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tell all you know at once。 There's only one way up here … the
elevator。 I can get out to the fire escape； but none can get in
from that direction； as the door is of steel。〃
〃And； of course； you'll take me into your confidence completely？〃
〃When the time comes。 Half the fun in an adventure is the element
of the unexpected；〃 said Cutty。
〃Where did you first meet Stefani Gregor？〃
Captain Harrison laughed。 He liked this girl。 She was keen and
could be depended upon； as witness last night's work。 Her real
danger lay in being conspicuously pretty； in looking upon this affair
as merely a kind of exciting game； when it was tragedy。
〃What makes you think I know Stefani Gregor？〃 asked Cutty； genuinely
curious。
〃When I pronounced that name you whirled upon me as if I had struck
you。〃
〃Very well。 When we learn who Two…Hawks is I'll tell you what I
know about Gregor。 And in the meantime you will be ceaselessly under
guard。 You are an asset； Kitty； to whichever side holds you。
Captain Harrison is going to stay for dinner。 Won't you join us？〃
〃I'm going to a studio potluck with some girls。 And it's time I was
on the way。 I'll let your Tony Bernini know。 Home probably at ten。〃
Cutty went with her to the elevator and when he returned to the tea
table he sat down without speaking。
〃Why not kidnap her yourself；〃 suggested Harrison； 〃if you don't want
her in this？〃
〃She would never forgive me。〃
〃If she found it out。〃
〃She's the kind who would。 What do you think of her； Miss Frances？〃
〃I think she is wonderful。 Frankly； I should tell her everything
… if there is anything more to be told。〃
When dinner was over； the nurse gone back to the patient and Captain
Harrison to his club； Cutty lit his odoriferous pipe and patrolled
the windows of his study。 Ever since Kitty's departure he had been
mulling over in his mind a plan regarding her future … to add a
codicil to his will； leaving her five thousand a year； so Molly's
girl might always have a dainty frame for her unusual beauty。 The
pity of it was that convention denied him the pleasure of settling
the income upon her at once； while she was young。 He might outlive
her； you never could tell。 Anyhow； he would see to the codicil。 An
accident might step in。
He got out his chrysoprase。 In one corner of the room there was a
large portfolio such as artists use for their proofs and sketches；
and from this he took a dozen twelve…by…fourteen…inch photographs
of beautiful women； most of them stage beauties of bygone years。
The one on top happened to be Patti。 The adorable Patti！ 。。。 Linda；
Violetta； Lucia。 Lord； what a nightingale she had been！ He laughed
laid the photograph on the desk； and dipped his hand into a canvas
bag filled with polished green stones which would have great
commercial value if people knew more about them； for nothing else in
the world is quite so beautifully green。
He built tiaras above the lovely head and laid necklaces across the
marvellous throat。 Suddenly a phenomenon took place。 The roguish
eyes of the prima donna receded and vanished and slate…blue ones
replaced them。 The odd part of it was； he could not dissipate the
fancied eyes for the replacement of the actual。 Patti； with
slate…blue eyes！ He discarded the photograph and selected another。
He began the game anew and was just beginning the attack on the
problem uppermost in his mind when the phenomenon occurred again。
Kitty's eyes！ What infernal nonsense！ Kitty had served merely to
enliven his tender recollections of her mother。 Twenty…four and
fifty…two。 And yet； hadn't he just read that Maeterlinck； fifty…six；
had married Mademoiselle Dahon； many years younger？
In a kind of resentful fury he pushed back his chair and fell to
pacing； eddies and loops and spirals of smoke whirling and sweeping
behind him。 The only light was centred upon the desk； so he might
have been some god pacing cloud…riven Olympus in the twilight。 By
and by he laughed； and the atmosphere … mental … cleared。
Maeterlinck； fifty…six； and Cutty； fifty…two； were two different men。
Cutty might mix his metaphors occasionally； but he wasn't going to
mix his ghosts。
He returned to his singular game。 More tiaras and necklaces； and
his brain took firm hold of the theme which had in the beginning
lured him to the green stones。
Two…Hawks。 That name bothered him。 He knew he had heard it before；
but never in the Russian tongue。 It might be that the chap had been
spoofing Kitty。 Still； he had also called himself Hawksley。
The smoke thickened； there were frequent flares of matches。 One by
one Cutty discarded the photographs； dropping them on the floor
beside his chair； his mind boring this way and that for a solution。
He had now come to the point where he ceased to see the photographs
or the green stones。 The movements of his hands were almost
automatic。 And in this abstract manner he came to the last
photograph。 He built a necklace and even ventured an earring。
It was a glorious face … black eyes that followed you； full lipped；
every indication of fire and genius。 It must be understood that he
rarely saw the photographs when he played this game。 It wasn't an
amusing pastime； a mental relaxation。 It was a unique game of
solitaire； the photographs and chrysoprase being substituted for
cards； and in some inexplicable manner it permitted him to concentrate
upon whatever problem filled his thoughts。 It was purely accidental
that he saw Patti to…night or recalled her art。 Coming upon the last
photograph without having found a solution of the riddle of Two…Hawks
he relaxed the mental pressure； and his sight reestablished its
ability to focus。
〃Good Lord！〃 he ejaculated。
He seized the photograph excitedly； scattering the green stones。
She！ The Calabrian； the enchanting colouratura who had vanished
from the world at the height of her fame； thirty…odd years gone！
Two…Hawks！
Cutty saw himself at twenty； in the pit at La Scala； with music…mad
Milan all about him。 Two…Hawks！ He remembered now。 The nickname
the young bloods had given her because she had been eternally
guarded by her mother and aunt； fierce…beaked Calabrians； who had
determined that Rosa should never throw herself away on some beggarly
Adonis。
And this chap was her son！ Yesterday； rich and powerful； with a
name that was open sesame wherever he went； to…day； hunted；
penniless； and forlorn。 Cutty sank back in his chair； stunned by
the revelation。 In that room yonder！
CHAPTER XIV
For a long time Cutty sat perfectly motionless； his pipe at an
upward angle … a fine commentary on the strength of his jaws … and
his gaze boring into the shadows beyond his desk。 What was
uppermost in his thoughts now was the fateful twist of events that
had brought the young man to the assured haven of this towering
loft。
All based； singularly enough； upon his wanting to see Molly's girl
for a few moments； and thus he had established himself in Kitty's
thoughts。 Instead of turning to the police she had turned to him。
Old Cutty； reaching round vaguely for something to stay the current
… age； hoping by seeing this living link 'twixt the present and the
past to stay the afterglow of youth。 As if that could be done！ He；
who had never paid any attention to gray hairs and wrinkles and
time； all at once found himself in a position similar to that of
the man who supposes he has an inexhaustible sum at the bank and
has just been notified that he has overdrawn。
Cutty knew that life wasn't really coordination and premeditation
so much as it was coincident。 Trivials。 Nothing was absolute and
dependable but death； between birth and death a series of accidents
and incidents and coincidents which men called life。
He tapped his pipe on the ash tray and stood up。 He gathered the
chrysoprase and restored the stones to the canvas bag。 Then he
carefully stacked the photographs and carried them to the portfolio。
The green stones he deposited in a safe； from which he took a
considerable bundle of small notebooks； returning to the desk with
these。 Denatured dynamite； these notebooks； full of political
secrets； solutions of mysteries that baffle historians。 A truly
great journalist never writes history as a historian； he is afraid
to。 Sometimes conjecture is safer than fact。 And these little
notebooks were the repository of suppressed facts ranging over
twenty…odd years。 Gerald Stanley Lee would have recognized them
instantly as coming under the head of what he calls Sh！
An hour later Cutty returned the notebooks to their abiding place；
his memory refreshed。 The poor devil！ A dissolute father and uncle；
dissolute forbears； corrupt blood weakened by intermarriage； what
hope was there？ Only one … the rich； fiery blood of the Calabrian
mother。
But why had the chap come to America？ Why not England or the
Riviera； where rank； even if shorn of its prerogatives； is still
treated respectfully？ But America！
Cutty's head went up。 Perhaps that was it … to barter his phantom
greatness for money； to dazzle some rich fool of an American girl。
In that case Karlov would be welcome。 But wait a moment。