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+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
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