the drums of jeopardy-第3节

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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