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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 they will have a
minute description of him。〃
〃He made me think of a gorilla； just as I told you。 His face was
pretty well banged up。 Naturally I did not notice any scar。 A
dreadfully black beard； shaven。〃
〃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 bad medicine for democracy。 Poor devil！〃
〃Why do you say that？〃
〃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 deep…sea
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 over you。 Good…night。〃
〃Mouquin's for lunch？〃
〃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 be marked； and so
will any one who travels with you。〃
〃Good gracious！〃
〃Fact。 But come up to the roost … changing taxis … to…morrow at
five and have tea。〃
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 of mind； dangerous because had he been followed he
would not have known it。
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 he would use that line。
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 flitter…flutters； 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's…eye … bang；
like that！ For the only breed worth its salt was the kind that
laughed when happy and when hurt。
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 fifty…two years； to come crowding
his doorstep all at once！
He raised his head and laughed。 He suddenly remembered now。 At
nine that night he had been scheduled to deliver a lecture on the
Italo…Jugoslav muddle before a distinguished audience in the
ballroom of a famous hotel！ He would have some fancy apologizing
to do in the morning。
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。 To…morrow 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 among his
1912 notes would clear up the fog。
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 Two…Hawks 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。 Perhaps
his notes would throw some light on that subject； too。
When he arrived home Miss Frances； the nurse； informed him that the
patient was babbling in an outlandish tongue。 For a long time
Cutty stood by the bedside； translating。
〃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 poor。。。。 The torches！ 。。。 I am burning；
burning！ 。。。 Olga！〃
〃What does he say？〃 asked the nurse。
〃It is Russian。 Is it a crisis？〃 he evaded。
〃Not necessarily。 Doctor Harrison said he would probably return to
consciousness sometime to…morrow。 But he must have absolute quiet。
No visitors。 A bad blow； but not of fatal consequence。 I've seen
hundreds of cases much worse pull out in a fortnight。 You'd better
go to bed； sir。〃
〃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。
Three o'clock in the morning。
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 found。
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 jeopardy！ In his hands they would
be talismanic。
But wait！ That pretty girl across the way。 Supposing he had
intrusted the stones to her？ Or hidden them there without her being
aware of it？
CHAPTER XII
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 heads。
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 chairs were evocations。
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 well…guarded cubby…hole 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 and correctly。
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