the drums of jeopardy-第17节

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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