Early the next in a in a house for in Fifteenth Street, a man sat in a chair the want of a newspaper. Occasionally he something on a of paper. This man's job was an one. He jobs for other men—jobs in mills, great factories, in the districts, the street-car lines, the yards and docks, any place where there might be a or two of the of and discontent. His was to supply the matches.
No more the streets, no more from soap boxes. The proper place was in the or shop at noontime. A word or two at the right moment; a printed pamphlet; little there were men who wanted something they neither deserved. Here and there across the land little flares, one into the other, like on the plains, and then—the upheaval. As in Russia, so now in Germany; later, England and France and here. The was power.
He was no fool, this individual. He his clay, the day labourer, with his mentality. Though the of this he doesn't often meanings. But he takes these and them and himself that he is some of Moses, for the promised land. Inflammable stuff. Hence, the which puzzle the American citizen. What is it all about? Nobody to know.
Once upon a time men on a they were being and abused. Now they on the that it is excellent policy always to be something; it where it belongs—on the of things. No what they they to give an equivalent; and a just isn't necessary. Thus the present-day has only one perplexity—that of the iron hand of the Department of Justice.
Suddenly the man in the chair the newspaper close up and stared. He jumped to his feet, ran out and up the next of stairs. He stopped a door and the a number of times. Presently the door opened the crack; then it was wide to admit the visitor.
“Look!” he whispered, Cutty's advertisement.
The of the room the newspaper and it to a window.
Will purchase the of at top price. No questions
asked. Address this office.
Double C.
“Very good. I might have missed it. We shall sell the to this gentleman.”
“Sell them? But—”
“Imbecile! What we must do is to out who this man is. In the end he may lead us to him.”
“But it may be a trap!”
“Leave that to me. You have work of your own to do, and you had best be about it. Do you not see beneath? Who but the man who him would know about the drums? The man in the clothes. I was too away to see his face. Get me all the newspapers. If the is in all of them I will send a to each. We the woman yesterday. And nothing has been of Vladimir and Stemmler. Bad. I do not like this place. I move to the house to-night. My old friend Stefani may be lonesome. I not daylight. Some may have talked. To work! All of us have much to do to wake up the in this country of the blind. But the hour will come. Get me the newspapers.”
Karlov pushed his visitor from the room and locked and the door. He over to the window again and at the of pushcarts, drays, trucks, and beings that to go and got only by moving or through temporary breaches, directly—the way of humanity. But there was no object lesson in this for Karlov, who was not in the of one who was a for and and and in the and of life. The is often to the stoical. Karlov was a stoic, not a philosopher, or he would not have been the of his present obsession. The idea of live and let live has been the of the anarch. To the the death of some or the of some thing is the to his madhouse.
Nothing would this man of his obsession—the death of Hawksley and the of the emeralds. Moreover, there was the in his brain that the of these two would in the of mankind. Abnormally in his methods of approach, he those by which we our and which we call logic. A child alone in a house with a box of matches; a dog on one of Fifth Avenue that sees a dog on the other side, but not the automobiles—inexorable logic—irresistible force—whizzing up and the middle of that thoroughfare. It is not difficult to what is going to to that child, that dog.
Karlov was at this moment out toward a satisfactory relative to the of the gems. They had not been on his enemy; they had not been in the Gregor apartment; the two men to the of them would not have death by trying to do a little on their own initiative. In the they had come empty-handed. In the second instance—that of the girl to his whereabouts—neither Vladimir Stemmler had returned. Sinister. The man in the dress again?
Conceivably, then, the were in the of this girl; and she was them against the day when the would them. The was a snare. Very good. Two play that game as well as one.
The girl. Was it not always so? That breed! God's on them all! A finger, and the followed, hypnotized. The girl was away from the the major part of the day; so it was in order to search her rooms. A little fool.
But where were they him? Gall and wormwood! That he should through Boris Karlov's fingers, after all these across the world! Patience. Sooner or later the girl would lead the way. Still, patience was a when he had so little time, when now they might be him. Boris Karlov had left New York well known.
He under this thought. For the of life to the is flattery, attention. Had the newspapers Trotzky's into Russia, had they the daily 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 came to would be a and to the identity of the man who had with the great of Boris Karlov, for the red government of Russia.
Midtown, Cutty his egg dubiously. Not that he upon the of the egg. What him was that advertisement. Last night, high by his of the identity of his guest and his relative to the emeralds, he had himself open. If he anything at all about the craft, that would be in. Fortunately he had by the reporter. Legitimately he send a secret-service to the mail—if Karlov to negotiate. Still his rights, he use another to the negotiations. If in the end Karlov into the the use of the service for private ends would be justified.
Lord, those green stones! Well, why not? Something in the world a hazard. What had he in life but this second passion? There into his mind an question. Supposing, in the old days, he had to for Molly as he was now for the emeralds—a lawlessly? After all these years, to have such a him! Hadn't he for Conover? Hadn't he and Conover's assault? Supposing Molly had been wavering, and this method of attack had her? Never to have of that before! What did a woman want? A love storm, and then an after-calm. And it had taken him twenty-odd years to make this discovery.
Fact. He had been of women. He had somehow to play of gallant; and all the had taken of that, used him to pair with old maids, wives, and debutantes.
What was him toward these introspections? Kitty, Molly's girl. Each time he saw her or of her—the of her mother. Any other man upon Kitty or about her would have jumped into the from the of a dream. The in years would not have mattered. It was all nonsense, of course. But for his into the office and up the of his with Kitty, Molly—the memory of her—would have gone on dimming. Actions, and world-wide, had set his toward the future; he had been too to waste time in and introspection. Thus, of a and tide, recurrent, a of mixed that was him into depths. Those had up just in time. The would to him out of this bog.
He a and looked up. The nurse was to him.
“What is it?”
“He's awake, and there is in his eyes.”
“Great! Has he talked?”
“No. The just this moment, and I came to you. You can tell about on the or brain fever—never any two alike.”
Cutty his and the nurse to the bedside. The of the patient from Cutty to the nurse and back.
“Don't talk,” said Cutty. “Don't ask any questions. Take it easy until later in the day. You are in the hands of who wish you well. Eat what the nurse you. When the right time comes we'll tell you all about ourselves, You've been and beaten. But the men who did it are under arrest.”
“One question,” said the patient, weakly.
“Well, just one.”
“A girl—who gave me something to eat?”
“Yes. She you, and later your life.”
“Thanks.” Hawksley closed his eyes.
Cutty and the nurse him for a minutes; but as he did not again the nurse took up her temperature and Cutty returned to his eggs. Was there a girl? No question about the emeralds, no in the day and the hour. Was there a girl? The last person he had seen, Kitty; the question, after into the light: Had he her? Then and there Cutty that when he died he would into the Beyond, of all his possessions—a chuckle. Human beings!
The yarn that had missed by a hair—front page, eight-column head! But he had missed it, and that was the main thing. The devil! Beaten and without a in his pockets, his was likely to be without the of any newspaper publicity. But what a yarn! What a of a yarn!
In his Hawksley had spoken of having paid Kitty for that meal.
Kitty had said nothing about it. Supposing—
“Telephone, sair,” the Jap. “Lady.”
Molly's girl! Cutty to the telephone.
“Hello! That you, Kitty?”
“Yes. How is Johnny Two-Hawks?”
“Back to earth.”
“When can I see him? I'm just to know what the is!”
“Say the third or fourth day from this. We'll have him and up then.”
“Has he talked?”
“Not permitted. Still to the of your lease?” Cutty a laugh. “All right. Only I you will have to this decision.”
“Fiddlesticks! All I've got to do in is to press a button, and presto! here's Bernini.”
“Kitty, did Hawksley pay you for that meal?”
“Good heavens, no! What makes you ask that?”
“In his he spoke of having paid you. I didn't know.” Cutty's to against his ribs. Supposing, after all, Karlov hadn't the stones? Supposing Hawksley had them in Kitty's kitchen?
“Anything about Gregor?”
“No. Remember, you're to call me up twice a day and report the news. Don't go out nights if you can avoid it.”
“I'll be good,” Kitty agreed. “And now I must me to the job. Imagine, Cutty!—writing about stage and with Burlingame and all the while my brain with this affair! The city room will kill me, Cutty, if it out that I such a yarn. But it wouldn't be to Johnny Two-Hawks. Cutty, did you know that your of are here in New York?”
“What?” Cutty.
“Somebody is to them. There was an in the paper this morning. Cutty?”
“Yes.”
“The problem in is two and two make four. By-by!”
Dizzily Cutty up the receiver. He had not on the possibility of Kitty that advertisement. Two and two four; and four and four eight; so on indefinitely. That is to say, Kitty already had a of the truth. The on his part had been upon her of the name Stefani Gregor. He hadn't been able to his surprise. And yesterday, having that he Gregor, all that was needed to complete the circle was that advertisement. Cutty his hair, literally. The very door he she might he had open to her.
Thaddeus of Warsaw. But it should not be. He would continue to offer a to that chap; but no nonsense. None of that and blood should with Kitty Conover's happiness. Her self-appointed would to that.
He that his was inexplicable; but there were some which women; and one of this was now for Kitty. That she had her of common was in of the that she was and and adventuresome, and that for the time she was one of the great middle in events. She was Molly's girl; Cutty was going to look out for her.
Mighty odd that this for her should have into being that night, illogically. Prescience? He not say. Perhaps it was a instinct—fatherly; the same that would have her father into action—the protection of that to him.
If he told her who Hawksley was, that would her. If he a of the affair, that, too, would her. And there you were, 'twixt the and the sea. Hang it, what luck had him to tell her about those emeralds? Already she was a to satisfy her fancy. Two and two four—which that she was her father's daughter, that she would not until she had every of this dark room. Wanting to keep her out of it, and then her into it through his cupidity. Devil take those emeralds! Always the same; trouble they were.
The would the convalescence. Kitty would be to in frequently; not to see Hawksley especially, but her success in playing and with agents, and otherwise, had her fancy. For a while it would be an game; then it might only a means to an end. Well, it should not be.
Was there a girl! Already Hawksley had recorded her beauty. Very well; the of nonsense, and out he should go, Karlov or no Karlov. Kitty wasn't going to know any in this affair. That much was decided.
Cutty into his study, audibly. He a pipe and savagely. Another side, Kitty's entrance into the promised to his own fun; he would have to play two of one. A muddle!
He came to a one of the and saw the of the from the and towers and roofs, and why about in pastures.
Touching his was an Florentine chest, with and lock. He the and a by any save his own. It was all the he had. He into it and at length the photograph of a woman was and beautiful. He sat on the a la Turk and the face, his own and wistful. No to Kitty in the eyes. How often he had gone to her with the question his lips, only to it away unspoken! He over the photograph and read: “To the man I know. With love from Molly.” With love. And he had for Tommy Conover!
By George! He the photograph into the chest, let the lid, and rose to his feet. Not a idea, that. To Kitty himself, to her with and gallantries, to give her out of his wide experience, and to play the game until this was on his way elsewhere.
He do it; and he his upon his and observations. Never a of dames, he the part. He had played the game occasionally in the of Europe when there had been some he had particularly desired. Clever, women, too. A clever, good-looking man make himself to and in the thirties. Dazzlement for the young; the man who all about life, the little a man forgot; the moving of chairs, the of wraps; the which to trust and confidence, which the of the male. To the older women, no but a man of discernment, discretion, and and daring, who husbands forgot, who was always when wanted.
There was no of these premises. Cutty was about for an to what to his mind promised to be an inevitability. Of the would not last; it did, but he he it until was off and away.
That at five-thirty Kitty a box of roses, with Cutty's card.
“Oh, the things!” she cried.
She them and set them in a big copper jug, and them for the it her. What a dear man this Cutty was, to have of her in this fashion! Her father's friend, her mother's, and now hers; she had him. This her to smile, but there were in her eyes. A garden some day to play in, this city away, a home of her own; would it happen?
The rang. She wasn't going to like this for taking her away from these roses, the she had in a long time—roses she keep and not out the window. For it must not be that Kitty was besieged.
Outside a well-dressed gentleman, older than Cutty, with shrewd, and a with salients.
“Pardon me, but I am looking for a man by the name of Stephen Gregory. I was by the to you. You are Miss Conover?”
“Yes,” answered Kitty. “Will you come in?” She the into the room and a chair. “Please me for a moment.” Kitty into her and touched the button, which would Bernini. She wanted her to see the visitor. She returned to the room. “What is it you wish to know?”
“Where I may this Gregory.”
“That nobody able to answer. He was away from here in an ambulance; but we have been unable to the hospital. If you will your name—”
“That is not necessary. I am out of bounds, you might say, and I'd my name should be left out of the affair, which is peculiar.”
“In what way?”
“I am only an agent, and am not at to speak. Could you Gregory?”
“Then he is a to you?”
“Absolutely.”
Kitty Gregor and at length. It her that the visitor was bored, though he at times. She was to Bernini's ring. She herself to admit the Italian.
“A false alarm,” she whispered. “Someone for Gregor. I it might be well for you to see him.”
“I'll work the stuff.”
“Very well.”
Bernini into the room and over the steam of the radiator.
“Nothing the with it, miss. Just stuck.”
“Sorry to have you,” said the stranger, and up his hat.
Bernini to the basement, obfuscated; for he the visitor. He was one of the bankers in New York—that is to say, in America! Asking questions about Stefani Gregor!
