The Drums Of Jeopardy .....................................................................................................................................1

Harold MacGrath.....................................................................................................................................1

A fast train drew into Albany, on the New York Central, from the West. It was threethirty 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

Meantime, the other man reached into the taxicab and awoke the sleeping chauffeur.

"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

"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

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."

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

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, sleepbefogged glance paused when it reached the

newcomer's face. The jaws and cheeks and upper lip were blueblack with a beard that required

extratempered razors once a day. Black eyes that burned like opals, a bulletshaped 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!"

The clerk swung out, but missed the boy's head by a hair. The boy stood off, grinning.

"All right. If anybody else comes in tell 'em we're full up. I'll be a wreck tomorrow without my usual beauty

sleep." The clerk dropped into his chair again and elevated his feet to the radiator.

"This Boolzac guy didn't have no baggage, and yuh give 'im the key without little ol' threeper in advance."

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

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 HongKong, 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

fireescape platform! He would let half an hour pass, then he would act. The ape, with his British

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 pleasureloving, 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 threelegged

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

"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

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

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

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

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 faraway HongKong. 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

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

How many were after him, and who? He had not been able to recognize the man that night in HongKong.

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

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, speedloving

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

Within three hours of his ultimate destination! He knew all about great cities. An hour after he left the train, if

>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

Then he hid it in the lining of his coat, there being a convenient rent in the inside pocket.

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 tightrope 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

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

When the day clerk arrived the night clerk sleepily informed him that the guest in Room 214 was without

"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 bellhop 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.

"Murder your granny! Naw! Just a fight between 212 and 214, because both of 'em have flown the roost. But

"If they are I never piped 'em before. They ain't French or British." The captain of the bellboys 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

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

fogdimmed street. There leaped into his mind, obliquely and queerly, a picture in one of Victor Hugo's tales

Quasimodo. And there he stood, in every particular save the crooked back. And on the top of this came the

recollection that he had seen the man before.... The torches! The red torches and the hobnailed boots!

There began an odd game, a dancing match, which the young man led adroitly, always with his thought upon

the open window. There would be no shooting; Quasimodo would not want the police either. Half a dozen

times his fingers touched futilely the dancing master's coat. Bank and forth across the room, over the bed,

round the stand and chairs. Persistently, as if he understood the young man's manoeuvres, the squat individual

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

There was a fourteenfoot 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

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

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

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

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

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 AngloSaxon 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 faceblows, 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.

Wild with rage and pain he bored in. He had but one chance to get this shadow in his gorillalike 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,

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,

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

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

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 southgoing 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

Across the earth a tempest had been loosed; but Ariel did not ride it, Caliban did. The scythe of terror was

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

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 blueandwhite 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 fivecent 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.

"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

"And don't make it any worse by suggesting a movie after supper. My mother never lets me go out after

"I rather fancy she's quite sensible. Still, you seem able to take care of yourself. I might suggest "

"Venus was not on that occasion in ascendancy. Thank you for the change." Hawksley swung on his heel and

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

"Yes, sir. I do not expect his return until near midsummer, sir. Who is this talking?"

"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

Hawksley's body relaxed. A lump came into his throat. Here was a friend, anyhow, ready to serve him though

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

Hawksley hesitated a moment. After all, he could trust this perfect old servant, whom he remembered. He

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

"Give me a dozen of those roses there." She sold flowers also. "The pink ones. How much?" he asked.

The girl stared at the flowers as Ali Baba must have stared at the cask with rubies.

Her eyes blurred. She never saw Hawksley again; but that was of no importance. She had a gentle deed to put

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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!

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

Not a crust did he find. In the icechest 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

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

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

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!

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, happygolucky,

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 twentyfour. A body is as old as it is, but a brain is as old as the facts it absorbs; and Kitty had

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

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 tendollar notes in it each

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,

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

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; slateblue eyes with

heavy black fringeIrish; colour that waxed and waned; and a healthy, shapely body. Topped by a sparkling

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

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 tenbytwelve

Cutty was a nickname; he carried and smoked everywhere they would permit him the worstlooking and

the worstsmelling pipe in Christendom. You may not realize it, but a nickname is a roundabout

AngloSaxon 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

Tall, bony, graceful enough except in a chair, where his angles became conspicuous; the ruddy,

weatherbitten complexion of a deepsea 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.

"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

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

"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 fiftytwo." Cutty's ship had been torpedoed.

To Kitty, with his tired eyes and weatherbitten 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 heavylidded 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

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

Burlingame, an intimate, often exposed for Kitty's delectation the amazing and colourful facets of Cutty's

diamondbrilliant 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 semiprecious 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

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

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

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?"

"Not at all," answered Kitty. "I don't see how any pipe could be worse than Mr. Burlingame's."

"You needn't," replied the girl. She turned to the war correspondent. "Any new drums?"

"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. Tumpitumtump! tumpitumtump! 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

"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 tumpitumtump! tumpitumtump!

"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

"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

"Emeralds, green as an English lawn in May after a shower, Kitty. By the way, do you mind if I call you

"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

"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

wirepulling. For one of those stones I would give half of all I own. To see them in the possession of another

"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

"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 hardboiled egg like you?" Burlingame threw up his hands in mock despair.

"I laugh, too; but I duck, nevertheless. The chap who showed me the stones was what you'd call the honorary

custodian; a privileged character because of his genius. Before approaching him I sent him a copy of my

monograph on green stones. I found that he was quite as crazy over green as I. That brought us together; and

while I drew him out I kept wondering where I had seen him before. Both his name and his face were vaguely

familiar. lt seems a superstition had come along with the stones, from India to Persia, from there to Russia. A

maid fortunate enough to see the drums would marry and be happy. The old fellow confessed that

occasionally he secretly admitted a peasant maid to gaze upon the stones. But he never let the male inmates

"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 AngloSaxon 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

"All right. I'll drop in here at half after twelve. Here's my telephone number, should anything alter your plans.

"Haunting stones, too, Kitty. For picking them up in my hands I went to bed with a bangedup leg. I can't

forget that. We Occidentals laugh at Orientals and their superstitions. We don't believe in the curse. And yet,

"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

An interruption came in the form of one of the office boys. The chief was on the wire and wanted Cutty at

"At half after twelve, Kitty. And by the way," added Cutty as he rose, "they say about the drums that a

"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

"You'll probably have nightmare tonight. 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 FuzzyWuzzy. 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

"Except on the third finger of a lady's left hand; and then they are just perfectly splendid!"

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

Even as the wish entered her mind a new sound entered her ears. The Subway car wheels began to beat

tumpitumtump! tumpitumtump! 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 demiroyal. 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

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

The livingroom windows faced Eightieth Street; bedrooms, dining room, and kitchen looked out upon the

court. From the latter windows one could step out upon the fireescape platform, which ran round the three

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.

If anything should happen to me all the things in my apartment I give to you without reservation.

She read the letter a dozen times to make sure that it meant exactly what it said. He might be ill. After she had

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 tumpitumtump! tumpitumtump!

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;

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

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 kitchentable drawer was an imitation revolver press the trigger, and a fluted fan was revealed a

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.

"Why didn't you come to the door then? What window?" Kitty was resolute; once she embarked upon an

"Gregory? I should very much like to know. I have come many miles to see him. He sent me a duplicate key.

Gregory away? That letter! Something had happened to that poor, kindly old man. "Why did you not seek

"I have plenty. I was afraid that I might not be able conveniently to return. I am a stranger. My actions might

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

"I'm afraid something has happened to him. I found his bedroom things tossed about."

Kitty wheeled and lifted off the pan, choking in the smother of smoke. She came rightabout face swiftly

"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, selfreliant American girl, able to take care of herself. Magnificent eyes slate blue, with thick,

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.

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?

"An Englishman or an American, for that matter with money in his pocket would have gone into the

"You are right. The fundamentals of the blood will always crop out. You can educate the brain but not the

"Yes; I am a fugitive, pursued by the god of Irony. And Irony is never particular; the chase is the thing. What

"I should not care to call myself TwoHawks, literally. It would be embarrassing. So I call myself

A pause. Kitty wondered what new impetus she might give to the conversation, which was interesting her

Hawksley smiled, revealing beautifully white teeth. "I say, it is a bit off, isn't it! I received it" a twinkle

"Moribund perspectives," repeated Kitty, casting the phrase about in her mind in search of an equivalent less

"I am young and healthy, and I wanted to live," he said, gravely. "I am curious to know what is going to

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

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

"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 blueblack bulldogs of war, a regulation revolver. Kitty understood what this courteous

"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 terriblelooking 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 tonight I found a note in the hall from Mr.

"His name is Stefani Gregor; and years and years ago he dandled me on his knees. I promise not to move

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.

"This is Miss Conover. Come up to my apartment in ten minutes.... No; it's not the water pipes.... In ten

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

The visitor glanced through it. "It is Gregor's hand. Poor old chap! I shall never forgive my self."

"For dragging him into this. They must have intercepted one of my telegrams." He stared dejectedly at the

"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

"Permit me to show you. It is loaded; there are five bullets in the clip. See this little latch? So, it is harmless.

"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. Goodbye." He stepped out of the window and

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

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

And there was the mysterious evanishment of old Gregory, whose name was Stefani Gregor. In a humdrum,

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 semiperilous 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?

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.

"Him? Why, some amb'lance fellers carted him off this afternoon. Didn't know nawthin' was the matter with

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

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 TwoHawks 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 TwoHawks had fought somewhere

that day for his life? Had Gregor been spirited away so as to leave TwoHawks without support, to confuse

and discourage him and break down his powers of resistance? Or had there been something of great value in

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 halfblind 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?

Johnny TwoHawks. 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 wellbalanced 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

The attribute lacking in the ape to make him human is continuity of thought and action in all things save one.

He often starts out we11 but he never arrives. His interest is never sustained. He drops one thing and turns to

another. The exception is his enmity, savage and cunning, relentless and enduring.

Kitty was awake to one fact. She could not venture to dig into this affair alone. On the other hand, she did not

want one of the men from the city room a reporter who would see nothing but news. If Gregor was only a

prisoner publicity might be the cause of his death; and publicity would certainly react hardily against Johnny

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.

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

"Something very strange is happening in this old apartment house, Cutty. I'm afraid it is a matter of life and

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 TwoHawks would have sense enough to realize that it would be safer to move about in the dark. It

Tumpitumtump! Tumpitumtump! 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

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 tumpitumtump! tumpitumtump! 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

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 TwoHawks, with his unshaven face, his black eye, and his nonchalance. She would fetch

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

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

She breathed quickly, and she knew that she was afraid. Neither man was Johnny TwoHawks. 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

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

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

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

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 TwoHawks, crumpled grotesquely, a streak of blood zigzagging across his

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

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

TwoHawks' had indeterminately touched; she had known old Gregory, or Gregor, who had been this

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

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 TwoHawks' heart. Alive! He was alive! She straightened his body and

There was no cut on his forehead, only blood; but the top of his head had been cruelly beaten. He was alive,

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 firstlanding windows she saw Cutty emerging from the elevator. She flew across the

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

"Come! We'll handle this ourselves. Hurry!" She dragged him along by the sleeve.

Cutty, immaculate in his evening clothes, very much perturbed, went along after her. As she passed through

"I'll answer your questions when we get him into my apartment. They tried to murder him; left him there to

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

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

"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?

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

"They tried to kill him here. They might return to see if they had succeeded. They mustn't find where he has

"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.

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 twentyfour 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

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

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

"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 clothesladen lines intervened to obscure

their progress. Someone in the rear of the houses in Seventyninth 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.

Presently he turned away from the telephone. "He'll be here in a jiffy. Now, then, what the deuce is all this

"Samaritan stuff. I see. Any absorbent cotton? I can wash the wound after a fashion. Warm water and Castile

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

TwoHawks. What was it that was trying to stir in his recollection? TwoHawks. He was sure he had heard

that name before. Hawksley meant nothing at all; but TwoHawks possessed a strange attraction. He stared

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

"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.

"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 dear old man. A valet at a Broadway hotel. Oh, I forgot! Johnny TwoHawks called him Stefani Gregor."

"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

"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

"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."

"You knew him. What do you say?" countered her godfather, evading the trap. The innocent child! He smiled

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

Still, something warned her not to press in this direction. He would be on the alert. She must wait until he had

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

"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

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

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

TwoHawks had met somewhere that day. She was now able to compare the results, and she placed the

victory on TwoHawks' 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

"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

"There's been a tragedy of some kind," began Kitty. "This man certainly did see us carrying a man across the

"Gone. He was an outsider. He was afraid of getting mixed up in a police affair and ran away." Behind the

"This way, if you please," said Kitty, readily. "You come, too, sir," she added as the squat man hesitated.

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 passerby and seemed more interested in the investigations of the policeman than in the man on the

"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."

"Probably awaiting the return of the real tenant who hasn't returned up to this hour" with an oblique glance

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

"In the yard on the other side of the fence." There was reluctance in the guttural voice.

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 TwoHawks 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

"And so many terrible things happen like this every day. But sooner or later those who commit them are

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

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.

"Guess it's all right, miss. I'll report the affair at the precinct and have an ambulance sent over. You'll have to

"Sure. You saw the thing and I verified it," declared the policeman. "It won't take ten minutes. Your name

Kitty wasn't sure, but the policeman seemed embarrassed about something. The directness was gone from his

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

"Of course, if you believe you ought not to tell me " said Kitty, which is the way all women start their

"Kitty, when you throw a cobble into a pond, what happens? A splash. But did you ever notice the way the

"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

"Geewhiz! The Irish are all alike," cried the war correspondent, hopelessly. "Petticoat or pantaloon, always

"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 lilywhite 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 bangbang 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

"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

"And Gregor and this poor young man are in some way mixed up with internationalism!"

"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."

"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 halfbaked 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 willo'thewisps 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

"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 today 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?"

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 Seventyninth Street. It was the way he had carried himself. Those years in

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

"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

"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.

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.

"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

"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

"We killed him tonight, 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

A wintry little smile stirred the lips of the man in the chair. America, with its keen perceptions of the

"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

The body in the chair relaxed a little. "He was clean and honest, Boris. I made him so. He would have done

"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.

"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

A cunning light shot into Karlov's eyes. "The emeralds!" He struck his pocket. "Here, Stefani; and they shall

"Watch you grow thin, Stefani. You want death; you shall want food instead. Oh, a little; enough to keep you

The squat man picked up the bundle from the table and tore off the wrapping paper. A violin the colour of old

"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

"To save a soul, Boris the boy's. When I fiddled his uncle forgot to drag him into an orgy. Ah, yes; I

"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 tonight, and the

emeralds are in my pocket. See!" Karlov held the instrument close to the other's face. "Look at it well, this

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.

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

"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.

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

"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

"Just as you say," agreed the surgeon. "That's all I can do for the present. I'll run down to the entrance and

"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

"All right. Did they try to strangle him or did he have something round his neck?"

"All out of the room now. I want it dark. Just as soon as the nurse arrives I'll return. Three rings." Harrison

Cutty spent a few minutes at the telephone, then he joined Kitty in the living room.

"Good gracious, I couldn't tell! Both his eyes were black and his nose banged dreadfully. Johnny

"Bully for TwoHawks! Kitty, you're a marvel. Not a flivver from the start. And those slateblue eyes of

"Tumpitumtump! Tumpitumtump! Cutty, you hypnotized me this afternoon with your horrid drums."

"I don't know what it is; drums, anyhow. Maybe it is the emeralds. Something has been happening ever since

"Nonsense! No woman is immune where a wonderful gem is concerned. And yet I've common sense and

"And a lot more besides, Kitty. You're a raving, howling little beauty; and how you've remained out of

"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

"Kitty," said Cutty, his fine eyes sparkling, "I shan't have to watch over you so much as I thought. On the

"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.

"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

"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

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 TwoHawks. Old! He had never thought himself that. Fiftytwo 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

Kitty's quick brain reached out for a similitude water rushing over ragged boulders.

"There are Serbian Olgas and Bulgarian Olgas and Rumanian Olgas. Probably his sweetheart."

"Sounds like Russian," added Cutty, his conscience pricking him. But he welcomed that "Olga." It would

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 nearby 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 TwoHawks 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

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 fiftytwo he had gazed down upon her twentyfour, weighing her

as like all young women of twentyfour pleasureloving and beauhunting and fashionscorched; 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!

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

And why hadn't he taken this TwoHawks 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

Perhaps Kitty's point of view regarding a certain duffer aged fiftytwo 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

One thing was certain there would be no more catnapping. The game was on again. He was assured of that

Green stones, the sunlight breaking against the flaws in a shower of golden sparks; green as the pulp of a

Immediately after the patient was put to bed Cutty changed. A nondescript suit of the daylabourer type and

"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."

Cutty laughed. "No. You run along to your lambs. I'm running with the wolves tonight, old scout, and you

might get that spickandspan 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."

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 TwoHawks thrown over his shoulder. The

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

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 madmen. Courage

and strength and mental resource; yes, Cutty possessed these; and he would be the kind to laugh at a joke or a

One thing, however, was indelibly printed on her mind. Stefani Gregor either Cutty had met and known the

Suddenly she became conscious that she was blinking as one blinks from mirrorreflected sunlight. She cast

about for the source of this phenomenon. Obliquely from between the interstices of the fireescape 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

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

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

tumpitumtump! tumpitumtump! 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

FuzzyWuzzy. 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

The light was on. At the side of her bed were two men. One of them was holding her bare shoulder and

"We do not wish to harm you, and won't if you're sensible. Where did they take the man you brought

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

"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 selfpreservation 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

"Yes, he was. You may not know where, but you will know the address of the man who tricked us; and that

"He came first. Come; we have no time to waste. We don't want to hurt you, and we hope you will not force

"No. Tell us where the man lives, and you can have the whole apartment to yourself."

"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.

"Try it and see what happens. Young lady, this is a bad affair for a woman to be mixed up in. Be sensible. We

"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

Kitty obeyed, very lovely in her dishevelment. Repugnant as the task was she disarmed the two men and

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

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 secretservice 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

"Watch them, miss. Don't be afraid to shoot. I'll return in a moment" still gruffly. The secretservice man

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! Tomorrow Burlingame would

ask her to hustle up the Sunday stuff, and she would hustle. She wanted to laugh, but was a little afraid that

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 TwoHawks had roused the

enmity of some political society with this result. Nihilist or Bolshevist or socialist, there was little choice; and

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

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

"You poor little chicken, did you believe I had deserted you?" The voice wasn't gruff now.

Cutty's heart, which had bumped along an astonishing number of million times in fiftytwo 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

"I did not recognize you at all!" she cried, standing off. "I shouldn't have known you on the street. And it is so

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.

"Cutty, I saw a man in the court with a pocket lamp before I went to bed. He was hunting for something."

"Yes. There was a vague possibility that your protege might have thrown out something valuable during the

"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."

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 tonight, 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

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

"It's all so exciting!" said Kitty. "But that poor old man Gregor! He had a wonderful violin, Cutty; and

"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

"He made me think of a gorilla, just as I told you. His face was pretty well banged up. Naturally I did not

"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

"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 deepsea 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

"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

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

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

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 flitterflutters, 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'seye bang, like that! For the only breed worth its salt was the kind

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

He raised his head and laughed. He suddenly remembered now. At nine that night he had been scheduled to

deliver a lecture on the ItaloJugoslav muddle before a distinguished audience in the ballroom of a famous

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. Tomorrow 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

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 TwoHawks 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.

When he arrived home Miss Frances, the nurse, informed him that the patient was babbling in an outlandish

"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

"Not necessarily. Doctor Harrison said he would probably return to consciousness sometime tomorrow. But

he must have absolute quiet. No visitors. A bad blow, but not of fatal consequence. I've seen hundreds of

"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.

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

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

But wait! That pretty girl across the way. Supposing he had intrusted the stones to her? Or hidden them there

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

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

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 wellguarded cubbyhole 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

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 turquoiseblue

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

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 highstrung 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

She strained the coffee, humming a tune out of The Mikado, the revival of which she had seen lately:

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

"Grapefruit, eggs on toast, and coffee; mademoiselle is served!" she cried, gayly, sitting down and attacking

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 oldfashioned flatirons; but she

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

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 makeup. It was not the

thought of Cutty, of Gregor, of Johnny TwoHawks, of hidden treasure; simply she had arrived somewhere

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.

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 GyptheBlood 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.

When she left the office at four she took the Subway to Fortysecond 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 secretservice operative detailed by Cutty both made the

same mistake followed Kitty into the drygoods 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,

To understand Kitty at this moment one must be able to understand the Irish; and nobody does or can or will.

Consider her twentyfour 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

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

That which had taken place during the past twentyfour hours was to her a lark, a blindman's buff for

grownups. 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

When the elevator reached the seventeenth floor, the passengers surged forth. All except Kitty, who tarried.

"I see." The boy nodded, swept her with an appraising glance, and sent the elevator up to the loft.

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 steamwreathed 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

"Hello!" said Cutty, emerging from one of the doors. "What the dickens have you been up to? My man has

"Well, well! If you can lose a man such as I set to watch you, you'll have no trouble shaking the others."

"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."

"Manage a place like this? In a busy office district. It's the most wonderful apartment in New York. Riverside

"The building is mine, Kitty. That makes it possible. An uncle who knew I hated money and the

"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."

With the toe of a snug little bronze boot Kitty drew an outline round a pattern in the rug.

"What's that got to do with it? If she had wanted money you wouldn't have had the least chance in the world."

"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

"No. I couldn't marry you, Cutty I should always be having my mother's ghost as a rival."

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

"Harrison says not. About Wednesday your TwoHawks will be sitting up. I've determined to keep the poor

"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."

It was nothing like the blonde girl of her dream. Still, the girl was charming. Kitty turned over the

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

"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

"Not since the Trotzky regime. I imagine TwoHawks 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. Tumpitumtump! Tumpitumtump!" 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

"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

"Because I'm tremendously excited. All my life I've wanted to do mysterious things. I've been with the

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

"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

"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."

"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

"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 today. 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

"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

"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

"When the time comes. Half the fun in an adventure is the element of the unexpected," said Cutty.

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

"Very well. When we learn who TwoHawks 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

"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

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?"

"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 twelvebyfourteeninch 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 slateblue ones

replaced them. The odd part of it was, he could not dissipate the fancied eyes for the replacement of the

actual. Patti, with slateblue 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. Twentyfour and fiftytwo. And yet, hadn't he just read that Maeterlinck,

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 cloudriven Olympus in the twilight. By and by he laughed; and the atmosphere mental

cleared. Maeterlinck, fiftysix, and Cutty, fiftytwo, were two different men. Cutty might mix his metaphors

He returned to his singular game. More tiaras and necklaces; and his brain took firm hold of the theme which

TwoHawks. 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

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 tonight or recalled her art. Coming upon the last

photograph without having found a solution of the riddle of TwoHawks he relaxed the mental pressure; and

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, thirtyodd years gone! TwoHawks!

Cutty saw himself at twenty, in the pit at La Scala, with musicmad Milan all about him. TwoHawks! He

remembered now. The nickname the young bloods had given her because she had been eternally guarded by

her mother and aunt, fiercebeaked Calabrians, who had determined that Rosa should never throw herself

And this chap was her son! Yesterday, rich and powerful, with a name that was open sesame wherever he

went; today, hunted, penniless, and forlorn. Cutty sank back in his chair, stunned by the revelation. In that

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

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

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 twentyodd

years. Gerald Stanley Lee would have recognized them instantly as coming under the head of what he calls

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?

But why had the chap come to America? Why not England or the Riviera, where rank, even if shorn of its

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 TwoHawks 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 TwoHawks' 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

>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 TwoHawks' 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

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,

The thought of those two incomparable emeralds being broken up distressed him profoundly. He must act at

once, before the desecration could be consummated. TwoHawks 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

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 secretservice 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

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

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

"Humph!" He called to one of the reporters. "This looks like a story. I'll run it. Follow that guy in the overalls

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."

"Two great emeralds I'm hunting for," explained Cutty, recalling the man who stood on London Bridge and

"Can it! Can it!" jeered the reporter. "Be a good sport and give us the tip. Strike call among the city

"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'

"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.

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

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

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

Meantime, when the elevator touched the ground floor, the operator observed a prospective passenger.

"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? Goodnight! Toddle along, bo; there's nothing

The operator, secretly enjoying the reporter's discomfiture, shut off the lights, slammed the elevator door to

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 streetrailway 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

Eventually, the man who did call for that mail presented a card to the mail clerk. At the bottom of this card

"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.

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 streetcar 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

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

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 presentday agitator has only one perplexity that of eluding the iron hand of

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.

Will purchase the drums of jeopardy at top price. No questions asked. Address this office.

"Very good. I might have missed it. We shall sell the accursed drums to this gentleman."

"Imbecile! What we must do is to find out who this man is. In the end he may lead us to him."

"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 tonight. 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

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

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 emptyhanded. In the second instance that of

intimidating the girl to disclose his whereabouts neither Vladimir nor Stemmler had returned. Sinister. The

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

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

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

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 secretservice 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

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 aftercalm. And it had taken him twentyodd 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

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 worldwide, 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

"No. The awakening happened just this moment, and I came to you. You never can tell about blows on the

Cutty threw down his napkin and accompanied the nurse to the bedside. The glance of the patient trailed from

"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."

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

The yarn that reporter had missed by a hair front page, eightcolumn 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!

"Say the third or fourth day from this. We'll have him shaved and sitting up then."

"Not permitted. Still determined to stay the run of your lease?" Cutty heard a laugh. "All right. Only I hope

"Fiddlesticks! All I've got to do in danger is to press a button, and presto! here's Bernini."

"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

"No. Remember, you're to call me up twice a day and report the news. Don't go out nights if you can avoid

"I'll be good," Kitty agreed. "And now I must hie me to the job. Imagine, Cutty ! writing personalities about

stage folks and gabfesting with Burlingame and all the while my brain boiling with this affair! The city room

will kill me, Cutty, if it ever finds out that I held back such a yarn. But it wouldn't he fair to Johnny

TwoHawks. Cutty, did you know that your wonderful drums of jeopardy are here in New York?"

"Somebody is offering to buy them. There was an advertisement in the paper this morning. Cutty?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 goodlooking

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

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,

That evening at fivethirty Kitty received a box of beautiful roses, with Cutty's card.

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

Outside stood a welldressed gentleman, older than Cutty, with shrewd, inquiring gray eyes and a face with

"Pardon me, but I am looking for a man by the name of Stephen Gregory. I was referred by the janitor to you.

"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

"That nobody seems able to answer. He was carried away from here in an ambulance; but we have been

"That is not necessary. I am out of bounds, you might say, and I'd rather my name should be left out of the

"I am only an agent, and am not at liberty to speak. Could you describe Gregory?"

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

Bernini went into the living room and fussed over the steam cock of the radiator.

Bernini went down to the basement, obfuscated; for he knew the visitor. He was one of the greatest bankers

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 afterdinner cigar between his teeth, was exceedingly

"Yes, sir. But he said you would see him because he came to see you regarding a Mr. Gregory."

"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."

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

"And you've always been rather a puzzle to me. A rich man, a gentleman, and yet sticking to the newspaper

"And you're a puzzle to me, too. A rich man, a gentleman, and yet sticking to the banking game."

"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,

"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 soninlaw, 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

"I do. I make it unreservedly because my future soninlaw 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

"At this moment he is in my apartment, rather seriously battered and absolutely penniless."

"Yes. And I want all your information so that I may guide my future actions accordingly. If he is really

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

"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

"A young man with these ideas in his head ought eventually to become a firstrate citizen. What do you

"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

"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."

"Yes. An old line of reasoning first put into effect by Oliver Cromwell. The axe."

"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

"Good reasons. That chap went to Gregor's Gregor is his name and was beaten, robbed, and left for dead.

"Hang it, I can't get her to leave. I'm not legally her guardian; selfappointed. But she has agreed to leave in

"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

"I am certainly agreeable." This would be a distinct advantage to Kitty. "I see you have a good book there. I'll

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

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

The nurse heard the patient utter a single word several times before he fell asleep.

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

"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

"A house in the warehouse district. Vacant warehouses on each side. Some new nest. I can lead you to it, sir,

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.

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 oldrose tints of the

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,

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

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 secretservice 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 fiftytwo years would pile upon his

head, full measure; for the only thing that kept him vigorous was action, interest. Without some great

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

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 thirdfloor 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 superinsane men. Warned, they were capable of blowing the house to

Problem Five was a mere vanishing point. He doubted if he would ever see those emeralds. What an infernal

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

"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

"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

Cutty rose and pushed the invalid's chair to a window and drew another up beside it.

"You will find it safer here than you would on the shores of Kaspuskoi More," replied Cutty, gravely. "The

With wide eyes Hawksley stared across the shining, wavering roofs. A pause. "What do you know?" he

"Everything. But wait!" Cutty fetched one of the photographs and laid it upon the young man's knees. "Know

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

"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

"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

"Will you?" eagerly. "Will you forget that I am anything but a naked, friendless human being?"

"I rather fancy they will keep the truth to themselves. Let them publish my identity, and a hundred havens

"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

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 consciencestricken 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

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

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

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 bangedup head of his to apply reason to the omission.

Cutty jumped at this. "Doesn't care to be mixed up with the Bolshevik end of it. Besides, she doesn't know

"The fewer that know the better. But I'll always remember her kindness and that bally pistol with the fan in it.

"Don't know; probably not. But we are hunting for him." Cutty had not explained his interest in Gregor.

"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!"

"By the Lord Harry, I'll see you through. Now buck up. Hear that?" cried Cutty, throwing up a window.

"Look through that street there. See the glint of bayonets? American soldiers, marching up Fifth Avenue,

thousands of them, freemen who broke the vaunted Hlndenburg Line. God bless 'em! Americans, every

mother's son of 'em; who went away laughing, who returned laughing, who will go back to their jobs

"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

"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.

"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."

"He seems to be gentle and patient; and I imagine he's hard to resist when he wants anything. Winning, you'd

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

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 steelshod 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 fiftytwo.

"Sorry, but it's those behind me," said Cutty, looking down into a florid countenance with a raggedy gray

"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?"

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

"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

"I sure have. Those kids out there, smiling after all that hell; and you and me on the sidewalk, blubbering

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,

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

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 tonight trying to find where Stefani Gregor was? Fiddles! Fiddles and emeralds! What a

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

Where there is fiddling there is generally dancing. If it be not the feet, then it will be the soul.

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

"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

The clerk a salesman familiar with certain urban types, thinly including the Fifth Avenue, which came in

for talkingmachine records recognized in this welldressed, 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.

"Good idea," Cutty agreed. "Take my card along with you." This was a Fifth Avenue shop, and Cutty knew

In the interim he inspected the caselined 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

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

"Your name is familiar to me," began the proprietor. "You collect antique drums. My clerk tells me that you

"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

"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

Cutty wrote out his check for a thousand and departed, the chuckle still going on inside of him. Versatile old

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

Hawksley, a fresh bandage on his head, his shoulders propped by pillows, eyed the initial manoeuvres with

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

The dealer flushed. "Try this, sir. But I do not promise you that I shall sell it."

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

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

"Sir," began the dealer, "I am horribly embarrassed. I cannot sell that violin because it isn't mine. It is an

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

"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

"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

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

"My fingers are stiff," said Hawksley. "My hand is tired. I should like to be alone." He lay back rather inertly.

"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

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 TwoHawks 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

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

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

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.

"Oh, that? Picked it up on the sidewalk. Some Italian kids dropped it as they skedaddled."

"Gee! That looks like real money. Say, they can do anything with glass these days."

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.

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.

"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

"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 pigeonblood 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

"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 pigeonblood ruby of unusual size and

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.

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

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

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

Immediately the sense of loneliness fell away. Another chapter in the great game of hide and seek that had

kept her from brooding until tonight? 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

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.

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

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 fivedollar

"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

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 TwoHawks!

Kitty lifted out the wallet from behind the flatirons. No doubt of it, Johnny TwoHawks 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 TwoHawks. 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 TwoHawks 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

Still, she examined the outside carefully. In one corner had been originally a monogram or a crest; effectually

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 TwoHawks, 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 TwoHawks 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. Tonight, 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

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 steelgray

taffeta. Turned inside out it would fool any man. She wore spats. These she would leave behind when she

Someone might follow her as far as the Knickerbocker, but beyond there, never. She was sorry, but she dared

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 Fortysecond 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 allnight 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're the doctor!" What a pretty girl she was. No comeon 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.

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 TwoHawks was asleep why, all she

"Yes." Kitty realized at once that she must take the nurse into her confidence. "I have made a really important

"No. I am not in his confidence to that extent. But I do know that you assumed unnecessary risks in coming

"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

"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

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.

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,

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, selfreliant girl alone to himself

"Rather not! Your kind would risk its neck to help a stray cat. I say, what's that you have in your hand?"

"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

"Why not? Gregor gone, there wasn't a soul in the world. I was hungry, and you gave me food. I wanted that

"See!" He opened the wallet and spread the contents on the counterpane. "I wasn't so stony as you thought.

"Positively yes. You would have shown them to that ripping guardian of yours, and he would have made you

"Indeed, yes! He would have been scared to death. You poor man, can't you see? Circumstantial evidence that

"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 mixup 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

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

"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

"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 "

"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,

"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.

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

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

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.

"Good gracious, no! I'm overtired. A little hysterical, maybe. The parade today, with all those wounded

boys in automobiles, the music and colour and excitement have rather done me up. And the way I rushed

"You poor child! Go ahead and sleep. Don't hesitate to call me if you want anything. I have a mild sedative if

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

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

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

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

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

"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

Karlov was ready at all times to expound the theories that appealed to his dark yet simple mind humanity

"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."

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

"Well, that is good," Gregor admitted. "But somehow it sounds ancient on my ear. Was there not a revolution

"Fool, it is the world that is revolting!" Karlov paused. "And no man in the future shall see his sister or his

"Your proletariat's sister and daughter. But the daughter of the noble and the daughter of the

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

"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

"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

"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

"You speak of Anna! If you hadn't been spouting your twaddle in taverns you would have had time to instruct

"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

"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 redcombed 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

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

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

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

Karlov stopped, scowled, and ran his fingers through his hair. Perhaps some ugly memory stirred the roots of

Gregor bent his head to his hands and Karlov resumed his pacing. After a while Gregor looked up.

"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!"

"You lie! You have done nothing but assassinate them when they surrendered. But tell me, have not you,

"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

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

"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

The anarch's huge fists became knotted; wrinkles corrugated his forehead; but he did not stir. Gregor wanted

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."

But Gregor continued with a newfound 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

"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

Karlov's body began to rock and sway like an angry bear's; but still he held his ground. Gregor wanted to die,

"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

"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 beerhall 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.

"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,

"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

>From a window in one of the vacant warehouses, twentyodd 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

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

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

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

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,

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,

Another point worth considering: He would keep his discoveries under cover until the hour to strike came.

Some overzealous 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

realestate 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

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, rubbersoled, just reached the roof. He landed

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 extracautious steps. The roof was slanting and pebbled, and the least

turn of the foot might start a cascade and bell an alarm. A comfortloving dresssuiter like himself, playing

Old Sleuth, when he ought to be home and in bed! It was all of twothirty. What the deuce would he do when

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

He stood up and wiped a tickling cobweb from his cheek. As the window from which he had descended came

into range he stared, loosejawed. Then be chuckled, as thoroughbred adventurers generally chuckle when

they find themselves at the bottom of the sack, the mouth of which has subitaneously and automatically

closed. Wasn't he the brainy old top? Wasn't he Sherlock Holmes plus? Old fool, how the devil was he going

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

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, trainedanimal 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 HumptyDumpty 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

He sat on his heels and let his gaze rove foursquare, 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

godsa battered kitchen chair, probably used to reach the clothesline in the happy days when the word

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. Tomorrow 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. Fiftytwo.

Well, his troubles were over for the night. So he believed. Arriving home, dirty and spent, he had to find

"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?

"Nothing everything. Lonesome. When I saw all those mothers and wives and sisters and sweethearts on

the curb today, 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

"Belongs to Johnny TwoHawks. He hid it that night behind my flatirons on the range. Why, Cutty, he's

"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

"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,

"Thank you for the flowers. You'll never know just what they did for me. There was somebody who gave me

"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

"Official business. But I just missed being a fine jackass. I'll look into the wallet after I've cleaned up. I'm a

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

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

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 galleywest by this

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 firstclass sporting proposition, with a humorous twist. As it stood now, he would be picking

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

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 TwoHawks, 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

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. TwoHawks! It was a small world.

He returned the contents to the wallet, leaving out the will, however. This he thrust into a drawer.

"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

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.

"It ought to have at least one merit," replied Kitty, wrinkling her nose. What a fine profile Cutty had! "Now,

"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 TwoHawks 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 TwoHawks 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."

"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 lesemajesty. 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

"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

"I'm glad I gave him something to eat. But Gregor, a valet in a hotel, with all that money!"

"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."

"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

"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

"It's difficult to find anything desirable within my means. Rents are terrifying. I'll sleep on the divan. A rug or

"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."

"I am mad about it! I'm always running round to concerts; and I'd walk from Battery to Bronx to hear a good

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. Slateblue 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

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

"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

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

Covering the divan was a fine piece of Bokhara embroidery. He drew this down over Kitty and tucked her in,

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

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

Meanwhile, Cutty sat on the edge of his bed staring blankly at the rug, trying to find a pickup 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

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

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

He would put a few straight questions to Hawksley, however. To have lost all those precious stones and not

to have inquired about them was a bit foggy, wasn't normal, human. Unless bang on the plexus came the

thought! the beggar had hidden them himself. He had been exceedingly clever in hiding the wallet. Come to

think of it, he hadn't mentioned that, either. Of course he had hidden the stones either in Gregor's apartment

or m Kitty's. Blind as a bat. Now he understood why Karlov had made a prisoner of Coles. The old buzzard

had sensed a trap and had countered it. The way of the transgressor was hard. His punishment for entertaining

Arriving at Hawksley's door he was confronted by a spectacle not without its humorous touch: The nurse

"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

"He's really not fit. But if he insists on doing the one he might as well do the other."

"Will you tell Kuroki to make it a beefsteak breakfast for four? I know how Mr. Hawksley feels. Been

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

"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

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

"No," said Cutty, slowly. "But this is for your ear alone: He's alive; and one of these days I'll bring him to

"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

"No." Hawksley opened his eyes, but looked dully straight ahead. "The stones! I was trying to forget! My

"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

The level despair of the tone appalled Cutty. A crime somewhere? There was still a bottom to this affair he

"I'll fetch those togs for you. Miss Conover will breakfast with us, and the sight of her will give you a brace.

"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

"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

"Fond of her!" repeated Cutty. "Why, of course I'm fond of her!" There was a touch of indignation in his

"Then marry her," suggested Hawksley with a cynical smile; "make a settlement and give her her freedom.

"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

An old and forgotten bit of mental machinery began to set up a ditterdatter 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 clitterclatter smothered it; indeed, this new racket upset and

demoralized the wellordered machinery of his thinking apparatus as applied daily. Marry Kitty!

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 clitterclatter. 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."

"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

"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 TwoHawks? 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

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

When Kuroki announced that breakfast was ready, Cutty went into the living room for Kitty, whom he bad

not yet seen. He found her by a window fascinated by the splendour of the panorama as seen in the morning

light. Not a vestige of the tears and disorder in which he had left her. What had been behind those tears?

Dainty and refreshing; to the eye as though she had stepped out of a bandbox. Compromised? That was utter

rot! Wasn't Miss Frances here? Clitterclatter, clitterclatter. But Cutty was not aware that it was no longer in

Kitty pirouetted. For some reason she could not explain to herself she wanted to laugh, sing, dance. Perhaps it

was because she was only twentyfour. Or it might have had its origin in the tonicky awakening among all

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!"

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

If that wasn't like a woman! It did not matter how she might look to an old codger, aetat. fiftytwo; he didn't

count. But a handsome young chap, now, in white flannels and sport shirt, his head bound picturesquely

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

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 halfconscious 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

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 devilmaycare.

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

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

"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

"Let him know the worst at once," retorted Kitty, flashing a smile at the victim.

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

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 shellshocked 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.

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 firsthand

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.

"Aggravating rather than bad. I am called to Washington. May be gone four or five days. Official business.

"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

"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

"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

Cutty smiled. "When I tackle anything I like to carry it through. I want to put you on your train."

"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

"Mercy, no! From the hurdygurdy of my childhood, down to Kubelik and his successors, I have been more

"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

"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

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

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

Quarter to nine he and Kitty entered a subway car and found a corner to themselves, while Karlov's agent was

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,

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."

Clitterclatter! Clitterclatter! Cutty stared hard at the cement floor. Marry her, settle a sum on her, and give

"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

Station after station flashed by. Kitty continued stare through the window across the way. by and by she

"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

"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

"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

"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

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

The tragic irony of it all numbed him. Fate hadn't played the game fairly. He was fiftytwo, on the far side of

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

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

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.

"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

"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

"Why," answered Burlingame, "I suppose I'd consider July first as the best thing that could happen to me."

What had that old rogue been doing now offering Kitty his eighteenstory 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 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 acehigh.

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

"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 twofifty. 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

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

"All right, Miss Conover." Bernini hid a smile. He knew all about this trip, having been advised by Cutty

"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."

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

"Nope. But we wish to the Lord you were, Miss Conover. When you want to come home, wire me and I'll

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.

"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

Karlov drywashed 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?"

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.

"Lemme see your hands. Humph. Soft. Now stand on that threshold. That's it. Walk t' the' end o' the hall an'

"I'm the doctor, miss," interrupted Ryan, crisply. "If he falls down he goes t' bed, an' you stay. If he makes it,

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

Docilely Hawksley obeyed. He wasn't going to let them know, but that bed was going to be tolerably

"I do," said the expugilist. "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.

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

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.

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

Fiftytwo. 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,

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

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

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

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

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

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 tophole. He was

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 passerby 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 hourtant. 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

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

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; tomorrow he would leave them behind forever. All at once

the mystery of this bubbling idea was bared: he was going to risk his life in the streets in the vague hope of

seeing some face he had known in the days before the world had gone drunk on blood. One familiar face.

Of course he would never forget at any rate, not the girl whose courage had made possible this hour. Those

chaps, scared off temporarily, might have returned. What had become of her? He was a1ways seeing her

lovely face in the shadows, now tender, now resolute, now mocking. Doubtless he thought of her constantly

because his freedom of action was limited. He hadn't diversion enough. Books and fiddling, these carried him

but halfway through the boredom. Where was she? Daily he had called her by telephone; no answer. The Jap

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 topsyturvy old world. He was an upstart. The final curtain had dropped between him and his

world, and he was still thinking in the ancient makeup. Middle class! He was no better than a troglodyte, set

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.

"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

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

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

She would run the streets with Johnny TwoHawks, 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

"Rot! Dash it all, I'm no mollycoddle! All nonsense to keep me pinned in like this. Will you go with me be

"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 TwoHawks, I will go as far as

"Johnny TwoHawks!" 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,

"Simple enough to explain. Had an English nurse from the beginning. Spoke English and Italian before I

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

"Kuroki, Miss Conover is dining here with me tonight. Seven o'clock sharp. The best you have in the

"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

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.

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!"

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.

"The floor below, and one of the other lifts, what?" Twenty minutes later the two of them, arm in arm, turned

"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

"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

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

"Because I never met one like you before. Rather stilted on their good behaviour, I fancy."

"The poor innocent young man! I'm nothing but camouflage tonight. 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

Tumpitum tump! tumpitum tump! drummed the Elevated. Kitty laughed. The tocsin! Always something

"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

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

"Wait!" Hawksley approached the fiddler, exchanged a few words with him, and the blind man surrendered

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

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 passersby. 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

Entered then the enemy of the proletariat. Kitty, being a New Yorker born, had had her weather eye roving.

The brassbuttoned 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.

"Can't have this on Broadway, miss. Obstruction." He could not speak gruffly in the face of such beauty

"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

"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.

"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

The driver watched the south corner; the three men inside never took their gaze off the north corner.

"If we had known we could have borrowed a dollar from the blind man; he'd never have missed it."

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

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 letdown

in their vigilance until they reached haven. But this state of mind they covered with smiling masks, banter,

They were both genuinely frightened, but with unselfish fear. Kitty's fear was not for herself but for Johnny

TwoHawks. 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,

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

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 TwoHawks, I'm a little fool! You

"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

"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

"What a jolly ass I am! I remember now. I left the stick against the wall of the opera house. Blockhead! With

"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

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

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

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 TwoHawks 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

"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

He rushed into the street, his automatic ready, eyed the taxicab speculatively, wheeled suddenly, and ran

south at a dogtrot. He rounded the south corner, but he did not see Hawksley anywhere. The dogtrot

became a dead run. As he wheeled round the corner of the parallel street he almost bumped into Hawksley,

"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."

"Safe. No thanks to you, though. I'd like to knock your block off, if you want to know!"

"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

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."

"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 fiftyfifty with him and you'll land on both feet. And you, Miss Conover, must not come

"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."

Kitty and Hawksley stepped out into the corridor, the problem they had sought to shake off reestablished in

"Tophole," lied Hawksley. "My word, though, I wobbled a bit going round that block. I almost kissed the

"Dinner is served," announced Kuroki at their elbows. His expression was coldly bland.

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

"Oh, I say, now! Where's the harm? If ever there was a young woman capable of taking care of herself "

"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

"I had a problem a very difficult one to solve; and I believed that I might solve it if I came to these

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

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.

"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 twentyodd 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

Kitty raised her eyes in frank astonishment. There was a fiercely proud expression on Hawksley's face. It was

"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

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 middleclass corpuscle, stirred

"Play!" said Kitty. There was a smile on her lips, but there was fiery challenge in her slateblue eyes. The

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

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 warmblooded,

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!"

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

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

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."

Even then there was time. But he did not move. It was not until he heard the elevator gate crash that be was

physically released from the thraldom of the inner revelation. Love in the blinding flash of a thunderbolt!

He had kissed her not because he was the son of his father, but because he loved her! And now he never

could tell her. He must let her go, believing that the man she had saved from death had repaid her with insult.

On top of all his misfortunes, his tragedies love! There was a God, yes, but his name was Irony. Love! He

stepped toward the divan, stumbled, and fell against it, his arms spread over the pillows; and in this position

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 neverending 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

He! A singular revelation cleared one corner. Kitty had spoken of a problem; and he, by those devilurged

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

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

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

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

Bernini met her in the lobby. "I've got a cab for you, Miss Conover," he said as if nothing at all had

"Then take me at once to a telegraph office. I have a very important message to send him."

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 fiftytwo and she was twentyfour 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

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 fiftytwo; that is to say, the grand passion had come and gone.

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

"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."

"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

"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

"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

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.

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 dishwashing! She laughed.

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

She finished her work and started for bed. But first she entered the guest room and turned on the lights. Olga.

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

The heavenly magic of that fiddle! It made her sad. Genius, the ability to play with souls, soothe, tantalize,

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

And with this laughter still bubbling in a softer note she got into bed, twisted about from side to side, from

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 TwoHawks and

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

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

He thought of Hawksley, and swore. But for Hawksley's suggestion no muddle like this would have occurred.

Cutty suddenly remembered his train. He looked at his watch and saw that his lower berth was well on the

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.

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

TwoHawks, 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 nightgold 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

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

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 fireescape 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

"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 oldtimer. 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

"So big that no newspaper will ever publish it, Burly. If Cutty wants to tell you some day he can. I haven't the

"Better keep your eyes open. Cutty's a stormy petrel; when he flies there's rough weather."

"Probably what he has already told you that he is a foreign agent of the Government. What do you know?"

"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

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

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

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, gorillalike body. Karlov! Yonder, in that cab! She ran to the remaining cab; wherein she

"See that taxi going across town? Follow it and I will give you ten extra fare."

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 TwoHawks, the man who held

Stefani Gregor a prisoner! For the present these facts were sufficient. "Don't get too near," said Kitty through

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 TwoHawks 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 TwoHawks bourgeois? Utter nonsense! Of course it did not matter now what he was; he had dug a

bridgeless chasm with that smile. Sometime tomorrow he and Stefani Gregor would be on their way to

Montana; and that would be the last of them both. Tomorrow would mark the fork in the road. But life

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 redbrick

The chauffeur obeyed, but he stopped again directly behind Karlov's taxicab. He slid off his seat and opened

Tumpitumtump! Tumpitumtump! She did not hear the tocsin this time; she felt it on her spine the drums

"Come with me, miss. If you are sensible you will not be harmed. If you cut up a racket I'll have to carry

"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

Karlov did not speak as he opened the door of the house for her. His expression was Buddhalike.

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

She placed two soap boxes on end and laid a plank across. After testing its stability she mounted. She could

reach the trap easily, with plenty of leverage to spare. She was confident that she could draw herself up to the

roof. She sought for the hooks and liberated them, then she placed her palms against the trap and heaved. Not

even a creak answered her. She pressed upward again and again. The trap was immovable.

Light. She turned, to behold Kariov in the doorway, a candlestick in his hand. "The scuttle is covered with

Kitty got down, her knees uncertain. If he touched her! Oh, the fool she had been!

"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

"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

"No matter. He can play the fiddle nearly as well as his master. The two of them have gone across the world

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

"He is an error in chronology. He represents an idea which no longer exists." He spoke English fluently, but

"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?"

"The emeralds? You haven't them!" cried Kitty, becoming her mother's daughter, though her heart never beat

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

"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."

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

"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

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

Comparisons! She saw how much alike the two were. Cutty was only Johnny TwoHawks at fiftytwo

fearless and whimsical. Had Cutty gone through life without looking at some woman as, last night,

TwoHawks had looked at her? All the rest of her life she would see TwoHawks' 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

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

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

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!

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 TwoHawks would not have to pay for her folly with his life. Terror and

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

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.

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

>From the Pennsylvania Station he had called up the office. Kitty had gone. Bernini informed him that Kitty

was dining at a caf� on the way home. Cutty was thorough. He telephoned the restaurant and was advised that

Miss Conover had reserved a table. He had forgotten to send down the operative who guarded Kitty at that

"Ought to be off your hands by Monday. But what about Stefani Gregor? I can't stir, leaving him hanging on

"Rather a good sort. I say, you know, you've seen a good deal of life. Which do you consider the stronger, the

"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

"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 AngloSaxon, 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

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

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.

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

"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

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

"Because there is in me the making of a firstrate scoundrel, and I never should have known it if you and

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

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

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

"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

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

He leaned back in his chair, listening, the bowl of his pipe touching the lapel of his coat. Music. Queer, what

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

"Coles?" cried Cutty delightedly. Here was the man he had sent to negotiate for the emeralds, free. "How did

"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

"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

"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,

"Not the least idea. Whenever Karlov wanted to quiz me, he appeared late at night from some other part of

"The girl will be taken away. I'm honestly afraid of the man. He's too quiet spoken. That kind of a man

For a minute Hawksley did not stir. Then he got up, put away the Amati, and came back. He was pale, too.

"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

"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

"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 goodnight. They told me to warn you."

Coles smiled enigmatically and reached for his hat. He held his hand out to Hawksley. "You're a white man,

As soon as the captive Federal agent withdrew Hawksley sat down at the desk and wrote.

Cutty saw that it was a simple will. In it Hawksley gave half of his possessions to Kitty and half to Stefani

"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

"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

"I did not know that. I played for her. She became musicstruck, and I took advantage of it kissed her.

Cutty's pipe slipped from his teeth. It did not often do that. He stamped out the embers and laid the pipe on

"Yes, death may be at the end of tonight'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.

"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

"Fighting?" Hawksley was on his feet instantly. "Do you mean that? I can die with free hands?"

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

"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

To be young like that! thought Cutty, feeling strangely sad and old. "To come free or to die there!" That was

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 tonight,

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

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.

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

With their short crowbars braced by stout fulcrums the two men heaved. Noise did not matter now. Presently

"Look out for your hands; there's lots of loose glass. And together when we drop."

"Righto!" whispered Hawksley, assured that when he dropped through the trap the result would be oblivion.

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

Karlov whirled on his heels, ran to Kitty, and snatched her wrist. "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

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

A call down the stairs, and five minutes afterward there would be nothing on the spot but a jumble of

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

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 upended 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

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

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

Unique angle of thought, he mused. He wanted mud to trample them in, Russian mud. The same mud that

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

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

Cutty, bereft of invention, could only stare. Death! He had faced it many times, but always with a chance.

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

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

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

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,

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

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

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 semidarkness 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

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

"Kitty, the door, the door!" Cutty shouted in despair, taking a terrible kick on the thigh. "The door!"

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

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

"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

"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 TwoHawks is a

real man; how real I did not know until tonight. He has earned his American citizenship. Fights like he

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

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 semihumorous 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

"I don't want any more, Cutty; never any more. I've been a silly, romantic fool!"

"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

"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?"

"He's always blessing me, Kitty. He blessed me with your mother's friendship, now yours. Kitty, I'm going to

"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

"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

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!

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

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

"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

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 tonight. 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

Cutty stared not very clearly at the cameolike 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,

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!

Twentyodd 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

"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,

Rehabilitated in soul, Cutty left the room. He had read a compelling lesson in selfsacrifice. 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 AngloSaxon 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

"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

John. A glow went over the young man's aching body. John. What could that signify except that he had

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,

"I come from a lawless race. Stefani had to fight. Even now I'm afraid sometimes. God knows I want to be all

"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?"

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

"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

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

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

She was sure of one thing, however. All the nonsense was out of her head. Tomorrow 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

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! Fiftytwo, 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

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?

Kitty went into the dining room for an extra pair of salt cellars and delayed her return until she heard Cutty

"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

For Kitty had dropped the salt cellars and pressed her hands against her bosom, her face colourless.

"No, no! Nothing is the matter with me but my head.... To think I could forget! Good heavens!" She

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

"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

"The wonderful things!" she gasped. "Oh, the wonderful things! I don't blame you, Cutty. They would tempt

"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 fireescape ladder! He must have one of them; positively he must. Could he prevail

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

"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

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?

"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

"You haven't forgiven!" he interrupted. "A thoroughbred like you, to hold last night against me! Mister

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

She was alone with Hawksley; and all her terror returned. Not to touch him, not to console him; to stand

"Mine?" Johnny. Something in the way she said it. "Mine?" trying to solve the riddle.

The sense of misery, of oppression, of terror, all fell away miraculously, leaving only the flower of glory. She

"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

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

"I'm a child, Kitty. I want to grow up if I can to be an American, something like that ripping old

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

"Johnny, who is Olga?" The question was irrepressible. Perhaps it was the last shred of caution binding her.

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

"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

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!"

"You didn't run away tonight 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

"I know, I know! It is because you have a soul full of beautiful things, Johnny. God held you back from dying

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 TwoHawks, fiddling in

"Yes, Johnny. Now, yesterdays never were. For us there is nothing but tomorrows. 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

She pulled his chair round and pushed it toward a window, dropped beside it and laid her cheek against his

"Let us look at the stars, Johnny. They know." Kuroki, having arrived with coffee and sandwiches, paused on

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 TwoHawks 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.

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

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

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. Slateblue eyes, two books

with endless pages, the soul of this wife of his. He had come through. The miracle had been accomplished.

Kitty smiled and smiled, the doors of her soul thrown wide to absorb this magic message. Love.

"Well," he said, sighing, "I see innovations out there in Montana. The roundup will be different. The Pied

Fiddler of BarK 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

"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 choochoo. Timetables have no souls. But, Lord, what a racket we've had!"

"Bo, listen to me. Out there you must remember that 'bally' and 'ripping' and 'rather' are premeditated insults.

Geewhiz! but I'd like a looksee when you say to your roughandreadies: 'Bally rotten weather. What?'

More banter; which fooled none of the three, as each understood the other perfectly. The hour of separation

"Funny old top," was Hawksley's comment as they stood before the train gate. "Three months gone we were

"With hoops of steel!" interrupted Kitty. "You must write, Cutty, and Johnny and I will be prompt."

"Good luck, children!" Cutty pressed Hawksley's hand and pecked at Kitty's cheek. "Shan't go through with

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 fiftytwo. 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 oldtimer to jog along for a few weeks with youth! That was it the youth of these two had knocked

And there you were, relegated to the bracket where the family kept the kaleidoscope, the seashell, 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 BarK. An American citizen. It was more than funny, this old top; it was stark

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 fiftytwo 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.

"Uhhm!" 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

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.