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in the total ruin of all his hopes。 There was only one chance … to
finish this affair outside the hotel； in some fog…dimmed street。
There leaped into his mind； obliquely and queerly； a picture in one
of Victor Hugo's tales … Quasimodo。 And there he stood； in every
particular save the crooked back。 And on the top of this came the
recollection that he had seen the man before。。。。 The torches！ The
red torches and the hobnailed boots！
There began an odd game； a dancing match； which the young man led
adroitly； always with his thought upon the open window。 There
would be no shooting； Quasimodo would not want the police either。
Half a dozen times his fingers touched futilely the dancing master's
coat。 Bank and forth across the room； over the bed； round the stand
and chairs。 Persistently； as if he understood the young man's
manoeuvres； the squat individual kept to the window side of the room。
An inspiration brought the affair to an end。 Hawksley snatched up
the bedclothes and threw them as the ancient retiarius threw his net。
He managed to win to the lower platform of the fire escape before
Quasimodo emerged。
There was a fourteen…foot drop to the street； and the man with the
golden stubble on his chin and cheeks swung for a moment to gauge
his landing。 Quasimodo came after with the agility of an ape。
The race down the street began with about a hundred yards in between。
Down the hill they went； like phantoms。 The distance did not widen。
Bears will run amazingly fast and for a long while。 The quarry cut
into Pearl Street for a block； turned a corner； and soon vaguely
espied the Hudson River。 He made for this。
To the mind of Quasimodo this flight had but one significance … he
was dealing with an arrant coward； and he based his subsequent acts
upon this premise； forgetting that brave men run when need says must。
It would have surprised him exceedingly to learn that he was not
driving； that he was being led。 Hawksley wanted his enemy alone；
where no one would see to interfere。 Red torches and hobnailed
boots！ For once the two bloods； always more or less at war； merged
in a common purpose … to kill this beast； to grind the face of him
into pulp！ Red torches and hobnailed boots！
Presently one of the huge passenger boats； moored for the winter；
loomed up through the fog； and toward this Hawksley directed his
steps。 He made a flying leap aboard and vanished round the
deckhouse to the river side。
Quasimodo laughed as he followed。 It was as if the tobacco pouch
and the appraiser's receipt were in his own pocket； and broad rivers
made capital graveyards。 They two alone in the fog！ He whirled
round the deckhouse … and backed on his heels to get his balance。
Directly in front； in a very understandable pose； was the intended
victim； his jaw jutting； his eyelids narrowed。
Quasimodo tried desperately to reach for his pistol； but a bolt of
lightning stopped the action。 There is something peculiar about a
blow on the nose； a good blow。 The Anglo…Saxon peoples alone
possess the counterattack … a rush。 To other peoples concentration
of thought is impossible after the impact。 Instinctively Quasimodo's
hands flew to his face。 He heard a laugh； mirthless and terrible。
Before he could drop his hands from his face…blows； short and
boring； from this side and from that； over and under。 The squat
man was brave enough； simply he did not know how to fight in this
manner。 He was accustomed to the use of steel and the hobnails on
his boots。 He struck wildly； swinging his arms like a Flemish mill
in a brisk wind。
Some of his blows got home； but these provoked only sardonic laughter。
Wild with rage and pain he bored in。 He had but one chance … to get
this shadow in his gorilla…like arms。 He lacked mental flexibility。
An idea； getting into his head； stuck； it was not adjustable。 Like
an arrow sped from the bowstring； it had to fulfill its destiny。
It never occurred to him to take to his heels； to get space between
himself and this enemy he had so woefully underestimated。 Ten feet；
and he might have been able to whirl； draw his pistol； and end the
affair。
The coup de grace came suddenly： a blow that caught Quasimodo full
on the point of the jaw。 He sagged and went sprawling upon his
face。 The victor turned him over and raised a heel。。。。 No！ He
was neither Prussian nor Sudanese black。 He was white； and white
men did not stamp in the faces of fallen enemies。
But there was one thing a white man might do in such a case without
disturbing the ethical； and he proceeded about it forthwith： Draw
the devil's fangs； render him impotent for a few hours。 He
deliberately knelt on one of the outspread arms and calmly emptied
the insensible man's pockets。 He took everything … watch； money；
passport； letters； pistol； keys … rose and dropped them into the
river。 He overlooked Quasimodo's belt； however。 The Anglo…Saxon
idea was top hole。 His fists had saved his life。
CHAPTER m
Hawksley heard the panting of an engine and turned his head。 Dimly
he saw a giant bridge and a long drab train moving across it。 He
picked up the fallen man's cap and tried it on。 Not a particularly
good fit； but it would serve。 He then trotted round the deckhouse
to the street side； jumped to the wharf； and sucking the cracked
knuckles of his right hand fell into a steady dogtrot which carried
him to the station he had left so hopefully an hour and a half gone。
An accommodation train eventually deposited him in Poughkeepsie；
where he purchased a cap and a sturdy walking stick。 The stubble
on his chin and cheeks began to irritate him intensely； but he could
not rid himself of the idea that a barber's chair would be inviting
danger。 He was now tolerably certain that from one end of the
continent to the other his presence was known。 His life and his
property； they would be after both。 Even now there might be men in
this strange town seeking him。 The closer he got to New York； the
more active and wide…awake they would become。
He walked the streets； his glance constantly roving。 But apparently
no one paid the least attention to him。 Finally he returned to the
railway station； and at six o'clock that evening he left the platform
of the 125th Street Station； and appraised covertly the men who
accompanied him to the street。 He felt assured that they were all
Americans。 Probably they were； but there are still some stray fools
of American birth who cannot accept the great American doctrine as
the only Ararat visible in this present flood。 Perhaps one of these
accompanied Hawksley to the street。 Whatever he was； one had upon
order met every south…going train since seven o'clock that morning；
when Quasimodo； paying from the gold hidden in his belt； had sent
forth the telegraphic alarm。 The man hurried across the street and
followed Hawksley by matching his steps。 His business was merely to
learn the other's destination and then to report。
Across the earth a tempest had been loosed； but Ariel did not ride
it； Caliban did。 The scythe of terror was harvesting a type； and
the innocent were bending with the guilty。
Suddenly Hawksley felt young； revivified； free。 He had arrived。
Surmounting indescribable hazards and hardships he walked the
pavement of New York。 In an hour the mutable quicksands of a great
city would swallow him forever。 Free！ He wanted to stroll about；
peer into shop windows； watch the amazing electric signs； dally；
but he still had much to accomplish。
He searched for a telephone sign。 It was necessary that he find
one immediately。 He had once spent six weeks in and about this
marvellous city； and he had a vague recollection of the
blue…and…white enamel signs。 Shortly he found one。 It was a
pay station in the rear of a news and tobacco shop。
He entered a booth； but discovered that he had no five…cent pieces
in his purse。 He hurried out to the girl behind the cigar stand。
She was exhibiting a box of cigars to a customer； who selected
three； paid for them； and walked away。 Hawksley； boiling with
haste to have his affair done； flung a silver coin toward the girl。
〃Five…cent pieces！〃
〃Will you take them with you or shall I send them？〃 asked the girl；
earnestly。
〃I beg pardon！〃
〃Any particular kind of ribbon you want the box tied with？〃
〃I beg your pardon！〃 repeated Hawksley； harried and bewildered。
〃But I'm in a hurry … 〃
〃Too much of a hurry to leave out the bark when you ask a favour？
I make change out of courtesy。 And you all bark at me Nickel！
Nickel！ as if that was my job。〃
〃A thousand apologies！〃 … contritely。
〃And don't make it any worse by suggesting a movie after supper。
My mother never lets me go out after dark。〃
〃I rather fancy she's quite sensible。 Still； you seem able to
take care of yourself。 I might suggest …〃
〃With that black eye？ Nay； nay！ I'll bet somebody's brother gave
it to you。〃
〃Venus was not on that occasion in ascendancy。 Thank you for the
change。〃 Hawksley swung on his heel and reentered the booth。
A great weariness oppressed him。 A longing； almost irresistible；
came to him to go out and cry aloud： 〃Here I am！ Kill m