Kitty up her and coat. She did not her or in the ends the mirror—a as as sunrise. The tree at the right of the single window, and out of this window Kitty solemnly, at and at nothing.
Burlingame her seriously. Cutty had him a of the tale—enough to make to him that this pretty, girl, though no fault of her own, was in the of some if unknown danger. And Cutty wanted her out of town for a days. Burlingame had sending Kitty out of town on an Easter week. An of that had closed the in time.
“Well, you might say 'Good morning.'”
“I your pardon, Burly!” In newspaper offices you at once or you belong; and to is to have your name to as as possible. You are only to the city editor, the editor, and the auditor.
“What's the matter?”
“I've been set in the middle of a story,” said Kitty, “and I'm if it's the trouble to try to a way out. A Knight of the Round Table, a of chivalry. What would you say if you saw one in and a black derby?”
“Why,” answered Burlingame, “I I'd July as the best thing that to me.”
Kitty laughed; and that was what he wanted.
What had that old been doing now—offering Kitty his eighteen-story office building?
“It's odd, isn't it, that I shouldn't a little 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 your for you. Now, I've got some good news for you. An assignment.”
“Work! What is it?”
“I am going to send you on a visit to the most movie queen in the business. She is going to return to Broadway this autumn, and she has a of plays to read. I have your ace-high. Mornings you will read with her; afternoons you will visit. She your mother, who was the best of her day. So she will be as in you as you are in her. I want you to note her ways, how she herself, eats, exercises. I want you to note the of her home; if she dogs or cats or horses. You will take a camera and a dozen good pictures, and a page yarn for Easter Sunday. Stay as long as she wants you to.”
“But who?”
Burlingame his thumb toward a photograph on the wall.
“Oh! This will be the most event in my life. I'm wild about her! But I haven't any clothes!”
Burlingame his hands. “I I'd that yodel. Eve didn't have anything to speak of, but she a lot. Truth is, Kitty, you'd dress in monotones. She might wake up to the that you're a woman and temperamental. She has a husband the somewhere. Make him think his wife is a lucky woman. Here's all the dope—introduction, expenses, and tickets. Train at two-fifty. Run along home and pack. Remember, I want a page yarn. No or mush; stuff. She doesn't need any advertising. If you go at it right you two will upon each other as a tonic.”
Kitty that this little was the very thing she needed—open spaces, long walks in which to think out her problem. She home and the packing. When this was over she Tony Bernini.
“I am going out of town, Mr. Bernini. I may be gone a week.”
“All right, Miss Conover.” Bernini a smile. He all about this trip, having been by Cutty over the wire.
“Am I being any more?”
“Not that we know of. Still, you can tell. What's your destination?” Kitty told him. “Better not go by train. I can a fast and you out in a of hours. Right after you go to the boss's and wait for me. I'll take of your and camera. I'll on your heels.”
“Anybody would that Karlov was after me of Hawksley.”
Bernini smiled. “Miss Conover, the moment Karlov puts his hands on you the whole game goes blooey. That's the plain fact. There is death in this game. These to up the United States on May first. We are them along we want the top men in our net. But if Karlov takes it into his to you, and succeeds, he'll have a on the whole local service; we'd have to make great to free you.”
“Why wasn't I told this at the start?”
“You were told, indirectly. We did not to you.”
“I'm not frightened,” said Kitty.
“Nope. But we wish to the Lord you were, Miss Conover. When you want to come home, wire me and I'll out for you.”
Another fragment. Karlov's agent his and him in the of the old house, engaged. The bench was with well to chemists. Had the New York bomb of the of this den, the on their necks would have risen.
“Well?” Karlov, moodily.
“I have the man in the dress suit.”
“He and the Conover girl left that office together this morning, and I them to Park Row. This man the of the for his home. No goes up unless you have credentials. Our man is there, Boris.”
Karlov dry-washed his hands. “We'll send him one of the if we fail in to the girl. You say she daily at the newspaper office about nine and five and six?”
“Every day but Sunday.”
“Good news. Two bolts; one or the other will go home.”
About the same time in Cutty's an took place. Professor Ryan, late physical at one of the camps, Hawksley in of him and ran his hard hands over the man's body. Miss Frances at one side, her arms folded, her skeptical.
“Nothin' the with you, Bo, but the on the conk.”
“Right-o!” Hawksley.
“Lemme see your hands. Humph. Soft. Now on that threshold. That's it. Walk t' the' end o' the an' back. Step lively.”
“But,” Miss Frances in protest. This was cruelty.
“I'm the doctor, miss,” Ryan, crisply. “If he he goes t' bed, an' you stay. If he makes it, he my instructions.”
When Hawksley returned to the starting line the rocked, there were two or three of pain; but he this Irishman with a hint of the torture. A wild to be gone from this prison—to away from the of the girl.
“All right,” said Ryan. “Now t' bed.”
“Bed?”
“Yep. Goin' t' give you a that'll start all your workin'.”
Docilely Hawksley obeyed. He wasn't going to let them know, but that was going to be welcome.
“Well!” said Miss Frances. “I don't see how he did it.”
“I do,” said the ex-pugilist. “I told him to. Either he was a false alarm, or he'd attempt the job if he down. The thing is this: Make a guy well an' he'll well. If he's got any pride, it up. Go after 'em. He hasn't any blood. No wound. A on the conk. It killed him. It didn't. He didn't an' down. So my is right. Drop in in a days an' I'll yuh.”
Miss Frances out her hand. “You've men,” she said, with admiration.
“Oh, boy!—millions of 'em, an' each guy different. Believe me! Make 'em wanta.”
Cutty his conferences. He learned that he was to sail the week in May. His at Piraeus, in Greece, and might end in Vladivostok. But they him in Washington he was a of the it necessary to upon constantly. The political and of the peoples, what they wanted, what they expected, what they needed; enmities. The of the was no longer official in Washington. Stringent laws were in the making. What they wanted to know was an American's point of view, upon long and associations.
Washington him of nothing so much as a big sheep dog. The day was over; the had been off and the sheep into the fold; and now the was and and to to sleep. For Washington would go to sleep again, naturally.
Often it to him what a piece of the brain was. He up all this with the of an economist, all the while his upon Kitty. His nights were nightmares. And all this he had been touched with the for loot. Fundamentally, this be to the of jeopardy.
The possibility of those green stones—the in his rectitude—had him into this pit. Had not Kitty the name Stefani Gregor—in his mind always with the emeralds—he would have an and had Hawksley off, despite Kitty's protests; and he would have her but two or three times sailing, her in and parts. At any rate, there would have been none of this intimacy—Kitty to him in tears, opening her to him and all its loneliness. If she loved some it would not be so hard, the would not be so keen—to her. Marry her, and then tell her. This his like a murderer's deed, terrible in the of the night. Marry her, and then tell her. Cheat her. Break her and his own.
Fifty-two. Never had he old. His health and were the results of young. But now he the stirring, the of the pebbles. He would old swiftly, thunderously. Kitty's would up the debacle, it indefinitely. Marry her, her, and young. Green stones, accursed.
Kitty's days were enough, but her nights were sieges. One someone put Elman's of Schubert's “Ave Maria” on the phonograph. Long after it was over she sat in her chair. Echoes. The Tschaikowsky waltz. She got up suddenly, herself, and to her room.
Six days, and her problem was still unsolved. Something in her—she not it, she not it, it analysis—something, then, at the idea of marrying Cutty, him, and on his money. There was a touch of in the suggestion. It was her to pieces, this repellence. And yet this was so absurd. If he died and left her a she would accept it enough. Cutty's plan was only a method of this wait.
Comforts, the good of life, amusements—simply by her head. Why not? It wasn't as if Cutty was her to be his wife; he wasn't. Just wanted to convention, and give her and happiness. He was only her a 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 and revulsion? Why should she hesitate? The female of the trap? That not be it. For a more honourable, a more man did not walk the earth. Brave, strong, handsome, whimsical—why, Cutty was a catch!
Comfy. Never any of that of man when she was with him. Absolute trust. An had entered her head; had it possible. And still this repellence.
Romance? She was not her right to that. What was a year out of her life if she would be in circumstances, free to love where she willed? She wasn't herself or Cutty: she was convention, a thing at best.
Windows. We our to our windows; through we see the stars. We cannot God, but we can see His to the spaces. So Kitty her window and added her question to the millions about up there, and no answer.
But she would return to New York on the morrow. She would not Bernini as she had promised. She would go by train, alone, unhampered.
And in his Boris Karlov his for her.
