksley had +learned this once before; it was now being driven home again. Cutty +was to find it out on the morrow, for he missed his train that night. + +The shuttles of the Weaver in this pattern of life were two green +stones called the drums of jeopardy, inanimate objects, but perfect +tools in the hands of Destiny. But for these stones Hawksley would +not have tarried too long on a certain red night; Cutty would not +now be stumbling about the labyrinths into which his looting +instincts had thrust him; and Kitty Conover would have jogged along +in the humdrum rut, if not happy at least philosophically content +with her lot. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +Decision is always a mental relief, hesitance a curse. Kitty, +having shifted her burdens to the broad shoulders of Cutty, felt +as she reached the lobby as if she had left storm and stress +behind and entered calm. She would marry Cutty; she had published +the fact, burned her bridges. + +She had stepped into the car, her heart full of cold fury. Now she +began to find excuses for Hawksley's conduct. A sick brain; he was +not really accountable for his acts. Her own folly had opened the +way. Of course she would never see him again. Why should she? +Their lives were as far apart as the Volga and the Hudson. + +Bernini met her in the lobby. "I've got a cab for you, Miss +Conover," he said as if nothing at all had happened. + +"Have you Cutty's address?" + +"Yes." + +"Then take me at once to a telegraph office. I have a very important +message to send him." + +"All right, Miss Conover." + +"Say: 'Decision made. It is yes.' And sign it just Kitty." + +Without being conscious of it her soul was still in the clouds, +where it had been driven by the music of the fiddle; thus, what +she assumed to be a normal sequence of a train of thought was only +a sublime impulse. She would marry Cutty. More, she would be his +wife, his true wife. For his tenderness, his generosity, his +chivalry, she would pay him in kind. There would be no nonsense; +love would not enter into the bargain; but there would be the +fragrance of perfect understanding. That he was fifty-two and she +was twenty-four no longer mattered. No more loneliness, no more +genteel poverty; for such benefits she was ready to pay the score +in full. A man she was genuinely fond of, a man she could look up +to, always depend upon. + +Was there such a thing as perfect love? She had her doubts. She +reasoned that love was what a body decided was love, the +psychological moment when the physical attraction became irresistible. +Who could tell before the fact which was the true and which the false? +Lived there a woman, herself excepted, who had not hesitated between +two men - a man who had not doddered between two women - for better +or for worse? What did the average woman know of the man, the +average man know of the woman - until afterward? To stake all upon +a guess! + +She knew Cutty. Under her own eyes he had passed through certain +proving fires. There would be no guessing the manner of man he was. +He was fifty-two; that is to say, the grand passion had come and +gone. There would be mutual affection and comradeship. + +True, she had her dreams; but she could lay them away without any +particular regret. She had never been touched by the fire of +passion. Let it go. But she did know what perfect comradeship was, +and she would grasp it and never loose her hold. Something out of +life. + +"A narrow squeak, Miss Conover," said Berumi, breaking the long +silence. + +"A miss is as good as a mile," replied Kitty, not at all grateful +for the interruption. + +"We've done everything we could to protect you. If you can't see +now - why, the jig is up. A chain is as strong as its weakest link. +And in a game like this a woman is always the weakest link." + +"You're quite a philosopher." + +"I have reason to be. I'm married." + +"Am I expected to laugh?" + +"Miss Conover, you're a wonder. You come through these affairs with +a smile, when you ought to have hysterics. I'll bet a doughnut that +when you see a mouse you go and get it a piece of cheese." + +"Do you want the truth? Well, I'll tell it to you. You have all +kept me on the outer edge of this affair, and I've been trying to +find out why. I have the reportorial instinct, as they say. I +inherited it from my father. You put a strange weapon in my hands, +you tell me it is deadly, but you don't tell me which end is deadly. +Do you know who this Russian is?" + +"Honestly, I don't." + +"Does Cutty?" + +"I don't know that, either." + +"Did you ever hear of a pair of emeralds called the drums of +jeopardy?" + +"Nope. But I do know if you continue these stunts you'll head the +whole game into the ditch." + +"You may set your mind at ease. I'm going to marry Cutty. I shall +not go to the apartment again until Hawksley, as he is called, is +gone." + +"Well, well; that's good news! But let me put you wise to one fact, +Miss Conover: you have picked some man! I'm not much of a scholar, +but knowing him as I do I'm always wondering why they made Faith, +Hope, and Charity in female form. But this night's work was bad +business. They know where the Russian is now; and if the game lasts +long enough they'll reach the chief, find out who he is; and that'll +put the kibosh on his usefulness here and abroad. Well, here's home, +and no more lecture from me." + +"Sorry I've been so much trouble." + +"Perhaps we ought to have shown you which end shoots." + +"Good-night." + +If Kitty had any doubt as to the wisdom of her decision, the cold, +gloomy rooms of her apartment dissipated them. She wandered through +the rooms, musing, calling back animated scenes. What would the +spirit of her mother say? Had she doddered between Conover and +Cutty? Perhaps. But she had been one of the happy few who had +guessed right. Singular thought: her mother would have been happy +with Cutty, too. + +Oh, the relief of knowing what the future was going to be! She +took off her hat and tossed it upon the table. The good things +of life, and a good comrade. + +Food. The larder would be empty and there was her breakfast to +consider. She passed out into the kitchen, wrote out a list of +necessities, and put it on the dumb waiter. Now for the dishes +she had so hurriedly left. She rolled up her sleeves, put on the +apron, and fell to the task. After such a night - dish-washing! +She laughed. It was a funny old world. + +Pauses. Perhaps she should have gone to a hotel, away from all +familiar objects. Those flatirons intermittently pulled her eyes +round. Her fancy played tricks with her whenever her glance touched +the window. Faces peering in. In a burst of impatience she dropped +the dish towel, hurried to the window, and threw it up. Black +emptiness! ... Cutty, crossing the platform with Hawksley on his +shoulders. She saw that, and it comforted her. + +She finished her work and started for bed. But first she entered +the guest room and turned on the lights. Olga. She had intended +to ask him who Olga was. + +A great pity. They might have been friends. The back of her hand +went to her lips but did not touch them. She could not rub away +those burning kisses - that is, not with the back of her hand. +Vividly she saw him fiddling bareheaded in front of the Metropolitan +Opera House. It seemed, though, that it had happened years ago. A +great pity. The charm of that frolic would abide with her as long +as she lived. A brave man, too. Hadn't he left her with a gay wave +of the hand, not knowing, for want of strength, if he could make the +detour of the block? That took courage. His journey halfway across +the world had taken courage. Yet he could so basely disillusion her. +It was not the kiss; it was the smile. She had seen that smile +before, born of evil. If only he had spoken! + +The heavenly magic of that fiddle! It made her sad. Genius, the +ability to play with souls, soothe, tantalize, lift up; and then to +smile at her like that! + +She shut down the curtain upon these cogitations and summoned Cutty, +visualized his handsome head, shot with gray, the humour of his +smile. She did care for him; no doubt of that. She couldn't have +sent that telegram else. Cutty - name of a pipe, as the Frenchmen +said! All at once she rocked with laughter. She was going to marry +a man whose given name she could not recall! Henry, George, John, +William? For the life of her she could not remember. + +And with this laughter still bubbling in a softer note she got into +bed, twisted about from side to side, from this pillow to that, the +tired body seeking perfect relaxation. + +A broken melody entered her head. Sleepily she sought one channel +of thought after another to escape; still the melody persisted. As +her consciousness dodged hither and thither the bars and measures +joined.... She sat up, chilled, bewildered. That Tschaikowsky +waltz! She could hear it as clearly as if Johnny Two-Hawks and the +Amati were in the very room. She grew afraid. Of what? She did +not know. + +And while she sat there in bed threshing out this fear to find the +grain, Cutty was tramping the streets of Washington, her telegram +crumpled in his hand. From time to time he would open it and reread +it under a street lamp. + +To marry her and then to cheat her. It wasn't humanly possible to +marry her and then to let her go. He thought of those warm, soft +arms round his neck, the absolute trust of that embrace. Molly's +girl. No, he could not do it. He would have to back down, tell +her he could not put the bargain through, invent some other scheme. + +The idea had been repugnant to her. It had taken her a week to +fight it out. It was a little beyond his reach, however, why the +idea should have been repugnant to her. It entailed nothing beyond +a bit of mummery. The repugnance was not due to religious training. +The Conover household, as he recalled it, had been rather lax in +that respect. Why, then, should Kitty have hesitated? + +He thought of Hawksley, and swore. But for Hawksley's suggestion +no muddle like this would have occurred. Devil take him and his +infernal green stones! + +Cutty suddenly remembered his train. He looked at his watch and +saw that his lower berth was well on the way to Baltimore. Always +and eternally he was missing something. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +Not unusually, when we burn our bridges, we have in the back of our +minds the dim hope that there may be a shallow ford somewhere. Thus, +bridges should not be burned impulsively; there may be no ford. + +The idea of retreat pushed forward in Kitty's mind the moment she +awoke; but she pressed it back in shame. She had given her word, +and she would stand by it. + +The night had been a series of wild impulses. She had not sent that +telegram to Cutty as the result of her deliberations in the country. +Impulse; a flash, and the thing was done, her bridges burned. To +crush Johnny Two-Hawks, fill his cup with chagrin, she had told him +she was going to marry Cutty. That was the milk in the cocoanut. +Morning has a way of showing up night-gold for what it is - tinsel. +Kitty saw the stage of last night's drama dismantled. If there was +a shallow ford, she would never lower her pride to seek it. She +had told Two-Hawks, sent that wire to Cutty, broke the news to +Bernini. + +But did she really want to go back? Not to know her own mind, to +swing back and forth like a pendulum! Was it because she feared +that, having married Cutty, she might actually fall in love with +some other man later? She could still go through the mummery as +Cutty had planned; but what about all the sublime generosity of +the preceding night? + +A queer feeling pervaded her: She was a marionette, a human +manikin, and some invisible hand was pulling the wires that made +her do all these absurd things. Her own mind no longer controlled +her actions. The persistence of that waltz! It had haunted her, +broken into her dreams, awakened her out of them. Why should she +be afraid? What was there to be afraid of in a recurring melody? +She had heard a dozen famed violinists play it. It had never +before affected her beyond a flash of emotionalism. Perhaps it +was the romantic misfortune of the man, the mystery surrounding +him, the menace which walled him in. + +Breakfast. Human manikins had appetites. So she made her +breakfast. Before leaving the kitchen she stopped at the window. +The sun filled the court with brilliant light. The patches of +rust on the fire-escape ladder, which was on the Gregor side of +the platform, had the semblance of powdered gold. + +Half an hour later she was speeding downtown to the office. All +through the day she walked, worked, talked as one in the state of +trance. There were periods of stupefaction which at length roused +Burlingame's curiosity. + +"Kitty, what's the matter with you? You look dazed about something." + +"How do you clean a pipe?" she countered, irrelevantly. + +"Clean a pipe?" he repeated, nearly overbalancing his chair. + +"Yes. You see, I may make up my mind to marry a man who smokes a +pipe," said Kitty, desperately, eager to steer Burlingame into +another channel; "and certainly I ought to know how to clean one." + +"Kitty, I'm an old-timer. You can't sidetrack me like this. +Something has happened. You say you had a great time in the +country, and you come in as pale as the moon, like someone +suffering from shell shock. Ever since Cutty came in here that +day you've been acting oddly. You may not know it, but Cutty +asked me to send you out of town. You've been in some kind of +danger. What's the yarn?" + +"So big that no newspaper will ever publish it, Burly. If Cutty +wants to tell you some day he can. I haven't the right to." + +"Did he drag you into it or did you fall into it?" + +"I walked into it, as presently I shall walk out of it - all on my +own. + +"Better keep your eyes open. Cutty's a stormy petrel; when he +flies there's rough weather." + +"What do you know about him?" + +"Probably what he has already told you - that he is a foreign agent +of the Government. What do you know?" + +"Everything but one thing, and that's a problem particularly my own." + +"Alien stuff, I suppose. Cutty's strong on that. Well, mind your +step. The boys are bringing in queer scraps about something big +going to happen May Day - no facts, just rumours. Better shoot for +home the shortest route each night and stick round there." + +There are certain spiritual exhilarants that nullify caution, +warning the presence of danger. The boy with his first pay envelope, +the lover who has just been accepted, the debutante on the way to her +first ball; the impetus that urges us to rush in where angels fear +to tread. + +At a quarter after five Kitty left the office for home, unaware that +the attribute designated as caution had evaporated from her system. +She proceeded toward the Subway mechanically, the result of habit. +Casually she noted two taxicabs standing near the Subway entrance. +That she noted them at all was due to the fact that Subway entrances +were not fortuitous hunting grounds for taxicabs. Only the unusual +would have attracted her in her present condition of mind. It takes +time and patience to weave a good web - observe any spider - time in +finding a suitable place for it; patience in the spinning. All that +worried Karlov was the possibility of her not observing him. If he +could place his taxicabs where they would attract her, even casually, +the main difficulty would be out of the way. The moment she turned +her head toward the cabs he would step out into plain view. The girl +was susceptible and adventuresome. + +Kitty saw a man step out of the foremost taxicab, give some +instructions to the chauffeur, and get back into the cab, +immediately to be driven off at moderate speed. She recognized the +man at once. Never would she forget that squat, gorilla-like body. +Karlov! Yonder, in that cab! She ran to the remaining cab; wherein +she differed from angels. + +"Are you free?" + +"Yes, miss." + +"See that taxi going across town? Follow it and I will give you ten +extra fare." + +"You're on, miss." + +Karlov peered through the rear window of his cab. If she had in +tow a Federal agent the manoeuvre would fail, at a great risk to +himself. But he would soon be able to tell whether or not she was +being followed. + +As a matter of fact, she was not. She had returned to New York a +day before she was expected. Her unknown downtown guardian would +not turn up for duty until ordered by Cutty to do so. She entered +the second cab with no definite plan in her head. Karlov, the man +who wanted to kill Johnny Two-Hawks, the man who held Stefani +Gregor a prisoner! For the present these facts were sufficient. +"Don't get too near," said Kitty through the speaking tube. "Just +keep the cab in sight." + +A perfectly logical compensation. She herself had set in motion +the machinery of this amazing adventure; it was logically right +that she should end it. Poor dear old Cutty - to fancy he could +pull the wool over Kitty Conover's eyes! Cutty, the most honest +man alive, had set his foot upon an unethical bypath and now found +himself among nettles. To keep Johnny Two-Hawks prisoner in that +lofty apartment while he hunted for the drums of jeopardy! Hadn't +he said he had seen emeralds he would steal with half a chance? +Cutty, playing at this sort of game, his conscience biting whichever +way he turned! He had been hunting unsuccessfully for the stones +that night he had come in with his face and hands bloody. Why +hadn't he kissed her? + +Johnny Two-Hawks - bourgeois? Utter nonsense! Of course it did +not matter now what he was; he had dug a bridgeless chasm with that +smile. Sometime to-morrow he and Stefani Gregor would be on their +way to Montana; and that would be the last of them both. To-morrow +would mark the fork in the road. But life would never again be +humdrum for Kitty Conover. + +The taxicabs were bumping over cobbles, through empty streets. It +was six by now; at that hour this locality, which she recognized as +the warehouse district, was always dead. The deserted streets, how +ever, set in motion a slight perturbation. Supposing Karlov grew +suspicious and turned aside from his objective? Even as this +disturbing thought took form Karlov's taxicab stopped. Kitty's +stopped also, but without instructions from her. She had intended +to drive on and from the rear window observe if Karlov entered that +old red-brick house. + +"Go on!" she called through the tube. + +The chauffeur obeyed, but he stopped again directly behind Karlov's +taxicab. He slid off his seat and opened the door. His face was grim. + +Tumpitum-tump! Tumpitum-tump! She did not hear the tocsin this time; +she felt it on her spine - the drums of fear. If they touched her! + +"Come with me, miss. If you are sensible you will not be harmed. If +you cut up a racket I'll have to carry you." + +"What does this mean?" faltered Kitty. + +"That we have finally got you, miss. You can see for yourself that +there isn't any help in sight. Better take it sensibly. We don't +intend to hurt you. It's somebody else we want. There's a heavy +score against you, but we'll overlook it if you act sensibly. You +were very clever last night; but the game depends upon the last +trick." + +"I'll go sensibly," Kitty agreed. They must not touch her! + +Karlov did not speak as he opened the door of the house for her. +His expression was Buddha-like. + +"This way, miss," said the chauffeur, affably. + +"You are an American?" + +"Whenever it pays." + +Presently Kitty found herself in the attic, alone. They hadn't +touched her; so much was gained. Poor little fool that she was! +It was fairly dark now, but overhead she could see the dim outlines +of the scuttle or trap. The attic was empty except for a few pieces +of lumber and some soap boxes. She determined to investigate the +trap at once, before they came again. + +She placed two soap boxes on end and laid a plank across. After +testing its stability she mounted. She could reach the trap easily, +with plenty of leverage to spare. She was confident that she could +draw herself up to the roof. She sought for the hooks and liberated +them, then she placed her palms against the trap and heaved. Not +even a creak answered her. She pressed upward again and again. The +trap was immovable. + +Light. She turned, to behold Kariov in the doorway, a candlestick +in his hand. "The scuttle is covered with cement, Miss Conover. +Nobody can get in or out." + +Kitty got down, her knees uncertain. If he touched her! Oh, the +fool she had been! + +"What are you going to do with me?" she asked through dry lips. + +"You are to me a bill of exchange, payable in something more precious +to me than gold. I am going to keep you here until you are ransomed. +The ransom is the man you have been shielding. If he isn't here by +midnight you vanish. Oh, we shan't harm you. Merely you will +disappear until my affairs in America are terminated. You are +clever and resourceful for so young a woman. You will understand +that we are not going to turn aside. You are not a woman to me; you +are a valuable pawn. You are something to bargain for." + +"I understand," said Kitty, her heart trying to burst through. It +seemed impossible that Karlov should not hear the thunder. To +placate him, to answer his questions, to keep him from growing +angry! + +"I thought you would." Karlov set the candle on Kitty's impromptu +stepladder. "We saw your interest in the affair, and attacked you +on that side. You had seen me once. Being a newspaper writer - +the New York kind - you would not rest until you learned who I was. +You would not forget me. You were too well guarded uptown. You +have been out of the city for a week. We could not find where. +You were reported seen entering your office this morning; and here +you are. My one fear was that you might not see me. Personally +you will have no cause to worry. No hand shall touch you. + +"Thank you for that." + +"Don't misunderstand. There is no sentiment behind this promise. +I imagine your protector will sacrifice much for your sake. Simply +it is unnecessary to offer you any violence. Do you know who the +man is your protector is shielding?" + +Kitty shook her head. + +"Has he played the fiddle for you?" + +"Yes." + +Karlov smiled. "Did you dance?" + +"Dance? I don't understand." + +"No matter. He can play the fiddle nearly as well as his master. +The two of them have gone across the world fiddling the souls of +women out of their bodies." + +Kitty sat down weakly on the plank. Terror from all points. +Karlov's unexcited tones - his lack of dramatic gesture - convinced +her that this was deadly business. Terror that for all the promise +of immunity they might lay hands on her. Terror for Johnny +Two-Hawks, for Cutty. + +"Has he injured you?" she asked, to gain time. + +"He is an error in chronology. He represents an idea which no +longer exists." He spoke English fluently, but with a rumbling +accent. + +"But to kill him for that!" + +"Kill him? My dear young lady, I merely want him to fiddle for me," +said Karlov with another smile. + +"You tried to kill him," insisted Kitty, the dryness beginning to +leave her throat. + +"Bungling agents. Do know what became of them - the two who invaded +your bedroom?" + +"They were taken away the police." + +"So I thought. What became of the wallet?" + +"I found it hidden on the back of my stove." + +"I never thought to look there," said Karlov, musingly. "Who has +the drums?" + +"The emeralds? You haven't them!" cried Kitty, becoming her mother's +daughter, though her heart never beat so thunderously as now. "We +thought you had them!" + +Karlov stared at her, moodily. "What is that button for, at the +side of your bed?" + +Kitty comprehended the working of the mind that formulated this +question. If she answered truthfully he would accept her +statements. "It rings an alarm in the basement." + +Karlov nodded. "You are truthful and sensible I haven't the +emeralds." + +"Perhaps one of your men betrayed you." + +"I have thought of that. But if he had betrayed me the drums would +have been discovered by the police.... Damn them to hell!" Kitty +wondered whether he meant the police or the, emeralds. + +"Later, food and a blanket will be brought to you. If your ransom +does not appear by midnight you will be taken away. If you struggle +we may have to handle you roughly. That is as you please." + +Karlov went out, locking the door. + +Oh, the blind little fool she had been! All those constant warnings, +and she had not heeded! Cutty had warned her repeatedly, so had +Bernini; and she had deliberately walked into this trap. As if this +cold, murderous madman would risk showing himself without some grim +and terrible purpose. She had written either Cutty's or Johnny +Two-Hawks' death warrant. She covered her eyes. It was horrible. + +Perhaps not Cutty, but assuredly Two-hawks. His life for her +liberty. + +"And he will come!" she whispered. She knew it. How, was not to +be analyzed. She just knew that he would come. What if he had +smiled like that! The European point of view and her own +monumental folly. He would come quietly, without protest, and +give himself up. + +"God forgive me! What can I do? What can I do?" + +She slid to the floor and rocked her body. Her fault! He would +come - even as Cutty would have come had he been the man demanded. +And Karlov would kill him - because he was an error in chronology! +She sensed also that the anarchist would not look upon his act as +murder. He would be removing an obstacle from the path of his sick +dreams. + +Comparisons! She saw how much alike the two were. Cutty was only +Johnny Two-Hawks at fifty-two - fearless and whimsical. Had Cutty +gone through life without looking at some woman as, last night, +Two-Hawks had looked at her? All the rest of her life she would +see Two-Hawks' eyes. + +Abysmal fool, to pit her wits against such men as Karlov! Because +she had been successful to a certain extent, she had overrated her +cleverness, with this tragic result... He had fiddled the soul out +of her. But death! + +She sprang up. It was maddening to sit still, to feel the approach +of the tragedy without being able to prevent it. She investigated +the windows. No hope in this direction. It was rapidly growing +dark outside. What time was it? + +The door opened. A man she had not seen before came in with a +blanket, a pitcher of water, and some graham crackers. His fingers +were stained a brilliant yellow and a peculiar odour emanated from +his clothes. He did not speak to her, but set the articles on the +floor and departed. + +Kitty did not stir. An hour passed; she sat as one in a trance. +The tallow dip was sinking. By and by she became conscious of a +faint sound, a tapping. Whence it came she could not tell. She +moved about cautiously, endeavouring to locate it. When she +finally did the blood drummed in her ears. The trap! Someone was +trying to get in through the trap! + +Cutty! Thus soon! Who else could it be? She hunted for a piece of +lumber light enough to raise to the trap. She tapped three times, +and waited. Silence. She repeated the signal. This time it was +answered. Cutty! In a little while she would be free, and Two-Hawks +would not have to pay for her folly with his life. Terror and +remorse departed forthwith. + +She took the plank to the door and pushed one end under the door +knob. Then she piled the other planks against the butt. The moment +she heard steps on the stairs she would stand on the planks. It +would be difficult to open that door. She sat down on the planks to +wait. From time to time she built up the falling tallow. Cutty +must have light. The tapping on the trap went on. They were +breaking away the cement. Perhaps an hour passed. At least it +seemed a very long time. + +Steps on the stairs! She stood up, facing the door, the roots of +her hair tingling. She heard the key turn in the lock; and then +as in a nightmare she felt the planks under her feet stir slightly +but with sinister persistence. She presently saw the toe of a boot +insert, itself between the door and the jamb. The pressure increased; +the space between the door and the jamb widened. Suddenly the boot +vanished, the door closed, and the plank fell. Immediately +thereafter Karlov stood inside the room, scowling suspiciously. + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +Cutty arrived at the apartment in time to share dinner with Hawksley. +He had wisely decided to say nothing about the escapade of Hawksley +and Kitty Conover, since it had terminated fortunately. Bernini +had telegraphed the gist of the adventure. He could readily +understand Hawksley's part; but Kitty's wasn't reducible to +ordinary terms of expression. The young chap had run wild because +his head still wobbled on his shoulders and because his isolation +was beginning to scratch his nerves. But for Kitty to run wild with +him offered a blank wall to speculation. (As if he could solve the +riddle when Kitty herself could not!) So he determined to shut +himself up in his study and shuffle the chrysoprase. Something +might come of it. Looking backward, he recognized the salient, +at no time had he been quite sure of Kitty. She seemed to be a +combination of shallows and unfathomable deeps. + +>From the Pennsylvania Station he had called up the office. Kitty +had gone. Bernini informed him that Kitty was dining at a caf on +the way home. Cutty was thorough. He telephoned the restaurant +and was advised that Miss Conover had reserved a table. He had +forgotten to send down the operative who guarded Kitty at that end. +But the distance from the office to the Subway was so insignificant! + +"You are looking fit," he said across the table. + +"Ought to be off your hands by Monday. But what about Stefani +Gregor? I can't stir, leaving him hanging on a peg." + +"I am going into the study shortly to decide that. Head bother you?" + +"Occasionally." + +"Ryan easy to get along with?" + +"Rather a good sort. I say, you know, you've seen a good deal of +life. Which do you consider the stronger, the inherited traits or +environment?" + +"Environment. That is the true mould. There is good and bad in +all of us. It is brought into prominence by the way we live. An +angel cannot touch pitch without becoming defiled. On the other +hand, the worst gutter rats in the world saved France. Do you +suppose that thought will not always be tugging at and uplifting +those who returned from the first Marne?" + +"There is hope, then, for me!" + +"Hope?" + +"Yes. You know that my father, my uncle, and my grandfather were +fine scoundrels." + +"Under their influence you would have been one, too. But no man +could live with Stefani Gregor and not absorb his qualities. Your +environment has been Anglo-Saxon, where the first block in the +picture is fair play. You have been constantly under the tutelage +of a fine and lofty personality, Gregor's. Whatever evil traits +you may have inherited, they have become subject to the influences +that have surrounded you. Take me, for instance. I was born in a +rather puritanical atmosphere. My environments have always been +good. Yet there lurks in me the taint of Macaire. Given the wrong +environment, I should now have my picture in the Rogues' Gallery." + +"You?" + +"Yes." + +Hawksley played with his fork. "If you had a daughter would you +trust me with her?" + +"Yes. Any man who can weep unashamed over the portrait of his +mother may be trusted. Once you are out there in Montana you'll +forget all about your paternal forbears." + +Handsome beggar, thought Cutty; but evidently born under the opal. +An inexplicable resentment against his guest stirred his heart. He +resented his youth, his ease of manner, his fluency in the common +tongue. He was theoretically a Britisher; he thought British; +approached subjects from a British point of view. A Britisher + - except when he had that fiddle tucked under his chin. Then +Cutty admitted he did not know what he was. Devil take him! + +There must have been something electrical in Cutty's resentment, +for the object of it felt it subtly, and it fired his own. He +resented the freedom of action that had always been denied him, +resented his host's mental and physical superiority. Did Cutty +care for the girl, or was he playing the game as it had been +suggested to him? Money and freedom. But then, it was in no +sense a barter; she would be giving nothing, and the old beggar +would be asking nothing. His suggestion! He laughed. + +"What's the joke?" asked Cutty, looking up from his coffee, which +he was stirring with unnecessary vigour. + +"It isn't a joke. I'm bally well twisted. I laugh now when I +think of something tragic. I am sorry about last night. I was +mad, I suppose." + +"Tell me about it." + +Cutty listened intently and smiled occasionally. Mad as hatters, +both of them. He and Kitty couldn't have gone on a romp like this, +but Kitty and Hawksley could. Thereupon his resentment boiled up +again. + +"Have you any idea why she took such a risk? Why she came here, +knowing me to be absent?" + +"She spoke of a problem. I fancy it related to your approaching +marriage. She told me." + +Cutty laid down his spoon. "I'd like to dump Your Highness into +the middle of East River for putting that idea into my head. She +has consented to it; and now, damn it, I've got to back out of it!" +Cutty rose and flung down his napkin. + +"Why?" asked the bewildered Hawksley. + +"Because there is in me the making of a first-rate scoundrel, and +I never should have known it if you and your affairs hadn't turned +up. + +Cutty entered his study and slammed the door, leaving Hawksley prey +to so many conflicting emotions that his head began to bother him. +Back out of it! Why? Why should Kitty have a problem to solve over +such a marriage of convenience, and why should the old thoroughbred +want to back out? + +Kitty would be free, then? A flash of fire, which subsided quickly +under the smothering truth. What if she were free? He could not +ask her to be his wife. Not because of last night's madness. That +no longer troubled him. She was the sort who would understand, if +he told her. She had a soul big with understanding. It was that +he walked in the shadow of death, and would so long as Karlov +was free; and he could not ask any woman to share that. + +He pushed back his chair slowly. In the living room he took the +Amati from its case and began improvising. What the chrysoprase +did for Cutty the fiddle did for this derelict - solved problems. + +He reviewed all the phases as he played. That dish of bacon and +eggs, the resolute air of her, that popping fan! [Allegretto.] +She had found him senseless on the floor. She had had the courage +to come to his assistance. [Andante con espressione.] What had +been in her mind that night she had taken flight from his bedroom, +after having given him the wallet? Something like tears. What +about? An American girl, natural, humorous, and fanciful. Somehow +he felt assured that it had not been his kisses; she had looked +into his eyes and seen the taint. Always there, the beast that old +Stefani had chained and subdued. He knew now that this beast would +never again lift its head. And he had let her go without a sign. +[Dolorosomente.] To have gone through life with a woman who would +have understood his nature. The test of her had been last night in +the streets. His mood had been hers. [Allegretto con amore.] + +"Love," he said, lowering the bow. + +"Love," said Cutty, shifting his chrysoprase. There was no fool +like an old fool. It did not serve to recall Molly in all her +glory, to reach hither and yon for a handhold to pull him out of +this morass. Molly had become an invisible ghost. He loved her +daughter. Double sunset; the phenomenon of the Indian Ocean was +now being enacted upon his own horizon. Double sunset. + +But why should Kitty have any problem to solve? Why should she +dodder over such a trifle as this prospective official marriage? +It was only a joke which would legalize his generosity. She had +sent that telegram after leaving this apartment. What had happened +here to decide her? Had Hawksley fiddled? There was something +the matter with the green stones to-night; they evoked nothing. + +He leaned back in his chair, listening, the bowl of his pipe +touching the lapel of his coat. Music. Queer, what you could do +with a fiddle if you knew how. + +After all there was no sense in venting his anger on Hawksley. He +was hoist by his own petard. Why not admit the truth? He had had +a crack on the head the same night as Hawksley; only, he had been +struck by an idea, often more deadly than the butt of a pistol. He +would apologize for that roaring exit from the dining room. The +poor friendless devil! He bent toward the green stones again. +In the living room Hawksley sat in a chair, the fiddle across his +knees. He understood now. The old chap was in love with the girl, +and was afraid of himself; couldn't risk having her and letting her +go.... A curse on the drums of jeopardy! Misfortune followed their +wake always. The world would have been different this hour if he - +The break in the trend of thought was caused by the entrance of +Kuroki, who was followed by a man. This man dropped into a chair +without apparently noticing that the room was already tenanted, for +he never glanced toward Hawksley. A haggard face, dull of eye. +Kuroki bobbed and vanished, but returned shortly, beckoning the +stranger to follow him into the study. + +"Coles?" cried Cutty delightedly. Here was the man he had sent to +negotiate for the emeralds, free. "How did you escape? We've combed +the town for you." + +"They had me in a room on Fifteenth Street. Once in a while I got +something to eat. But I haven't escaped. I'm still a prisoner." + +"What do you mean by that?" + +"I am here as an emissary. There was nothing for me to do but +accept the job." + +"Did he have the stones?" asked Cutty, without the least suspicion +of what was coming. + +"That I don't know. He pretended to have them in order to get me +where he wanted me. I've been hungry a good deal because I wouldn't +talk. I'm here as a negotiator. A rotten business. I agreed +because I've hopes you'll be able to put one over on Karlov. It's +the girl." + +"Kitty?" + +"Karlov has her. The girl wasn't to blame. Any one in the game +would have done as she did. Karlov is bugs on politics; but he's +shrewd enough at this sort of game. He trapped the girl because he'd +studied her enough to learn what she would or would not do. Now they +are not going to hurt her. They merely propose exchanging her for +the man you've been hiding up here. There's a taxi downstairs. It +will carry me back to Fifteenth; then it will return and wait. If +the man is not at the appointed place by midnight - he must go in +this taxi - the girl will be carried off elsewhere, and you'll never +lay eyes on her again. Karlov and his gang are potential assassins; +all they want is excuse. Until midnight they will not touch the girl; +but after midnight, God knows! What message am I to take back?" + +"Do you know where she is?" + +Cutty spoke without much outward emotion. + +"Not the least idea. Whenever Karlov wanted to quiz me, he appeared +late at night from some other part of the town. But he never got +much." + +"You saw him this evening?" + +"Yes. It probably struck him as a fine joke to send me." + +"And if you don't go back?" + +"The girl will be taken away. I'm honestly afraid of the man. He's +too quiet spoken. That kind of a man always goes the limit." + +"I see. Wait here." + +At Cutty's approach Hawksley looked up apathetically. + +"Want me?" + +"Perhaps." + +"You are pale. Anything serious?" + +"Yes. Karlov has got Kitty." + +For a minute Hawksley did not stir. Then he got up, put away the +Amati, and came back. He was pale, too. + +"I understand," he said. "They will exchange her for me. Am I +right?" + +"Yes. But you are not obliged to do anything like that, you know." + +"I am ready." + +"You give yourself up?" + +"Why not?" + +"You're a man!" Cutty burst out. + +"I was brought up by one. Honestly, now, could I ever look a white +man in the face again if I didn't give myself up? I did begin to +believe that I might get through. But Fate was only playing with +me. May I use your desk to write a line?" + +"Come with me," said Cutty, unsteadily. This was not the result of +environment. Quiet courage of this order was race. No questions +demanding if there wasn't some way round the inevitable. Cutty's +heart glowed; the boy had walked into it, never to leave it. "I'm +ready." It took a man to say that when the sequence was death. + +"Coles," said Cutty upon reentering the study, "tell Karlov that His +Highness will give himself up. He will be there before midnight." + +"That's enough for me. But if there's the least sign that you're +not playing straight it will be all off. Two men will be watching +the taxi and the entrance. If you appear, it's good-night. They +told me to warn you." + +"I promise not to appear." + +Coles smiled enigmatically and reached for his hat. He held his hand +out to Hawksley. "You're a white man, sir." + +"Thanks," said Hawksley, absently. To have it all over with! + +As soon as the captive Federal agent withdrew Hawksley sat down at +the desk and wrote. + +"Will this hold legally?" he asked, extending the written sheet to +Cutty. + +Cutty saw that it was a simple will. In it Hawksley gave half of +his possessions to Kitty and half to Stefani Gregor. In case the +latter was dead the sum total was to go to Kitty. + +"I got you into a muddle; this will take you out of it. Karlov will +kill me. I don't know how. I am his obsession. He will sleep +better with me off his mind. Will this hold legally?" + +"Yes. But why Kitty Conover, a stranger?" + +"Is a woman who saves your life a stranger?" + +"Well, not exactly. This is what we might call zero hour. I gave +you a haven here not particularly because I was sorry for you, but +because I wanted those emeralds. Once upon a time Gregor showed +them to me. Until I examined your wallet I supposed you had +smuggled in the stones; and that would have been fair game. But +you had paid your way in honestly. Now, what did you do to Kitty +Conover last night that decided her to accept that fool proposition? +She sent her acceptance after she left you. + +"I did not know that. I played for her. She became music-struck, +and I took advantage of it - kissed her. Then she told me she was +going to marry you." + +"And that is why you asked me if I would trust you with a daughter +of mine?" + +"Yes." + +"Conscience. That explains this will." + +"No. Why did you accept my suggestion to marry her?" + +"To make her comfortable without sidestepping the rules of convention." + +"No. Because you love her - the way I do." + +Cutty's pipe slipped from his teeth. It did not often do that. He +stamped out the embers and laid the pipe on the tray. + +"What makes you think I love her?" + +"What makes me tell you that I do?" + +"Yes, death may be at the end of to-night's work; so I'll admit that +I love her. She is like a forest stream, wild at certain turns, but +always sweet and clear. I'm an old fool, old enough to be her father. +I loved her mother. Can a man love two women with all his heart, one +years after the other?" + +"It is the avatar; she is the reincarnation of the mother. I +understand now. What was a beautiful memory takes living form again. +You still love the mother; the daughter has revived that love." + +"By the Lord Harry, I believe you've struck it! Walked into the +fog and couldn't find the way out. Of course. What an old ass I've +been! Simple as daylight. I've simply fallen in love with Molly all +over again, thinking it was Kitty. Plain as the nose on my face. +And I might have made a fine mess of it if you hadn't waked me up." + +All this gentle irony went over Hawksley's head. "When do you wish +me to go down to the taxi?" + +"Son, I'm beginning to like you. You shall have your chance. In +fact, we'll take it together. There'll be a taxi but I'll hire it. +I'm quite positive I know where Kitty is. If I'm correct you'll +have your chance. If I'm wrong you'll have to pay the score. We'll +get her out or we'll stay where she is. In any event, Karlov will +pay the price. Wouldn't you prefer to go out - if you must - in a +glorious scrap?" + +"Fighting?" Hawksley was on his feet instantly. "Do you mean that? +I can die with free hands?" + +"With a chance of coming out top-hole." + +"I say, what a ripping thing hope is - always springing back!" + +Cutty nodded. But he knew there was one hope that would never warm +his heart again. Molly! ... Well, he'd let the young chap believe +that. Kitty must never know. Poor little chick, fighting with her +soul in the dark and not knowing what the matter was! Such things +happened. He had loved Molly on sight. He had loved Kitty on sight. +In neither case had he known it until too late to turn about. Mother +and daughter; a kind of sacrilege, as if he had betrayed Molly! But +what a clear vision acknowledged love lent to the mind! He +understood Kitty, who did not understand herself. Well, this night's +adventure would decide things. + +He smiled. Neither Kitty nor the drums of jeopardy; nothing. The +gates of paradise again - for somebody else! Whoever heard of a +prompter receiving press notices? + +"Let's look alive! We haven't any time to waste. We'll have to +change to dungarees - engineer togs. There'll be some tools to +carry. We go straight down to the boiler room. We come up the ash +exit on the street side. Remember, no suspicious haste. Two +engineers off for their evening swig of beer at the corner groggery. +Through the side door there, and into my taxi. Obey every order I +give. Now run along to Kuroki and say night work for both of us. +He'll understand what's wanted. I'll set the machinery in motion +for a raid. How do you feel? I want the truth. I don't want to +turn to you for help and not get it." + +Hawksley laughed. "Don't worry about me. I'll carry on. Don't +you understand? To have an end of it, one way or the other! To +come free or to die there!" + +"And if Kitty is not where I believe her to be?" + +"Then I'll return to the taxi outside." + +To be young like that! thought Cutty, feeling strangely sad and +old. "To come free or to die there!" That was good Anglo-Saxon. +He would make a good American citizen - if he were in luck. + +At half after nine the two of them knelt on the roof before the +cemented trap. Nothing but raging heat disintegrates cement. So +the liberation of this trap, considering the time, was a Herculean +task, because it had to be accomplished with little or no noise. +Cold chisels, fulcrums, prying, heaving, boring. To free the under +edge; the top did not matter. Not knowing if Kitty were below - +that was the worst part of the job. + +The sweat of agony ran down Hawksley's face; but he never faltered. +He was going to die to-night, somehow, somewhere, but with free +hands, the way Stefani would have him die, the way the girl would +have him die. All these thousands of miles - to die in a house he +had never seen before, just when life was really worth something! + +An hour went by. Then they heard Kitty's signal. Instinctively the +two of them knew that the taps came from her. They were absolutely +certain when her signal was repeated. She was below, alone. + +"Faster!" whispered Cutty. + +Hawksley smiled. To say that to a chap when he was digging into +his tomb! + +When the sides of the trap were free Cutty tapped to Kitty again. +There was a long, agonizing wait. Then three taps came from below. +Cutty flashed a signal to the warehouse windows. In five minutes +the raid would be in full swing - from the roof, from the street, +from the cellar. + +With their short crowbars braced by stout fulcrums the two men +heaved. Noise did not matter now. Presently the trap went over. + +"Look out for your hands; there's lots of loose glass. And together +when we drop." + +"Right-o!" whispered Hawksley, assured that when he dropped through +the trap the result would be oblivion. Done in. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +Karlov, upon forcing his way past Kitty's barricade, stared at her +doubtfully. This was a clever girl; she had proved her cleverness +frequently. She might have some reason other than fear in keeping +him out. So he put a fresh candle in the sconce and began to prowl. +He pierced the attic windows with a ranging glance; no one was in +the yard or on the Street. The dust on the windows had not been +disturbed. + +To Kitty the suspense was intolerable. At any moment Cutty might +tap a query to her. How to warn him that all was not well? A scream +would do it; but in that event when Cutty arrived there would be no +Kitty Conover. Something that would sound unusual to Cutty and +accidental to Karlov. She hit upon it. She seized a plank from her +barricade, raised it to a perpendicular position, then flung it +down violently. Would Cutty hear and comprehend that she was warning +him? As a matter of fact, Cutty never heard the crash, for at that +particular minute he was standing up to get the kinks out of his +knees. + +Karlov whirled on his heels, ran to Kitty, and snatched her wrist. +"Why did you do that?" + +Kitty remained mute. "Answer !" - with a cruel twist. + +"You hurt!" she gasped. Anything to gain time. She tried to break +away. + +"Why did you do that?" + +"I was going to thrust it through a window to attract attention. +It was too heavy." + +This explanation was within bounds of reason. It is possible that +Karlov - who had merely come up with a fresh candle - would have +departed but for a peculiarly grim burst of humour on the part of +Fate. + +Tap - tap - tap? inquired the unsuspecting man on the roof - +exactly to Kitty like some innocent, inquisitive child embarrassing +the family before company. + +Karlov flung her aside roughly, stepped under the trap, and cupped +an ear. He required no explanations from Kitty, who shrank to the +wall and remained pinned there by terror. Karlov's intuition was +keen. Men on the roof held but one significance. The house was +surrounded by Federal agents. For a space he wavered between two +desires, the political and the private vengeance. + +A call down the stairs, and five minutes afterward there would be +nothing on the spot but a jumble of smoking wood and brick. But +not to see them die! + +His subsequent acts, cold and methodical, fascinated Kitty. He +took a step toward her. The scream died in her throat. But he +did not go beyond that step. The picture of her terror decided +his future actions. He would see them die, here, with the girl +looking on. A full measure. Well enough he knew who were +digging away the cement of the trap. What gave lodgment to this +conviction he did not bother to analyze. The man he had not yet +seen, who had balked him, now here, now there, from that first +night; and who but the last of that branch of the hated house +should be with him? To rend, batter, crush, kill! If he were +bound for hell, to go there with the satisfaction of knowing that +his private vengeance had been cancelled. The full reckoning for +Anna's degradation: Stefani Gregor, broken and dying, and all +the others dead! + +He would shoot them as they dropped through the trap. Not to +kill, but to maim, render helpless; then he would taunt them and +grind his heels in their faces. Up there, the two he most hated +of all living men! + +First he restored Kitty's barricade - to keep assistance from +entering before his work was completed. The butt of the first +plank he pushed under the door knob. The other planks he laid flat, +end to end, with the butt of the last snug against the brick +chimney. The door would never give as a whole; it would have to +be smashed in by axes. He then set the candle on the floor, +backed by an up-ended soapbox. His enemies would drop into a pool +of light, while they would not be able to see him at once. The +girl would not matter. Her terror would hold her for some time. +These manoeuvres completed, he answered the signal, sat down on +another box and waited, reminding Kitty of some grotesque +Mongolian idol. + +Kitty saw the inevitable. Thereupon her terror ceased to bind her. +As Cutty flung back the trap she would cry out a warning. Karlov +might - and probably would - kill her. Her share in this night's +work - her incredible folly - required full payment. Having decided +to die with Cutty, all her courage returned. This is the normal +result of any sublime resolve. But with the return of her courage +she evolved another plan. She measured the distance between herself +and Karlov, calculating there would be three strides. As Cutty +dropped she would fling herself upon the madman. The act would at +least give Cutty something like equal terms. What became of Kitty +Conover thereafter was of no importance to the world. + +Sounds. She became conscious of noises elsewhere in the house. The +floor trembled. There came a creaking and snapping of wood, and she +heard the trap fall. Karlov stood up, menacing, terrible. She saw +where Cutty would drop, and now understood the cunning of the +manoeuvre of placing the candle in front of the soapbox. Cutty +would be an absolute mark for Karlov, protected by the shadow. She +set herself, as a runner at the tape. + +Karlov was not the type criminal, which when cornered, thinks only +of personal safety. He was a political fanatic. All who opposed +his beliefs must not be permitted to survive. There was a touch of +Torquemada of the Inquisition in his cosmos. He could not kill +directly; he had to torture first. + +He knew by the ascending sounds that there would be no way out of +this for him. To the American, Russia was an outlaw. He would be +treated as a dangerous alien enemy and locked up. Boris Karlov +should never live to eat his heart out behind bars. + +Unique angle of thought, he mused. He wanted mud to trample them +in, Russian mud. The same mud that had filled the mouth of Anna's +destroyer. + +He was, then, a formidable antagonist for any two strong men; let +alone two one of whom was rather spent, the other dizzy with pain, +holding himself together by the last shreds of his will. They +dropped through the trap, Cutty in front of the candle, Hawksley +a little to one side. The elder man landed squarely, but Hawksley +fell backward. He crawled to his feet, swaying drunkenly. For a +space he was not sure of the reality of the scene.... Torches +and hobnailed boots! + +"So!" said Karlov. + +The torturer must talk; he must explain the immediate future to +double the agony. He could have maimed them both, then trampled +them to death, but he had to inform them of the fact. He pointed +the automatic at Cutty because he considered this man the more +dangerous of the two. He at once saw that the other was a +negligible factor. He spoke slowly. + +"And the girl shall witness your agonies," he concluded. + +Cutty, bereft of invention, could only stare. Death! He had faced +it many times, but always with a chance. There was none here, and +the absolute knowledge paralyzed him. + +Had Cutty been alone Kitty would have rushed at the madman; but the +sight of Hawksley robbed her of all mobility. His unexpected +appearance was to her the Book of Revelation. The blind alley she +had entered and reentered so many times and so futilely crumbled.... +Johnny Two-Hawks! + +As for Hawksley, he knew he had but little time. The floor was +billowing; he saw many candles where he knew there was only one. He +was losing his senses. There remained but a single idea - to do the +old thoroughbred one favour for the many. Scorning death - perhaps +inviting it - he lunged headlong at Karlov's knees. + +This reckless challenge to death was so unexpected that Karlov had +no time to aim. He fired at chance. The bullet nipped the left +shoulder of Hawksley's coat and shattered the laths of the partition +between the attic and the servant's quarters. Under the impact of +the human catapult Karlov staggered back, desperately striving to +maintain his balance. He succeeded because Hawksley's senses left +him in the instant he struck Karlov's knees. Still, the episode +was a respite for Cutty, who dashed at Karlov before the latter +could set himself or raise the smoking automatic. + +Kitty then witnessed - dimly - a primordial, titanic conflict which +haunted her dreams for many nights to come. They were no longer men, +but animals; the tiger giving combat to the gorilla, one striking +the quick, terrible blows of the tiger, the other seeking always to +come to grips. + +The floor answered under the step and rush. Rare athletes, these +two; big men who were light on their feet. Kitty could see their +faces occasionally and the flash of their bare hands, but of their +bodies little or nothing. Nor could she tell how the struggle was +going. Indeed until the idea came that they might be trampling +Johnny Two-Hawks there was no coherent thought in her head, only +broken things. + +She ran to the soapbox and kicked it aside. She saw Hawksley on +his face, motionless. At least they should not trample his dead +body. She caught hold of his arms and dragged him to the wall - to +discover that she was sobbing, sobs of rage and despair that tore +at her breast horribly and clogged her throat. She was a woman and +could not help; she could not help Cutty! She was a woman, and all +she could do was to drag aside the lifeless body of the man who +had given Cutty his chance! + +She knelt, turning Hawksley over on his back. There was a slight +gash on one grimy cheek, possibly caused by contact with the latchets +of Karlov's boots. She raised the handsome head, pressed it to her +bosom, and began to sway her body from side to side. Tumult. The +Federal agents were throwing their bodies against the door repeatedly. +In the semi-darkness Cutty fought for his life. But Kitty neither +heard nor saw. The world had suddenly contracted; there was only +this beautiful head in her arms; beyond and about, nothing. + +Cutty felt his strength ebbing; soon he would not be able to wrench +himself loose from those terrible arms. He knew all the phases of +the fighting game. Chivalry and fair play had no part in this +contest. Clear light, to observe what his blows were accomplishing; +a minute or two of clear light! Half the time his blows glanced. +The next time those arms wound about him, that would be the end. +He was growing tired, winded; he had not gone into battle fresh. He +knew that many of his blows had gone home. Any ordinary man would +have dropped; but Karlov came on again and again. + +And all the while Karlov was not fighting Cutty; he was endeavouring +to remove him. He was an obstacle. What Karlov wanted was that +head the girl was holding in her arms; to grind his heel into it. +Had Cutty stepped aside Karlov would have rushed for the other man. + +"Kitty, the door, the door!" Cutty shouted in despair, taking a +terrible kick on the thigh. "The door!" + +Kitty did not stir. + +A panel in the door crushed in. The sole of a boot appeared and +vanished. Then an arm reached in, groping, touched the plank propped +under the door knob, wrenched and tugged until it fell. Immediately +the attic became filled with men. It was time. Karlov had Cutty in +his arms. + +This turn in the affair roused Kitty. Presently she saw men in a +snarl, heaving and billowing, with a sudden subsidence. The snarl +untangled itself; men began to step back and produce pocketlamps. +Kitty saw Cutty's face, battered and bloody, appear and disappear +in a flash. She saw Karlov's, too, as he was pulled to his feet, +his hands manacled. Again she saw Cutty. With shaking hand he was +trying to attach the loose end of his collar to the button. The +absurdity of it! + +"Take him away. But don't be rough with him. He's only a poor +devil of a madman," said Cutty. + +Karlov turned and calmly spat into Cutty's face. A dozen fists were +raised, but Cutty intervened. + +"No! Let him be. Just take him away and lock him up. He's a +rough road to travel. And hustle a comfortable car for me to go +home in. Not a word to the newspapers. This isn't a popular raid." + +As soon as the attic was cleared Cutty limped over to Molly Conover's +daughter. The poor innocent! The way she was holding that head was +an illumination. With a reassuring smile - an effort, for his lips +were puffed and burning - he knelt and put his hand on Hawksley's heart. + +"Done in, Kitty; that's all." + +"He isn't dead?" + +"Lord, no! He had nine lives, this chap, and only one of 'em +missing to date. But I had no right to let him come. I thought he +was fairly fit, but he wasn't. Saved my life, though. Kitty, your +Johnny Two-Hawks is a real man; how real I did not know until +to-night. He has earned his American citizenship. Fights like he +fiddles - on all four strings. All our troubles are at an end; so +buck up." + +"Alive? He is alive?" + +The wild joy in her voice! "Yes, ma'am; and we two can regularly +thank him for being alive also. That lunge gave me my chance. He's +only stunned. Perhaps he'll need a nurse again. Anyhow, he'll be +coming round in a minute or two. I'll wager the first thing he +does is to smile. I should." + +Suddenly Kitty grew strangely shy. She became conscious of her +anomalous position. She had promised to marry Cutty, promised +herself that she would be his true wife - and here she was, holding +another man's head to her heart as if it were the most precious +head in all the world. She could not put that head upon the floor +at once; that would be a confession of her embarrassment; and yet +she could not continue to hold Hawksley while Cutty eyed her with +semi-humorous concern. Cutty was merciful, however. "Let me hold +him while you make a pillow out of your coat." After he had laid +Hawksley's head on the coat he said: "He'll come about quicker this +way. We've had some excitement, haven't we?" + +"I don't want any more, Cutty; never any more. I've been a silly, +romantic fool!" + +"Not silly, only glorious." + +"Your poor face!" + +"Banged up? Well, honestly, it feels as it looks, Kitty, this chap +was going to give himself up in exchange for you. Not a word of +protest, not a question. All he said was: 'I am ready.' That's why +I'm always going to be on his side." + +"He did that - for me?" + +"For you. Did it never occur to you that you're the sort folks +always want to do things for if you'll let them?" + +"God bless you, Cutty!" + +"He's always blessing me, Kitty. He blessed me with your mother's +friendship, now yours. Kitty, I'm going to jilt you." + +"Jilt me?" - her heart leaping. + +"Yes, ma'am. We can't go through with that mummery. We aren't +built that way. I'll figure it out in some other fashion. But +marriage is a sacred contract; and this farce would have left a +scar on your honest mind. You'd have to tell some man. Your kind +can't go through life without being loved. Would he understand? +I wonder. He'll be human or you wouldn't fall in love with him; +and always he'll be pondering and bedevilling himself with queer +ideas - because he'll be human. Of course there's a loophole +- you can sue me for breach of promise." + +"Please, Cutty; don't laugh! You're one of those men they call +Greathearts. And now I'm going to tell you something. It wasn't +going to be a farce. I intended to become your true wife, Cutty, +make you as happy as I could." + +Cutty patted her hand and got up. Lord, how bruised and sore his +old body was! ... His true wife! She might have been his if he had +not missed that train. But for this hour, hot with life, she might +never have discovered that she loved Hawksley. His true wife! Ah, +she would have been all of that - Molly's girl! + +"Will you mind waiting here until I see where old Stefani Gregor is?" + +"No," answered Kitty, dreamily. + +Cutty limped to the door. Outside he leaned against the partition. +Done in, body and soul. Always opening the gates of paradise for +somebody else... His true wife! Slowly he descended the stairs. + +Alone, Kitty smoothed back the dank hair from Hawksley's brow, which +she kissed. Benediction and good-bye. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +Because it was assumed that some of Karlov's pack might be at large +and unsuspectingly return to the trap, Federal agents would remain on +guard all night. They explored the house, hunting for chemicals, +documents, letters, and addresses. They found enough high explosive +to blow up the district. And they found Stefani Gregor. They were +standing by the cot as Cutty came in. + +"Yes, sir. Just this minute went out." + +"Did he speak?" + +"A woman's name." + +"Rosa?" + +"Yes, sir. Looks to me as if he had been starved to death. Know +who he was?" + +"Yes. Tell the coroner to be gentle. Once upon a time Stefani +Gregor spoke to kings by right of genius." + +The thought that he himself might have been the indirect cause of +Gregor's death shocked Cutty, who was above all things tender. + +He had held back the raid for several days, to serve his own ends. +He could have ordered the raid from Washington, and it would have +gone through as smoothly as to-night. The drums of jeopardy. Well, +that phase of the game was done with. He had held up this raid so +that he might be on hand to search Karlov; and until now he had +forgotten the drums. Accurst! They were accurst. The death of +Stefani Gregor would always be on his conscience. + +Cutty stared - not very clearly - at the cameo-like face so +beautifully calm. As in life, so it was in death; the calm that +had brooked and beaten down the turbulent instincts of the boy, +the imperturbable calm of a great soul. Rosa. The sublime +unselfishness of the man! He had sacrificed wealth and fame for +the love of the boy's mother - unspoken, unrequited love, the +quality that passes understanding. And his reward: to die on this +cot, in horrid loneliness. Rosa. + +All at once Cutty felt himself little, trivial, beside this forlorn +bier. What did he know about love? He had never made any +sacrifices; he had simply carried in his heart a bittersweet +recollection. But here! Twenty-odd years of unremitting devotion +to the son of the woman he had loved - Stefani Gregor. Creating +environments that would develop the noble qualities in the boy, +interposing himself between the boy and the evil pleasures of the +uncle, teaching him the beautiful, cleansing his soul of the +inherited mud. Reverently Cutty drew the coverlet over the fine +old head. + +"What's this?" asked one of the operatives. "Looks like the pieces +of a broken fiddle." + +Out of those dark red bits of wood - some of them bearing the +imprints of hobnails - Cutty constructed the scene. A wave of +bitter rage rolled over him. The beast! Karlov had done this +thing, with poor old Gregor looking on, too weak to intervene. +Not so many years ago these bits of wood, under the master's +touch, had entranced the souls of thousands. Cutty recalled a +fairy tale he had read when a boy about a prince whose soul had +been transformed into a flower which, if plucked or broken, died. +Karlov had murdered Stefani Gregor, perhaps not legally but +actually nevertheless. + +Rehabilitated in soul, Cutty left the room. He had read a +compelling lesson in self-sacrifice. He was going to pick up his +cross and go on with it, smiling. After all, Kitty was only an +interlude; the big thing was the game; and shortly he would be in +the thick of great events again. But Kitty should be happy. + +His old analytical philosophy resumed its functions. The contempt +and jealousy of one race for another; what was God's idea in +implanting that in souls? Hawksley was at base Russian. The boy's +English education, his adopted outlook upon life, made it possible +for Cutty to ignore the racial antagonism of the Anglo-Saxon for +all other races. Stefani Gregor at one end of the world and he at +the other, blindly working out the destinies of Kitty Conover and +Ivan Mikhail Feodorovich and so forth and so on, with the blood +of Catharine in his veins! Made a chap dizzy to think of it. +Traditions were piling up along with crowns and sceptres in the +abyss. + +When he returned to the attic he felt himself fortified against +any inevitability. Hawksley was sitting up, his back to the wall, +staring groggily but with reckless adoration into Kitty's lovely +face. Youth will be served. As if, watching these two, there +could be any doubt of it! And he had bent part of his energies +toward keeping them separated. + +"Ha!" he cried, cheerfully. "Back on top again, I see. How's +the head?" + +"Haven't any; no legs; I'm nothing at all but a bit of my own +imagination. How do you feel?" + +"Like the aftermath of an Irish wake." Then Cutty's battered face +assumed an expression that was meant to typify gravity. "John," he +aid, "I've bad news for you." + +John. A glow went over the young man's aching body. John. What +could that signify except that he had passed into the eternal +friendship of this old thoroughbred? John. + +"About Stefani?" + +"Stefani is dead. He died speaking your mother's name." + +Hawksley's head sank; his chin touched his chest. He spoke without +looking up. "Something told me I would never see him alive again. +Old Stefani! If there is any good in me it will be his handiwork. +"I say," he added, his eyes now seeking Cutty's, "you called me +John. Will you carry on?" + +"Keep an eye on you? So long as you may need me." + +"I come from a lawless race. Stefani had to fight. Even now I'm +afraid sometimes. God knows I want to be all he tried to make me." + +"You're all right, John. You've reached haven; the storms hereafter +will be outside. Besides, Stefani will always be with you. You'll +never pick up that old Amati without feeling Stefani near. Can +you stand?" + +"Between the two of you, perhaps." + +With Kitty on one side and Cutty on the other Hawksley managed the +descent tolerably well. Often a foot dragged. How strong she was, +this girl! No hysterics, no confusion, after all that racket, with +death - or something worse - reaching out toward her; calmly telling +him that there was another step, warning him not to bear too heavily +on Cutty! Holding him up physically and morally, these two, now all +he had in life to care for. Yesterday, unknown to him; this night, +bound by hoops of steel. The girl had forgiven him; he knew it by +the touch of her arm.... Old Stefani! A sob escaped him. Their +arms tightened. + +"No; I was thinking of Stefani. Rather hard - to die all alone + - because he loved me." + +Kitty longed to be alone. There were still many unshed tears - some +for Cutty, some for Stefani Gregor, some for Johnny Two-Hawks, and +some for herself. + +In the limousine Cutty sat in the middle, Kitty on his left and +Hawksley on his right, his arms round them both. Presently +Hawksley's head touched his shoulder and rested there; a little +later Kitty did likewise. His children! Lord, he was going to +have a tremendous interest in life, after all! He smiled with +kindly irony at the back of the chauffeur. His children, these +two; and he knew as he planned their future that they were thinking +over and round but not of him, which is the way of youth. + +At the apartment Cutty decided to let Hawksley sit in an easy chair +in the living room until Captain Harrison arrived. Kuroki was +ordered to prepare a supper, which would be served on the tea cart, +set at Hawksley's knees. Kitty - because it was impossible for her +to remain inactive - set the linen and silver. She was in and out +of the room, ill at ease, angry, frightened, bitter, avoiding +Hawksley's imploring eyes because she was not sure of her own. + +She was sure of one thing, however. All the nonsense was out of her +head. To-morrow she would be returning to the regular job. She +would have a page from the Arabian Nights to look upon in the days +to come. She understood, though it twisted her heart dreadfully: she +was in the eyes of this man a plaything, a pretty woman he had met +in passing. If she had saved his life he had in turn saved hers; +they were quits. She did not blame him for his point of view. He +had come from the top of the world, where women were either ornaments +or playthings, while she and hers had always struggled to maintain +equilibrium in the middle stratum. Cutty could give him friendship; +but she could not because she was a woman, young and pretty. + +Love him? Well, she would get over it. It might be only the glamour +of the adventure they had shared. Anyhow, she wouldn't die of it. +Cutty hadn't. Of course it hurt; she was a silly little fool, and +all that. Once he was in Montana he would be sending for his Olga. +There wasn't the least doubt in her mind that if ever autocracy +returned to power, he'd be casting aside his American citizenship, +his chaps and sombrero, for the old regalia. Well - truculently to +the world at large - why not? + +So she avoided Hawksley's gaze, sensing the sustained persistence +of it. But, oh, to be alone, alone, alone! + +Cutty washed the patient's hands and face and patched up the cut on +the cheek, interlarding his chatter with trench idioms, banter, +jokes. Underneath, though, he was chuckling. He was the hero of +this tale; he had done all the thrilling stunts, carried limp bodies +across fire escapes in the rain, climbed roofs, eluded newspaper +reporters, fought with his bare fists, rescued the girl.... All +with one foot in the grave! Fifty-two, gray haired - with a prospect +of rheumatism on the morrow - and putting it over like a debonair +movie idol! + +Hawksley met these pleasantries halfway by grousing about being +babied when there was nothing the matter with him but his head, his +body, and his legs. + +Why didn't she look at him? What was the meaning of this persistent +avoidance? She must have forgiven last night. She was too much of +a thoroughbred to harbour ill feeling over that. Why didn't she +look at him? + +The telephone called Cutty from the room. + +Kitty went into the dining room for an extra pair of salt cellars +and delayed her return until she heard Cutty coming back. + +"Karlov is dead," he announced. "Started a fight in the taxi, got +out, and was making for safety when one of the boys shot him. He +hadn't the jewels on him, John. I'm afraid they are gone, unless he +hid them somewhere in that - What's the matter, Kitty?" + +For Kitty had dropped the salt cellars and pressed her hands against +her bosom, her face colourless. + +Hawksley, terrified, tried to get up. + +"No, no! Nothing is the matter with me but my head.... To think I +could forget! Good - heavens!" She prolonged the words drolly. +"Wait." + +She turned her back to them. When she faced them again she extended +a palm upon which lay a leather tobacco pouch, cracked and parched +and blistered by the reactions of rain and sun. + +"Think of my forgetting them! I found them this morning. Where do +you suppose? On a step of the fire-escape ladder." + +"Well, I'll be tinker-dammed!" said Cutty. + +"I've reasoned it out," went on Kitty, breathlessly, looking at +Cutty, "When the anarchist tore them from Mr. Hawksley's neck, he +threw them out of the window. The room was dark; his companion +could not see. Later he intended, no doubt, to go into the court +and recover them and cheat his master. I was looking out of the +window, when I noticed a brilliant flash of purple, then another +of green. The pouch was open, the stones about to trickle out. +I dared not leave them in the apartment or tell anybody until you +came home. So I carried them with me to the office. The drums, +Cutty! The drums! Tumpitum-tump! Look!" + +She poured the stones upon the white linen tablecloth. A thousand +fires! + +"The wonderful things!" she gasped. "Oh, the wonderful things! +I don't blame you, Cutty. They would tempt an angel. The drums of +jeopardy; and that I should find them!" + +"Lord!" said Cutty, in an awed whisper. Green stones! The +magnificent rubies and sapphires and diamonds vanished; he could +see nothing but the exquisite emeralds. He picked up one - still +warm with Kitty's pulsing life - and toyed with it. Actually, the +drums! And all this time they had been inviting the first comer +to appropriate them. Money, love, tragedy, death; history, pageants, +lovely women; murder and loot! All these days on the step of the +fire-escape ladder! He must have one of them; positively he must. +Could he prevail upon Hawksley to sell one? Had he carried them +through sentiment? + +He turned to broach the suggestion of purchase, but remained mute. + +Hawksley's head was sunk upon his chest; his arms hung limply at +the sides of his chair. + +"He is fainting!" cried Kitty, her love outweighing her resolves. +"Cutty!" - desperately, fearing to touch Hawksley herself. + +"No! The stones, the stones! Take them away - out of sight! I'm +too done in! I can't stand it! I can't - The Red Night! Torches +and hobnailed boots!" + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +Her fingers seemingly all thumbs, her heart swelling with misery +and loneliness, wanting to go to him but fearing she would be +misunderstood, Kitty scooped up the dazzling stones and poured +them hastily into the tobacco pouch, which she thrust into Cutty's +hands. What she had heard was not the cry of a disordered brain. +There was some clear reason for the horror in Hawksley's tones. +What tragedy lay behind these wonderful prisms of colour that the +legitimate owner could not look upon them without being stirred in +this manner? + +"Take them into the study," urged Kitty. + +"Wait!" interposed Hawksley. "I give one of the emeralds to you, +Cutty. They came out of hell - if you want to risk it! The other +is for Miss Conover, with Mister Hawksley's compliments." He was +looking at Kitty now, his face drawn, his eyes bloodshot. "Don't +be apprehensive. They bring evil only to men. With one in your +possession you will be happy ever after, as the saying goes. Oh, +they are mine to give; mine by right of inheritance. God knows I +paid for them!" + +"If I said Mister - " began Kitty, her brain confused, her tongue +clumsy. + +"You haven't forgiven!" he interrupted. "A thoroughbred like you, +to hold last night against me! Mister - after what we two have +shared together! Why didn't you leave me there to die?" + +Cutty observed that the drama had resolved itself into two +characters; he had been relegated to the scenes. He tiptoed toward +his study door, and as he slipped inside he knew that Gethsemane was +not an orchard but a condition of the mind. He tossed the pouch on +his desk, eyed it ironically, and sat down. His, one of them - one +of those marvellous emeralds was his! He interlaced his fingers +and rested his brow upon them. He was very tired. + +Kitty missed him only when she heard the latch snap. + +She was alone with Hawksley; and all her terror returned. Not to +touch him, not to console him; to stand staring at him like a dumb +thing! + +"I do forgive - Johnny! But your world and my world -" + +"Those stains! The wretches hurt you!" + +"What? Where?" - bewildered. + +"The blood on your waist!" + +Kitty looked down. "That is not my blood, Johnny. It is yours." + +"Mine?" Johnny. Something in the way she said it. "Mine?" - trying +to solve the riddle. + +"Yes. It is where your cheek rested when - I thought you were dead." + +The sense of misery, of oppression, of terror, all fell away +miraculously, leaving only the flower of glory. She would be his +plaything if he wanted her. + +Silence. + +"Kitty, I came out of a dark world - to find you. I loved you the +moment I entered your kitchen that night. But I did not know it. +I loved you the night you brought the wallet. Still I did not +understand. It was when I heard the lift door and knew you had gone +forever that I understood. Loved you with all my heart, with all +that poor old Stefani had fashioned out of muck and clay. If you +held my head to your heart, if that is my blood there - Do you, can +you care a little?" + +"I can and do care very much, Johnny." + +Her voice to his ears was like the G string of the Amati. "Will +you go with me?" + +"Anywhere. But you are a prince of some great Russian house, Johnny, +and I am nobody." + +"What am I, Kitty? Less than nobody - a homeless outcast, with only +you and Cutty. An American! Well, when I'm that it will be +different; I'll be somebody. God forgive me if I do not give it +absolute loyalty, this new country! ... Never call me anything but +Johnny." + +"Johnny." Anywhere, whatever he willed her to be. + +"I'm a child, Kitty. I want to grow up - if I can - to be an +American, something like that ripping old thoroughbred yonder." + +Cutty! Johnny wanted to be something like Cutty. Johnny would have +to grow up to be his own true self; for nobody could ever be like +Cutty. He was as high and far away from the average man as this +apartment was from hers. Would he understand her attitude? Could +she say anything until it would be too late for him to interfere? +She was this man's woman. She would have her span of happiness, +come ill, come good, even if it hurt Cutty, whom she loved in another +fashion. But for Johnny dropping through that trap she might never +have really known, married Cutty, and been happy. Happy until one +or the other died; never gloriously, never furiously, but mildly +happy; perhaps understanding each other far better than Johnny and +she would understand each other. The average woman's lot. But to +give her heart, her mind, her body in a whirlwind of emotions, +absolute surrender, to know for once the highest state of exaltation + - to love! + +All this tender exchange with half a dozen feet between them. Kitty +had not stirred from the far side of the tea cart, and he had not +opened his arms. She had given herself with magnificent abandon; +for the present that satisfied her instincts. As for him, he was +not quite sure this miracle might not be a dream, and one false move +might cause her to vanish. + +"Johnny, who is Olga?" The question was irrepressible. Perhaps it +was the last shred of caution binding her. All of him or none of +him. There must be no other woman intervening. + +Hawksley stiffened in his chair. His hands closed convulsively and +his eyes lost their brightness. "Johnny?" Kitty ran round the tea +cart. "What is it?" She knelt beside the chair, alarmed, for the +horror had returned to his face. "What did they do to you back +there?" She clasped one of his hands tensely in hers. + +"In my dreams at night!" he said, staring into space. "I could run +away from my pursuers, but I could not run away from my dreams! +Torches and hobnailed boots! ... They trampled on her; and I, up +there in the gallery with those damned emeralds in my hands! Ah, +if I hadn't gone for them, if I hadn't thought of the extra comforts +their sale would bring! There would have been time then, Kitty. +I had all the other jewels in the pouch. Horses were ready for us +to flee on, loyal servants ready to help us; but I thought of the +drums. A few more worldly comforts - with hell forcing in the +doors! + +"I didn't tell her where I was going. When I came back it was to +see her die! They saw me, and yelled. I ran away. I hadn't the +courage to go down there and die with her! She thought I was in +that hell pit. She went down there to die with me and died +horribly, alone! Ah, if I could only shut it out, forget! Olga, +my tender young sister, Kitty, the last one of my race I could love. +And I ran away like a yellow dog, like a yellow dog! I don't know +where her grave is, and I could not seek it if I did! I dared not +write Stefani; tell him I had seen Olga go down under Karlov's +heels, and then ran away! ... Day by day to feel those stones +against my +heart!" + +Nothing is more terrible to a woman than the sight of a brave man +weeping. For she knew that he was brave. The sudden recollection +of the emeralds; a little more comfort for himself and sister if +they were permitted to escape. Not a cowardly instinct, not even +a greedy one; a normal desire to fortify them additionally against +an unknown future, and he had surrendered to it impulsively, without +explaining to Olga where he was going. + +"Johnny, Johnny, you mustn't!" She sprang up, seizing his head and +wildly kissing him. "You mustn't! God understands, and Olga. Oh, +you mustn't sob like that! You are tearing my heart to pieces!" + +"I ran away like a yellow dog! I didn't go down there and die with +her!" + +"You didn't run away to-night when you offered your life for my +liberty. Johnny, you mustn't!" + +Under her tender ministrations the sobs began to die away and soon +resolved into little catching gasps. He was weak and spent from +his injuries; otherwise he would not have given way like this, +discovered to her what she had not known before, that in every +man, however strong and valiant he may be, there is a little child. + +"It has been burning me up, Kitty." + +"I know, I know! It is because you have a soul full of beautiful +things, Johnny. God held you back from dying with Olga because +He knew I needed you." + +"You will marry me, knowing that I did this thing?" + +Marry him! A door to some blinding radiance opened, and she could +not see for a little while. Marry him! What a miserable wretch +she was to think that he would want her otherwise! Johnny +Two-Hawks, fiddling in front of the Metropolitan Opera House, to +fill a poor blind man's cup! + +"Yes, Johnny. Now, yesterdays never were. For us there is nothing +but to-morrows. Out there, in the great country - where souls as +well as bodies may stretch themselves - we'll start all over again. +You will be the cowman and I'll be the kitchen wench. As in the +beginning, so it will always be hereafter, I'll cook your bacon and +eggs." + +She pulled his chair round and pushed it toward a window, dropped +beside it and laid her cheek against his hand. + +"Let us look at the stars, Johnny. They know." Kuroki, having +arrived with coffee and sandwiches, paused on the threshold, gazed, +wheeled right about face, and returned to the kitchen. + +By and by Kitty looked up into Hawksley's face. He was asleep. +She got up carefully, lightly kissed the top of his head - the +old wound - and crossed to Cutty's door. She must tell dear old +Cutty of the wonderful happiness that was going to be hers. She +opened the study door, but did not enter at once. Asleep on his +arms. Why, he hadn't even opened that Ali Baba's bag! Tired out + - done in, as Johnny Two-Hawks called it in his English fashion. +She waited; but as he did not stir she approached with noiseless +step. The light poured full upon his head. How gray he was! A +boundless pity surged over her that this tender, valiant knight +should have missed what first her mother had known - now she +herself - requited love. To have everything in the world without +that was to have nothing. She would not wake him; she would let +him sleep until Captain Harrison came. Lightly she touched the +gray head with her lips and stole from the study. + +"Oh, Molly, Molly!" Cutty whispered into his rigid fingers. + +And so they were married, in the apartment, at the top of the world, +on a May night thick with stars. It was not a wedding; it was a +marriage. The world never knew because it was none of the world's +business. Who was Kitty Conover? A nobody. Who was John Hawksley? +Something to be. + +Out of the storm into the calm; which is something of a reversal. +Generally in love affairs happiness is found in the approach to +the marriage contract; the disillusions come afterward. It was +therefore logical that Kitty and her lover should be happy, as they +had run the gamut of test and fire beforehand. + +The young people were to leave for the West soon after the supper +for three. At midnight Cutty's ship would be boring down the bay. +Did Kitty regret, even a little, the rice and old shoes, the +bridesmaids and cake, so dear to the female of the species? She +did not. Did she think occasionally of the splendour of the title +that was hers? She did. To her mind Mrs. John Hawksley was +incomparably above and beyond anything in that Bible of autocracy + - the Almanach de Gotha. + +After supper Cutty brought in the old Amati. + +"Play," he said, lighting his pipe. + +So Hawksley played - played as he never had played before and +perhaps as he would never play again. We reach zenith sometimes, +but we never stay there. But he was not playing to Cutty. +Slate-blue eyes, two books with endless pages, the soul of this +wife of his. He had come through. The miracle had been +accomplished. Love. + +Kitty smiled and smiled, the doors of her soul thrown wide to +absorb this magic message. Love. + +Cutty smoked on, with his eyes closed. He heard it, too. Love. + +"Well," he said, sighing, "I see innovations out there in Montana. +The round-up will be different. The Pied Fiddler of Bar-K will +stand in the corral and fiddle, and the bossies will come galloping +in, two by two - and a few jackrabbits!" He laughed. "John, the +Amati is yours conditionally. If after one year it is not reclaimed +it becomes yours automatically. My wedding present. Remember, next +winter, if God wills, you'll come and visit me." + +"As if we could forget!" cried Kitty, embracing Cutty, who accepted +the embrace stoically. "I'll be needing clothes, and Johnny will +have to have his hair cut. Oh, Cutty, I'm so foolishly happy!" + +"Time we started for the choo-choo. Time-tables have no souls. But, +Lord, what a racket we've had!" + +"Well, rather!" - from Hawksley. + +"Bo, listen to me. Out there you must remember that 'bally' and +'ripping' and 'rather' are premeditated insults. Gee-whiz! but +I'd like a look-see when you say to your rough-and-readies: 'Bally +rotten weather. What?' They'll shoot you up." + +More banter; which fooled none of the three, as each understood the +other perfectly. The hour of separation was at hand, and they +were fortifying their courage. + +"Funny old top," was Hawksley's comment as they stood before the +train gate. "Three months gone we were strangers." + +"And now - " began Cutty. + +"With hoops of steel!" interrupted Kitty. "You must write, Cutty, +and Johnny and I will be prompt." + +"You'll get one from the Azores." + +"Train going west!" + +"Good luck, children!" Cutty pressed Hawksley's hand and pecked at +Kitty's cheek. "Shan't go through with you to the car. Kuroki is +waiting. Good-bye!" + +The redcaps seized the luggage, and Hawksley and his bride followed +them through the gate. Because he was tall Cutty could see them +until they reached the bumper. Funny old world, for a fact. Next +time they met the wounds would be healed - Hawksley's head and old +Cutty's heart. Queer how he felt his fifty-two. He began to +recognize one of the truths that had passed by: One did not sense +age if one ran with the familiar pack. But for an old-timer to jog +along for a few weeks with youth! That was it - the youth of these +two had knocked his conceit into a cocked hat. + +"Poor dear old Cutty!" said Kitty. + +"Old thoroughbred!" said Hawksley. + +And there you were, relegated to the bracket where the family kept +the kaleidoscope, the sea-shell, and the album. His children, +though; from now on he would have that interest in life. The blessed +infant - Molly's girl - taking a sunbonnet when she might have worn +a tiara! And that boy, stepping down from the pomp of palaces to +the dusty ranges of Bar-K. An American citizen. It was more than +funny, this old top; it was stark raving mad. + +Well, he had one of the drums. It reposed in his wallet. Another +queer thing, he could not work up a bit of the old enthusiasm. It +was only a green stone. One of the finest examples of the emerald +known, and he could not conjure up the panorama of murder and loot +behind it. Possibly because he was no longer detached; the stone +had entered his own life and touched it with tragedy. For it was +tragedy to be fifty-two and to realize it. Thus whenever he took +out the emerald he found his imagination walled in. Besides, it +was a kind of magic mirror; he saw always his own tentative +villainy. He was not quite the honest man he had once been. + +But what was happening down the line there? The passengers were +making way for someone. Kitty, and racing back to the gate! She +did not pause until she stood in front of him, breathless. + +"Forget something?" he asked, awkwardly. + +"Uh-hm!" Suddenly she threw her arms round his neck and kissed +him. "If only the three of us could be always together! Take care +of yourself. Johnny and I need you." Then she caught his hand, +gave it a pressure, and was off again. Cutty stood there, staring +blindly in her direction. Old Stefani Gregor; sacrifice. By and +by he became conscious of something warm and hard in his palm. +He looked down. + +A green stone, green as the turban of a Mecca pilgrim, green as the +eye of a black panther in the thicket. He dropped the emerald into +a vest pocket and fumbled round for his pipe - always his mental +crutch. He lit it and marched out of the station into the night + - chuckling sardonically. For the second time the thought occurred +to him: Of all his earthly possessions he would carry into the +Beyond - a chuckle. + +Molly, then Kitty; but the drums of jeopardy were his! + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext The Drums Of Jeopardy by Harold MacGrath + diff --git a/old/jprdy10.zip b/old/jprdy10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6904fe2 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/jprdy10.zip |