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Anna Katharine Green - "A Strange Disappearance"

Stendhal - "Le Rouge et le Noir "

Herman Melville - "Moby Dick [Chapter 72]"

Charles Dickens - "Hard Times"

The Drums Of Jeopardy

H >> Harold MacGrath >> The Drums Of Jeopardy




"Fiddlesticks! All I've got to do in danger is to press a button,
and presto! here's Bernini."

"Kitty, did Hawksley pay you for that meal?"

"Good heavens, no! What makes you ask that?"

"In his delirium he spoke of having paid you. I didn't know."
Cutty's heart began to rap against his ribs. Supposing, after all,
Karlov hadn't the stones? Supposing Hawksley had hidden them
somewhere in Kitty's kitchen?

"Anything about Gregor?"

"No. Remember, you're to call me up twice a day and report the news.
Don't go out nights if you can avoid it."

"I'll be good," Kitty agreed. "And now I must hie me to the job.
Imagine, Cutty ! - writing personalities about stage folks and
gabfesting with Burlingame and all the while my brain boiling with
this affair! The city room will kill me, Cutty, if it ever finds
out that I held back such a yarn. But it wouldn't he fair to Johnny
Two-Hawks. Cutty, did you know that your wonderful drums of jeopardy
are here in New York?"

"What?" barked Cutty.

"Somebody is offering to buy them. There was an advertisement in
the paper this morning. Cutty?"

"Yes."

"The first problem in arithmetic is two and two make four. By-by!"

Dizzily Cutty hung up the receiver. He had not reckoned on the
possibility of Kitty seeing that damfool advertisement. Two and
two made four; and four and four made eight; so on indefinitely.
That is to say, Kitty already had a glimmer of the startling truth.
The initial misstep on his part had been made upon her pronouncement
of the name Stefani Gregor. He hadn't been able to control his
surprise. And yesterday, having frankly admitted that he knew
Gregor, all that was needed to complete the circle was that
advertisement. Cutty tore his hair, literally. The very door he
hoped she might overlook he had thrown open to her.

Thaddeus of Warsaw. But it should not be. He would continue to
offer a haven to that chap; but no nonsense. None of that sinister
and unfortunate blood should meddle with Kitty Conover's happiness.
Her self-appointed guardian would attend to that.

He realized that his attitude was rather inexplicable; but there
were some adventures which hypnotized women; and one of this sort
was now unfolding for Kitty. That she had her share of common
sense was negligible in face of the facts that she was imaginative
and romantical and adventuresome, and that for the first time she
was riding one of the great middle currents in human events. She
was Molly's girl; Cutty was going to look out for her.

Mighty odd that this fear for her should have sprung into being that
night, quite illogically. Prescience? He could not say. Perhaps
it was a borrowed instinct - fatherly; the same instinct that would
have stirred her father into action - the protection of that dearest
to him.

If he told her who Hawksley really was, that would intrigue her. If
he made a mystery of the affair, that, too, would intrigue her. And
there you were, 'twixt the devil and the deep blue sea. Hang it,
what evil luck had stirred him to tell her about those emeralds?
Already she was building a story to satisfy her dramatic fancy. Two
and two made four - which signified that she was her father's
daughter, that she would not rest until she had explored every corner
of this dark room. Wanting to keep her out of it, and then dragging
her into it through his cupidity. Devil take those emeralds! Always
the same; trouble wherever they were.

The real danger would rise during the convalescence. Kitty would be
contriving to drop in frequently; not to see Hawksley especially, but
her initial success in playing hide and seek with secret agents,
friendly and otherwise, had tickled her fancy. For a while it would
be an exciting game; then it might become only a means to an end.
Well, it should not be.

Was there a girl! Already Hawksley had recorded her beauty. Very
well; the first sign of sentimental nonsense, and out he should go,
Karlov or no Karlov. Kitty wasn't going to know any hurt in this
affair. That much was decided.

Cutty stormed into his study, growling audibly. He filled a pipe
and smoked savagely. Another side, Kitty's entrance into the drama
promised to spoil his own fun; he would have to play two games
instead of one. A fine muddle!

He came to a stand before one of the windows and saw the glory of
the morning flashing from the myriad spires and towers and roofs,
and wondered why artists bothered about cows in pastures.

Touching his knees was an antique Florentine bridal chest, with
exquisite carving and massive lock. He threw back the lid and
disclosed a miscellany never seen by any eye save his own. It was
all the garret he had. He dug into it and at length resurrected
the photograph of a woman whose face was both roguish and beautiful.
He sat on the floor a la Turk and studied the face, his own tender
and wistful. No resemblance to Kitty except in the eyes. How
often he had gone to her with the question burning his lips, only
to carry it away unspoken! He turned over the photograph and read:
"To the nicest man I know. With love from Molly." With love. And
he had stepped aside for Tommy Conover!

By George! He dropped the photograph into the chest, let down the
lid, and rose to his feet. Not a bad idea, that. To intrigue Kitty
himself, to smother her with attentions and gallantries, to give her
out of his wide experience, and to play the game until this intruder
was on his way elsewhere.

He could do it; and he based his assurance upon his experiences and
observations. Never a squire of dames, he knew the part. He had
played the game occasionally in the capitals of Europe when there
had been some information he had particularly desired. Clever,
scheming women, too. A clever, passably good-looking elderly man
could make himself peculiarly attractive to young women and women in
the thirties. Dazzlement for the young; the man who knew all about
life, the trivial little courtesies a younger man generally forgot;
the moving of chairs, the holding of wraps; the gray hairs which
served to invite trust and confidence, which lulled the eternal
feminine fear of the male. To the older women, no callow youth but
a man of discernment, discretion, wit and fancy and daring, who
remembered birthdays husbands forgot, who was always round when
wanted.

There was no vanity back of these premises. Cutty was merely
reaching about for an expedient to thwart what to his anticipatory
mind promised to be an inevitability. Of course the glamour would
not last; it never did, but he felt he could sustain it until
yonder chap was off and away.

That evening at five-thirty Kitty received a box of beautiful roses,
with Cutty's card.

"Oh, the lovely things!" she cried.

She kissed them and set them in a big copper jug, arranged and
rearranged them for the simple pleasure it afforded her. What a
dear man this Cutty was, to have thought of her in this fashion!
Her father's friend, her mother's, and now hers; she had inherited
him. This thought caused her to smile, but there were tears in her
eyes. A garden some day to play in, this mad city far away, a home
of her own; would it ever happen?

The bell rang. She wasn't going to like this caller for taking her
away from these roses, the first she had received in a long time
- roses she could keep and not toss out the window. For it must not
be understood that Kitty was never besieged.

Outside stood a well-dressed gentleman, older than Cutty, with
shrewd, inquiring gray eyes and a face with strong salients.

"Pardon me, but I am looking for a man by the name of Stephen
Gregory. I was referred by the janitor to you. You are Miss
Conover?"

"Yes," answered Kitty. "Will you come in?" She ushered the stranger
into the living room and indicated a chair. "Please excuse me for a
moment." Kitty went into her bedroom and touched the danger button,
which would summon Bernini. She wanted her watchdog to see the
visitor. She returned to the living room. "What is it you wish to
know?"

"Where I may find this Gregory."

"That nobody seems able to answer. He was carried away from here in
an ambulance; but we have been unable to locate the hospital. If
you will leave your name - "

"That is not necessary. I am out of bounds, you might say, and I'd
rather my name should be left out of the affair, which is rather
peculiar."

"In what way?"

"I am only an agent, and am not at liberty to speak. Could you
describe Gregory?"

"Then he is a stranger to you?"

"Absolutely."

Kitty described Gregor deliberately and at length. It struck her
that the visitor was becoming bored, though he nodded at times. She
was glad to hear Bernini's ring. She excused herself to admit the
Italian.

"A false alarm," she whispered. "Someone inquiring for Gregor. I
thought it might be well for you to see him."

"I'll work the radiator stuff."

"Very well."

Bernini went into the living room and fussed over the steam cock of
the radiator.

"Nothing the matter with it, miss. Just stuck."

"Sorry to have troubled you," said the stranger, rising and picking
up his hat.

Bernini went down to the basement, obfuscated; for he knew the
visitor. He was one of the greatest bankers in New York - that is
to say, in America! Asking questions about Stefani Gregor!



CHAPTER XVI


About nine o'clock that same night a certain rich man, having
established himself comfortably under the reading lamp, a fine book
in his hands and a fine after-dinner cigar between his teeth, was
exceedingly resentful when his butler knocked, entered, and presented
a card.

"My orders were that I was not at home to any one."

"Yes, sir. But he said you would see him because he came to see you
regarding a Mr. Gregory."

"What?"

"Yes, sir."

"Damn these newspapers! ... Wait, wait!" the banker called, for
the butler was starting for the door to carry the anathema to the
appointed head. "Bring him in. He's a big bug, and I can't afford
to affront him."

"Yes, sir" - with the colourless tone of a perfect servant.

When the visitor entered he stopped just beyond the threshold. He
remained there even after the butler closed the door. Blue eye and
gray clashed; two masters of fence who had executed the same stroke.
The banker laughed and Cutty smiled.

"I suppose," said the banker, "you and I ought to sign an armistice,
too."

"Agreed."

"And you've always been rather a puzzle to me. A rich man, a
gentleman, and yet sticking to the newspaper game."

"And you're a puzzle to me, too. A rich man, a gentleman, and yet
sticking to the banking game."

"What the devil was our row about?"

"Can't quite recall."

"Whatever it was it was the way you went at it."

"A reform was never yet accomplished by purring and pussyfooting,"
said Cutty.

"Come over and sit down. Now, how the devil did you find out about
this Gregory affair?" The banker held out his hand, which Cutty
grasped with honest pressure. "If you are here in the capacity of a
newspaper man, not a word out of me. Have a cigar?"

"I never smoke anything but pipes that ruin curtains. You should
have given your name to Miss Conover."

"I was under promise not to explain my business. But before we
proceed, an answer. Newspaper?"

"No. I represent the Department of Justice. And we'll get along
easier when I add that I possess rather unlimited powers under that
head. How did you happen to stumble into this affair?"

"Through Captain Rathbone, my prospective son-in-law, who is in
Coblenz. A cable arrived this morning, instructing me to proceed
precisely in the manner I did. Rathbone is an intimate friend of
the man I was actually seeking. The apartment of this man Gregory
was mentioned to Rathbone in a cable as a possible temporary abiding
place. What do you want to know?"

"Whether or not he is undesirable."

"Decidedly, I should say, desirable."

"You make that statement as an American citizen?"

"I do. I make it unreservedly because my future son-in-law is
rather a difficult man to make friends with. I am acting merely
as Rathbone's agent. On the other hand, I should be a cheerful
liar if I told you I wasn't interested. What do you know?"

"Everything," answered Cutty, quietly.

"You know where this young man is?"

"At this moment he is in my apartment, rather seriously battered and
absolutely penniless."

"Well, I'll be tinker-dammed! You know who he is, of course?"

"Yes. And I want all your information so that I may guide my future
actions accordingly. If he is really undesirable he shall be
deported the moment he can stand on his two feet."

The banker pyramided his fingers, rather pleased to learn that he
could astonish this interesting beggar. "He has on account at my
bank half a million dollars. Originally he had eight hundred
thousand. The three hundred thousand, under cable orders from
Yokohama, was transferred to our branch in San Francisco. This was
withdrawn about two weeks ago. How does that strike you?"

"All in a heap," confessed Cutty. "When was this fund established
with you?"

"Shortly before Kerensky's government blew up. The funds were in
our London bank. There was, of course, a lot of red tape, excessive
charges in exchange, and all that. Anyhow, about eight hundred
thousand arrived."

"What brought him to America? Why didn't he go to England? That
would have been the safest haven."

"I can explain that. He intends to become an American citizen. Some
time ago he became the owner of a fine cattle ranch in Montana."

"Well, I'll be tinker-dammed, too!" exploded Cutty.

"A young man with these ideas in his head ought eventually to become
a first-rate citizen. What do you say?"

"I am considerably relieved. His forbears, the blood - "

"His mother was a healthy Italian peasant - a famous singer in her
time. His fortune, I take it, was his inheritance from her. She
made a fortune singing in the capitals of Europe and speculating
from time to time. She sent the boy, at the age of ten, to England.
Afraid of the home influence. He remained there, under the name of
Hawksley, for something like fourteen years, under the guardianship
of this fellow Gregory. Of Gregory I know positively nothing. The
young fellow is, to all purposes, methods of living, points of view,
an Englishman. Rathbone, who was educated at Oxford, met him there
and they shared quarters. But it was only in recent years that he
learned the identity of his friend. In 1914 the young fellow
returned to Russia. Military obligations. That's all I know.
Mighty interesting, though."

"I am much obliged to you. The white elephant becomes a normal drab
pachyderm," said Cutty.

"Still something of an elephant on your hands. I see. Bring him
here if you wish."

"And sic the Bolshevik at your door."

"That's so. You spoke of his having been beaten and robbed.
Bolshevik?"

"Yes. An old line of reasoning first put into effect by Oliver
Cromwell. The axe."

"The poor devil!"

"Fact. I'm sorry for him, but I wish he would blow away conveniently."

"Rathbone says he's handsome, gay, but decent, considering. Humanity
is being knocked about some. The hour has come for our lawyers to go
back to their offices. Politics must step aside for business. We
ought to hang up signs in every state capitol in the country: 'Men
Wanted - Specialists.' A steel man from Pittsburgh, a mining man from
Idaho, a shipowner from Boston, a meat packer from Omaha, a grain man
from Chicago. What the devil do lawyers know about these things - the
energies that make the wheels of this country go round? By the way,
that Miss Conover was a remarkably pretty girl. She seemed to be a bit
suspicious of me."

"Good reasons. That chap went to Gregor's - Gregor is his name -
and was beaten, robbed, and left for dead. She saved his life."

"Good Lord! Does she know?"

"No. And what's more, I don't want her to. I am practically her
guardian."

"Then you ought to get her out of that roost."

"Hang it, I can't get her to leave. I'm not legally her guardian;
self-appointed. But she has agreed to leave in May."

"I'm glad you dropped in. Command me in any way you please."

"That's very good of you, considering."

"The war is over. We'd be a fine pair of fools to let an ancient
grudge go on. They tell me you've a wonderful apartment on top of
that skyscraper of yours."

"Will you come to dinner some night?"

"Any time you say. I should like to bring my daughter."

"She doesn't know?"

"No. Heard of Hawksley; thinks he's English."

"I am certainly agreeable." This would be a distinct advantage to
Kitty. "I see you have a good book there. I'll take myself off."

In the Avenue Cutty loaded his pipe. He struck a match on the
flagstone and cupped it over the bowl of his pipe, thereby throwing
his picturesque countenance into ruddy relief. Opposite emotions
filled the hearts of the two men watching him - in one, chagrin; in
the other, exultation.

Cutty decided to walk downtown, the night being fine. He set his
foot to a long, swinging stride. An elephant on his hands, truly.
Poor devil, for a fad! Nobody wanted him, not even those who wished
him well. Wanted to become an American citizen. He would have been
tolerably safe in England. Here he would never be free of danger.
A ranch. The beggar would have a chance out there in the West. The
anarchist and the Bolshevik were town cooties. His one chance,
actually. The poor devil! Kitty had the right idea. It was a
mighty fine thing, these times, to be a citizen under the protection
of the American doctrine.

Three hundred thousand! And Karlov had got that along with the drums.
The devil's own for luck! The fool would be able to start some fine
ructions with all that capital behind him. Episodes in the night.

Kitty dreamed of wonderful rose gardens, endless and changing; but
strive as she would she could not find Cutty anywhere, which worried
her, even in her dream.

The nurse heard the patient utter a single word several times before
he fell asleep.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Fan!" And he smiled.

She hunted for the palm leaf, but with a slight gesture he signified
that that was not what he wanted.

Cutty played solitaire with his chrysoprase until the telephone
broke in upon his reveries. What he heard over the wire disturbed
him greatly.

"You were followed from the Avenue to the apartment."

"How do you know?"

"I am Henderson. You assigned me to watch the apartment in Eightieth
through the night. I followed the man who followed you. He saw your
face when you lit the pipe. When the banker left Miss Conover he was
followed home. That established him in the affair. The follower hung
round, and so did I. You appeared. He took a chance shot in the dark.
Not sure, but doing a bit of clever guessing."

"You still followed him?"

"Yes."

"Where did he wind up?"

"A house in the warehouse district. Vacant warehouses on each side.
Some new nest. I can lead you to it, sir, any time you wish."

"Thanks."

Cutty pushed aside the telephone and returned to his green stones.
After all, why worry? It was unfortunate, of course, but the
apartment was more inaccessible than the top of the Matterhorn.
Still, they might discover what his real business was and interfere
seriously with his future work on the other side. A ruin in the
warehouse district? A good place to look for Stefani Gregor - if
he were still alive.

He was. And in his dark room he cried piteously for water - water
- water!



CHAPTER XVII


A March day, sunny and cloudless, with fresh, bracing winds. Green
things pushed up from the soil; an eternal something was happening
to the tips of the tree branches; an eternal something was happening
in young hearts. A robin shook the dust of travel from his wings
and bathed publicly in a park basin.

Here and there under the ten thousand roofs of the great city poets
were busy with inkpots, trying to say an old thing in a new way.
Woe to the pinched soul that did not expand this day, for it was
spring. Expansion! Nature - perhaps she was relenting a little,
perhaps she saw that humanity was sliding down the scale, withering,
and a bit of extra sunshine would serve to check the descension and
breed a little optimism.

Cutty's study. The sunlight, thrown westward, turned windows and
roofs and towers into incomparable bijoux. The double reflection
cast a white light into the room, lifting out the blue and old-rose
tints of the Ispahan rug.

Cutty shifted the chrysoprase, irresolutely for him. A dozen
problems, and it was mighty hard to decide which to tackle first.
Principally there was Kitty. He had not seen her in four days,
deeming it advisable for her not to call for the present. The
Bolshevik agent who had followed him from the banker's might
decide, without the aid of some connecting episode, that he had
wasted his time.

It did not matter that Kitty herself was no longer watched and
followed from her home to the office, from the office home. Was
Karlov afraid or had he some new trick up his sleeve? It was not
possible that he had given up Hawksley. He was probably planning
an attack from some unexpected angle. To be sure that Karlov
would not find reason to associate him with Kitty, Cutty had
remained indoors during the daytime and gone forth at night in
his dungarees.

Problem Two was quite as formidable. The secret agent who had
passed as a negotiator for the drums of jeopardy had disappeared.
That had sinister significance. Karlov did not intend to sell the
drums; merely wanted precise information regarding the man who had
advertised for them. If the secret-service man weakened under
torture, Cutty recognized that his own usefulness would be at an
end. He would have to step aside and let the great currents sweep
on without him. In that event these fifty-two years would pile
upon his head, full measure; for the only thing that kept him
vigorous was action, interest. Without some great incentive he
would shrivel up and blow away - like some exhumed mummy.

Problem Three. How the deuce was he going to fascinate Kitty if
he couldn't see her? But there was a bit of silver lining here.
If he couldn't see her, what chance had Hawksley? The whole sense
and prompting of this problem was to keep Kitty and Hawksley apart.
How this was accomplished was of no vital importance. Problem
Three, then, hung fire for the present. Funny, how this idea stuck
in his head, that Hawksley was a menace to Kitty. One of those fool
ideas, probably, but worth trying out.

Problem Four. That night, all on his own, he would make an attempt
to enter that old house sandwiched between the two vacant warehouses.
Through pressure of authority he had obtained keys to both warehouses.
There would be a trap on the roof of that house. Doubtless it would
be covered with tin; fairly impregnable if latched below. But he
could find out. From the third-floor windows of either warehouse
the drop was not more than six feet. If anywhere in town poor old
Stefani Gregor would be in one of those rooms. But to storm the
house frontally, without being absolutely sure, would be folly.
Gregor would be killed. The house was in fact an insane asylum,
occupied by super-insane men. Warned, they were capable of blowing
the house to kingdom come, themselves with it.

Problem Five was a mere vanishing point. He doubted if he would
ever see those emeralds. What an infernal pity!

He built a coronet and leaned back, a wisp of smoke darting up from
the bowl of his pipe.

"I say, you know, but that's a ripping game to play!" drawled a
tired voice over his shoulder.

Cutty turned his head, to behold Hawksley, shaven, pale, and
handsome, wrapped in a bed quilt and swaying slightly.

"What the deuce are you doing out of your room?" growled Cutty, but
with the growl of a friendly dog.

Hawksley dropped into a chair weakly. "End of my rope. Got to talk
to someone. Go dotty, else. Questions. Skull aches with 'em. Want
to know whether this is a foretaste of the life I have a right to
live - or the beginning of death. Be a good sport, and let's have
it out."

"What is it you wish to know?" asked Cutty, gently. The poor beggar!

"Where I am. Who you are. What happened to me. What is going to
happen to me," rather breathlessly. "Don't want any more suspense.
Don't want to look over my shoulder any more. Straight ahead. All
the cards on the table, please."

Cutty rose and pushed the invalid's chair to a window and drew another
up beside it.

"My word, the top of the world! Bally odd roost."

"You will find it safer here than you would on the shores of Kaspuskoi
More," replied Cutty, gravely. "The Caspian wouldn't be a healthy place
for you now."

With wide eyes Hawksley stared across the shining, wavering roofs. A
pause. "What do you know?" he asked, faintly.

"Everything. But wait!" Cutty fetched one of the photographs and laid
it upon the young man's knees. "Know who this is - Two-Hawks?"

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