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small arms。 Again I thank you。 For your own sake I trust that we
may never meet again。 Good…bye。〃 He stepped out of the window and
vanished。
Kitty； at a mental impasse； could only stare into the night beyond
the window。 This mesmeric state endured for a minute； then a gentle
and continuous sound dissipated the spell。 It was raining。
Obliquely she saw the burnt egg in the pan。 The thing had happened；
she had not been dreaming。
Her brain awoke。 Thought crowded thought； before one matured another
displaced it； and all as futile as the sparks from the anvil。 An
avalanche of conjecture； and out of it all eventually emerged one
concrete fact。 The man Was honest。 His hunger had been honest； his
laughter。 Who was he； what was he？ For all his speech； not English；
for all his gestures； not Italian。 Moribund perspectives。 Somewhere
that day he had fought for his life。 John Two…Hawks。
And there was the mysterious evanishment of old Gregory； whose name
was Stefani Gregor。 In a humdrum； prosaic old apartment like this！
Kitty had ideas about adventure … an inheritance； though she was not
aware of that。 There had to be certain ingredients； principally
mystery。 Anything sordid must not be permitted to edge in。 She had
often gone forth upon semi…perilous enterprises as a reporter；
entered sinister houses where crimes had been committed； but always
calculating how much copy at eight dollars a column could be squeezed
out of the affair。 But this promised to be something like those
tales which were always clear and wonderful in her head but more or
less opaque when she attempted to transfer them to paper。 A secret
society？ Vengeance？ An echo of the war？
〃Johnny Two…Hawks；〃 she murmured aloud。 〃And he hopes we'll never
meet again！〃
There was a mirror over the sink； and she threw a glance into it。
Very well； if he thought like that about it。
Here the doorbell tinkled。 That would be the faithful janitor。 She
ran to the door。
〃Whadjuh wanta see me about； Miz Conover？〃
〃What has happened to old Mr。 Gregory？〃
〃Him？ Why； some amb'lance fellers carted him off this afternoon。
Didn't know nawthin' was the matter with 'im until I runs into them
in the hall。〃
〃He'd been hurt？〃
〃Couldn't say； miz。 He was on a stretcher when I seen 'im。 Under
a sheet。〃
〃But he might have been dead！〃
〃Nope。 I ast 'em； an' they said a shock of some sort。〃
〃What hospital？〃
〃Gee； I forgot t'ast that！〃
〃I'll find out。 Good…night。〃
But Kitty did not find out。 She called up all the known private and
public hospitals； but no Gregor or Gregory had been received that
afternoon； nor anybody answering his description。 The fog had
swallowed up Stefani Gregor。
CHAPTER VI
The reportorial instinct in Kitty Conover； combined with her natural
feminine curiosity； impelled her to seek to the bottom of affair。
Her newspaper was as far from her as the poles； simply a paramount
desire to translate the incomprehensible into sequence and
consequence。 Harmless old Gregor's disappearance and the advent of
John Two…Hawks … the absurdity of that name！ … with his impeccable
English accent； his Latin gestures； and his black eye； convinced her
that it was political； an electrical cross current out of that broken
world over there。 Moribund perspectives。 What did that signify save
that Johnny Two…Hawks had fought somewhere that day for his life？
Had Gregor been spirited away so as to leave Two…Hawks without
support； to confuse and discourage him and break down his powers of
resistance？ Or had there been something of great value in the Gregor
apartment； and Johnny Two…Hawks had come too late to save his friend？
A word slipped into her mind like a whiff of miasma off an evil swamp。
As she recognized the word she felt the same horror and repugnance
one senses upon being unexpectedly confronted by a cobra。
Internationalism。 The scum of the world boiling to the top。 A
half…blind viper striking venomously at everything … even itself！ A
destroyer who tore down but who knew not how or what to build。 Kitty
knew that lower New York was seething with this species of terrorism
… thousands of noisome European rats trying to burrow into the
granary of democracy。 But she had no particular fear of the result。
The reacting chemicals of American humour and common sense would
neutralize that virus。 Supposing a ripple from this indecent eddy
had touched her feet？ The torch of liberty in the hands of Anarch！
Johnny Two…Hawks。 Somehow … even if she never saw him again … she
knew she would always remember him by that name。 Phases of the
encounter began to return。 Fine hands； perhaps he painted or played。
The oblong head of well…balanced mentality。 A pleasant voice。
Breeding。 To be sure； he had laughed at that fan popping out。
Anybody would have laughed。 Never had she felt so idiotic。 He had
gravely expressed the hope that they might never meet again because
his life was in danger。 What danger？ Conceivably the enmity of a
society … internationalism。 The word having found lodgment in her
thoughts took root。 Internationalism … Utopia while you wait！
Anarchism and Bolshevism offering nostrums for humanity's ills！ And
there were sane men who defended the cult on the basis that the
intention was honest。 Who can say that the rattlesnake does not
consider his intentions honourable？
The attribute lacking in the ape to make him human is continuity of
thought and action in all things save one。 He often starts out we11
but he never arrives。 His interest is never sustained。 He drops
one thing and turns to another。 The exception is his enmity； savage
and cunning； relentless and enduring。
Kitty was awake to one fact。 She could not venture to dig into this
affair alone。 On the other hand； she did not want one of the men
from the city room … a reporter who would see nothing but news。 If
Gregor was only a prisoner publicity might be the cause of his death；
and publicity would certainly react hardily against Johnny Two…Hawks。
To whom might she turn？
Cutty！ … with his great physical strength； his shrewd and alert
mentality； and his wide knowledge of peoples and tongues。 There was
the man for her … Kitty Conover's godfather。 She dumped the contents
of her handbag upon the stand in the hallway in her impatience to
find Cutty's card with his telephone number。 It was not in the
directory。 She might catch him before he went out for the evening。
A Japanese voice answered her call。
〃'Souse； but he iss out。〃
〃Where？〃
〃No tell me。〃
〃How long has he been gone？〃
〃'Scuse！〃
Kitty heard the click of the receiver as it went down upon the hook。
But she wasn't the daughter of Conover for nothing。 She called up
the University Club。 No。 The Harvard Club。 No。 The Players； the
Lambs； and in the latter club she found him。
〃Who is it？〃 Cutty spoke impatiently。
〃Kitty Conover。〃
〃Oh！ What's the matter？ Can't you have lunch with me？〃
〃Something very strange is happening in this old apartment house；
Cutty。 I'm afraid it is a matter of life and death。 Otherwise I
shouldn't have bothered you。 Can you come up right away？〃
〃As soon as a taxi can take me！〃
〃Thanks。〃
Kitty then went through the apartment and turned out all the lights。
Next she drew up a chair to the kitchen window and sat down to watch。
All was dark across the way。 But there was nothing singular in this
fact。 Johnny Two…Hawks would have sense enough to realize that it
would be safer to move about in the dark。 It was even probable
that he was lying down。
Tumpitum…tump！ Tumpitum…tump！ went the racing Elevated； and Kitty's
heart raced along with it。 Queer how the echo of Cutty's description
of the drums calling a jehad … a holy war … should adapt itself to
that Elevated。 Drums！ Perhaps the echo clung because she had been
interested beyond measure in his tale of those two emeralds； the
drums of jeopardy。 Mobs sacking palaces and museums and banks and
homes； all the scum of the world boiling to the top； the Red Night
that wasn't over。
She uttered a shaky little laugh。 She would tell Cutty。 The real
drums of jeopardy weren't emeralds but the roll of warning that
prescience taps upon the spine； the occult sense of impending danger。
That was why the Elevated went tumpitum…tump！ tumpitum…tump！ She
would tell Cutty。 The drums of fear。
He over there and she here； in darkness； both of them waiting for
something to happen； and the invisible drumsticks beating the tattoo
of fear。 If he were in her thoughts might not she be a little in
his？ She stood up。 She would do it。 Convention in a moment like
this was nonsense。 Hadn't he kept his side of the line scrupulously？
Nonchalance。 It occurred to her for the first time that there must
be good material in a man who could come through in a contest with
death； nonchalant。 She would fetch him and have him here to meet
Cutty； this rather forlorn Johnny Two…Hawks； with his unshaven face；
his black eye； and his nonchalance。 She would fetch him at once。
It would save a good deal of time。
There were but ten apartments in the building； two on a floor。 The
livi