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It would save a good deal of time。
There were but ten apartments in the building； two on a floor。 The
living room formed an L。 Kitty's buttressed Gregor's。 The elevator
shaft was inside； facing the court； and the stair head was on the
Gregor side of the elevator。 The two entrances faced each other
across the landing。
As Kitty opened her door to step outside she was nonplussed to see
two men issue cautiously from the Gregor door。 The moment they
espied her； however； there was a mad rush for the stair head。 She
could hear the thud of their feet all the way down to the ground
floor； and every footfall seemed to touch her heart。 One of them
carried a bundle。
She breathed quickly； and she knew that she was afraid。 Neither
man was Johnny Two…Hawks。 Something dreadful had happened； she was
sure of it。 Reenforcing her sinking courage with nerve energy she
ran across to the Gregor door and knocked。 No answer。 She knocked
again； then she tried the door。 Locked。 The flutter in her breast
died away； she became quite calm。 She was going to enter this
apartment by the way of the fire escape。 The window he had come out
of was still up。 She had made note of this from the kitchen。 In
returning he had stepped on to the springe of a snare。
She hurried back to her kitchen for the automatic。 She hadn't the
least idea how to manipulate it； but she was no longer afraid of it。
Bravely she stepped out on to the fire escape。 To reach her
objective she had to walk under the ladder。 Danger often puts odd
irrelevancies into the human brain。 As she moved forward she
wondered if there was anything in the superstition regarding ladders。
When she reached the window she leaned against the brick wall and
listened。 Silence； an ominous silence。 The window was open； the
curtain up。 Within； what？ For as long as five minutes she waited；
then she climbed in。
Now as this bedroom was a counterpart of her own she knew where the
light button would be。 She might stumble over a chair or two； but
in the end she would find the light。 The fingers of one hand
spread out before her and the other clutching the impossible
automatic； she succeeded in navigating the uncharted reefs of an
unfamiliar room。 She blinked for a moment after throwing on the
light； and stood with her back to the wall； the automatic wabbling
at nothing in particular。 The room was empty so far as she could
see。 There was evidence of a physical encounter； but she could not
tell whether it was due to the former or to the latter invasion。
Where was he？ From where she stood she could not see the floor on
the far side of the bed。 Timidly she walked past the foot of the
bed … and the transient paralysis of horror laid hold of her。 She
became bereft of the power to grasp and hold； and the automatic
slipped from her fingers and thudded on the carpet。
On the floor lay poor Johnny Two…Hawks； crumpled grotesquely； a
streak of blood zigzagging across his forehead； to all appearances；
dead！
CHAPTER VII
Twice before in her life Kitty had looked upon death by violence；
and it required only this present picture to convince her that she
would never be able to gaze upon it callously； without pity and
terror。 Newspaper life … at least the reportorial side of it … has
an odd effect upon men and women； it sharpens their tragical
instincts and perceptions and dulls eternally the edge of tenderness
and sentimentality。 It was natural for Kitty to possess the keenest
perceptions of tragedy； but she had been taken out of the reportorial
field in time to preserve all her tenderness and romanticism。
Otherwise she would have seen in that crumpled object with the
sinister daub of blood on the forehead merely a story； and would
have approached it from that angle。 But was he dead？ She literally
forced her steps toward the body and stared。 She dropped to her
knees because they were threatening to buckle in one of those
flashes of physical incoordination to which the strongest will must
bow occasionally。 She was no longer afraid of the tragedy； but she
feared the great surging pity that was striving to express itself
in sobs； and she knew that if she surrendered she would forthwith
become hysterical for the rest of the evening and incompetent to
carry out the plan in her head。
A strong； healthy young man done to death in this fashion only a few
minutes after he had left her kitchen！ Somehow she could not look
upon him as a stranger。 She had given him food； she had talked to
him； she had even laughed with him。 He was not like those dead she
had seen in her reportorial days。 Her orbit and Johnny Two…Hawks'
had indeterminately touched； she had known old Gregory； or Gregor；
who had been this unfortunate young man's friend。 And he had hoped
they might never meet again！
The murderous scoundrels had been watching。 They must have entered
the apartment shortly after he had entered hers。 Conceivably they
would have Gregor's key。 And they had watched and waited； striking
him down it may have been at the very moment he had crossed the
sill of the window。
Her hand shook so idiotically that it was impossible for a time to
tell if the man's heart was beating。 All at once a wave of hot
fury rushed over her … fury at the cowardliness of the assault … and
the vertigo passed。 She laid her palm firmly over Johnny Two…Hawks'
heart。 Alive！ He was alive！ She straightened his body and put a
pillow under his head。 Then she sought water and towels。
There was no cut on his forehead； only blood； but the top of his
head had been cruelly beaten。 He was alive； but without immediate
aid he might die。 The poor young man！
There were two physicians in the block； one or the other would be
in。 She ran to the door； to find it locked。 She had forgotten。
Next she found the telephone wire cut and the speaking tube battered
and inutile。 She would have to return to her own apartment
to summon help。 She dared not leave the light on。 The scoundrels
might possibly return； and the light would warn them that their
victim had been discovered； and naturally they would wish to
ascertain whether or not they had succeeded in their murderous
assault。
As she was passing the first…landing windows she saw Cutty emerging
from the elevator。 She flew across the fire…escape platform with
the resilient step of one crossing thin ice。
Probably the most astonished man in New York was the war
correspondent when the door opened and a pair of arms were flung
about him； and a voice smothered in the lapel of his coat cried：
〃Oh； Cutty； I never was so glad to see any one！〃
〃What in the name of … 〃
〃Come！ We'll handle this ourselves。 Hurry！〃 She dragged him along
by the sleeve。
〃But … 〃
〃It is life and death！ No talk now！〃
Cutty； immaculate in his evening clothes； very much perturbed； went
along after her。 As she passed through the kitchen window and
beckoned him to follow he demurred。
〃Kitty； what the deuce is going on here？〃
〃I'll answer your questions when we get him into my apartment。 They
tried to murder him； left him there to die！〃
Cutty possessed a great art； an art highly developed only in
explorers and newspaper reporters of the first order … adaptability；
of being able to cast aside instantly the conventions of civilization
and let down the bars to the primordial； the instinctive； and the
natural。 Thus the Cutty who stepped out beside Kitty into the drizzle
was not the Cutty she had admitted into the apartment。 She did not
recognize this remarkable transition until later； and then she
discovered that Cutty； the suave and lackadaisical in idleness； was
a tremendous animal hibernating behind a crackle shell。
Ordinarily Cutty would have declined to come through this shell；
thin as it was； he liked these catnaps between great activities。
But this lovely creature was Conover's daughter； and she would
have the seventh sense…divination of the born reporter。 Something
big was in the air。
〃Go on！〃 he said； briskly。 〃I'm at your heels。 And stoop as you
pass those hall windows。 No use throwing a silhouette for somebody
in those rear houses to see。〃 。 。 。 Old Tommy Conover's daughter；
sure pop！ 。 。 。 There you go； under the ladder！ You've dished the
whole affair； whatever it is。。。。 No； no！ Just spoofing； Kitty。 A
long face is no good anywhere； even at a funeral。。。。 This window？
All right。 Know where the lights are？ Very good。〃
When Cutty saw the man on the floor he knelt quickly。 〃Nasty bang
on the head； but he's alive。 What's this？ His cap。 Poughkeepsie。
By George； padded with his handkerchief！ Must have known something
was going to fall on him。 Now； what's it all about？〃
〃When we get him to my apartment。〃
〃Yours？ Good Lord； what's the matter with this？〃
〃They tried to kill him here。 They might return to see if they had
succeeded。 They mustn't find where he has gone。 I'm strong。 I can
take hold of his knees。〃
〃Tut！ Neither of us could walk backward over that fire escape。 He
looks husky； but I'll try it。 Now obey me without question or
comment。 You'll have to help me get him outside the window and in
through y