Because it was that some of Karlov's pack might be at large and return to the trap, Federal would on all night. They the house, for chemicals, documents, letters, and addresses. They high to up the district. And they Stefani Gregor. They were by the as Cutty came in.
“Yes, sir. Just this minute out.”
“Did he speak?”
“A woman's name.”
“Rosa?”
“Yes, sir. Looks to me as if he had been to death. Know who he was?”
“Yes. Tell the to be gentle. Once upon a time Stefani Gregor spoke to kings by right of genius.”
The that he himself might have been the of Gregor's death Cutty, who was above all tender.
He had the for days, to his own ends. He have ordered the from Washington, and it would have gone through as as to-night. The of jeopardy. Well, that phase of the game was done with. He had up this so that he might be on hand to search Karlov; and until now he had the drums. Accurst! They were accurst. The death of Stefani Gregor would always be on his conscience.
Cutty stared—not very clearly—at the cameo-like so calm. As in life, so it was in death; the that had and the of the boy, the of a great soul. Rosa. The of the man! He had and for the love of the boy's mother—unspoken, love, the quality that understanding. And his reward: to die on this cot, in loneliness. Rosa.
All at once Cutty himself little, trivial, this bier. What did he know about love? He had any sacrifices; he had in his a recollection. But here! Twenty-odd years of to the son of the woman he had loved—Stefani Gregor. Creating that would the in the boy, himself the boy and the of the uncle, teaching him the beautiful, his of the mud. Reverently Cutty the over the old head.
“What's this?” asked one of the operatives. “Looks like the pieces of a fiddle.”
Out of those dark red of wood—some of them the of hobnails—Cutty the scene. A of rolled over him. The beast! Karlov had done this thing, with old Gregor looking on, too weak to intervene. Not so many years ago these of wood, under the master's touch, had the of thousands. Cutty a he had read when a boy about a had been into a flower which, if or broken, died. Karlov had Stefani Gregor, not legally but actually nevertheless.
Rehabilitated in soul, Cutty left the room. He had read a lesson in self-sacrifice. He was going to up his and go on with it, smiling. After all, Kitty was only an interlude; the big thing was the game; and he would be in the thick of great events again. But Kitty should be happy.
His old its functions. The and of one for another; what was God's idea in that in souls? Hawksley was at Russian. The boy's English education, his upon life, it possible for Cutty to the of the Anglo-Saxon for all other races. Stefani Gregor at one end of the world and he at the other, out the of Kitty Conover and Ivan Mikhail Feodorovich and so and so on, with the blood of Catharine in his veins! Made a to think of it. Traditions were up along with and in the abyss.
When he returned to the he himself against any inevitability. Hawksley was up, his to the wall, but with into Kitty's face. Youth will be served. As if, these two, there be any of it! And he had part of his toward them separated.
“Ha!” he cried, cheerfully. “Back on top again, I see. How's the head?”
“Haven't any; no legs; I'm nothing at all but a of my own imagination. How do you feel?”
“Like the of an Irish wake.” Then Cutty's an that was meant to gravity. “John,” he aid, “I've news for you.”
John. A over the man's body. John. What that that he had passed into the of this old thoroughbred? John.
“About Stefani?”
“Stefani is dead. He died speaking your mother's name.”
Hawksley's sank; his touched his chest. He spoke without looking up. “Something told me I would see him alive again. Old Stefani! If there is any good in me it will be his handiwork. I say,” he added, his now Cutty's, “you called me John. Will you on?”
“Keep an on you? So long as you may need me.”
“I come from a race. Stefani had to fight. Even now I'm sometimes. God I want to be all he to make me.”
“You're all right, John. You've haven; the will be outside. Besides, Stefani will always be with you. You'll up that old Amati without Stefani near. Can you stand?”
“Between the two of you, perhaps.”
With Kitty on one and Cutty on the other Hawksley managed the well. Often a dragged. How she was, this girl! No hysterics, no confusion, after all that racket, with death—or something worse—reaching out toward her; telling him that there was another step, him not to too on Cutty! Holding him up physically and morally, these two, now all he had in life to for. Yesterday, unknown to him; this night, by of steel. The girl had him; he it by the touch of her arm.... Old Stefani! A him. Their arms tightened.
“No; I was of Stefani. Rather hard—to die all alone—because he loved me.”
Kitty to be alone. There were still many tears—some for Cutty, some for Stefani Gregor, some for Johnny Two-Hawks, and some for herself.
In the Cutty sat in the middle, Kitty on his left and Hawksley on his right, his arms them both. Presently Hawksley's touched his and rested there; a little later Kitty did likewise. His children! Lord, he was going to have a in life, after all! He with at the of the chauffeur. His children, these two; and he as he planned their that they were over and but not of him, which is the way of youth.
At the Cutty to let Hawksley in an easy chair in the room until Captain Harrison arrived. Kuroki was ordered to prepare a supper, which would be on the tea cart, set at Hawksley's knees. Kitty—because it was for her to inactive—set the and silver. She was in and out of the room, at ease, angry, frightened, bitter, Hawksley's she was not sure of her own.
She was sure of one thing, however. All the nonsense was out of her head. To-morrow she would be returning to the regular job. She would have a page from the Arabian Nights to look upon in the days to come. She understood, though it her dreadfully: she was in the of this man a plaything, a woman he had met in passing. If she had saved his life he had in turn saved hers; they were quits. She did not him for his point of view. He had come from the top of the world, where were either or playthings, while she and hers had always to maintain in the middle stratum. Cutty give him friendship; but she not she was a woman, and pretty.
Love him? Well, she would over it. It might be only the of the they had shared. Anyhow, she wouldn't die of it. Cutty hadn't. Of it hurt; she was a little fool, and all that. Once he was in Montana he would be sending for his Olga. There wasn't the least in her mind that if returned to power, he'd be his American citizenship, his and sombrero, for the old regalia. Well—truculently to the world at large—why not?
So she Hawksley's gaze, the of it. But, oh, to be alone, alone, alone!
Cutty the patient's hands and and up the cut on the cheek, his with idioms, banter, jokes. Underneath, though, he was chuckling. He was the hero of this tale; he had done all the stunts, across fire in the rain, roofs, newspaper reporters, with his fists, the girl.... All with one in the grave! Fifty-two, haired—with a of on the morrow—and it over like a movie idol!
Hawksley met these by about being when there was nothing the with him but his head, his body, and his legs.
Why didn't she look at him? What was the meaning of this avoidance? She must have last night. She was too much of a to over that. Why didn't she look at him?
The telephone called Cutty from the room.
Kitty into the room for an pair of salt and her return until she Cutty back.
“Karlov is dead,” he announced. “Started a in the taxi, got out, and was making for safety when one of the boys him. He hadn't the on him, John. I'm they are gone, unless he them in that—What's the matter, Kitty?”
For Kitty had the salt and pressed her hands against her bosom, her colourless.
Hawksley, terrified, to up.
“No, no! Nothing is the with me but my head.... To think I forget! Good—heavens!” She the drolly. “Wait.”
She her to them. When she them again she a upon which a leather tobacco pouch, and and by the of rain and sun.
“Think of my them! I them this morning. Where do you suppose? On a step of the fire-escape ladder.”
“Well, I'll be tinker-dammed!” said Cutty.
“I've it out,” on Kitty, breathlessly, looking at Cutty, “When the them from Mr. Hawksley's neck, he them out of the window. The room was dark; his not see. Later he intended, no doubt, to go into the and them and his master. I was looking out of the window, when I noticed a of purple, then another of green. The was open, the about to out. I not them in the or tell until you came home. So I them with me to the office. The drums, Cutty! The drums! Tumpitum-tump! Look!”
She the upon the white tablecloth. A thousand fires!
“The things!” she gasped. “Oh, the things! I don't you, Cutty. They would an angel. The of jeopardy; and that I should them!”
“Lord!” said Cutty, in an whisper. Green stones! The and and diamonds vanished; he see nothing but the emeralds. He up one—still warm with Kitty's life—and with it. Actually, the drums! And all this time they had been the to them. Money, love, tragedy, death; history, pageants, women; and loot! All these days on the step of the fire-escape ladder! He must have one of them; positively he must. Could he upon Hawksley to sell one? Had he them through sentiment?
He to the of purchase, but mute.
Hawksley's was upon his chest; his arms at the of his chair.
“He is fainting!” Kitty, her love her resolves. “Cutty!”—desperately, to touch Hawksley herself.
“No! The stones, the stones! Take them away—out of sight! I'm too done in! I can't it! I can't—The Red Night! Torches and boots!”
