the drums of jeopardy-第20节

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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。