the drums of jeopardy- 第1部分

The　Drums　Of　Jeopardy

by　Harold　MacGrath





CHAPTER　I


A　fast　train　drew　into　Albany；　on　the　New　York　Central；　from　the
West。　　　It　was　three…thirty　of　a　chill　March　morning　in　the　first
year　of　peace。　　A　pall　of　fog　lay　over　the　world　so　heavy　that
it　beaded　the　face　and　hands　and　deposited　a　fairy　diamond　dust
upon　wool。　　The　station　lights　had　the　visibility　of　stars；　and
like　the　stars　were　without　refulgence　…　a　pale　golden　aureola；
perhaps　three　feet　in　diameter；　and　beyond；　nothing。　　The　few
passengers　who　alighted　and　the　train　itself　had　the　same　nebulosity
of　drab　fish　in　a　dim　aquarium。

Among　the　passengers　to　detrain　was　a　man　in　a　long　black　coat。
The　high　collar　was　up。　　The　man　wore　a　derby　hat；　well　down　upon
his　head；　after　the　English　mode。　　An　English　kitbag；　battered　and
scarred；　swung　heavily　from　his　hand。　　He　immediately　strode　for
the　station　wall　and　stood　with　his　back　to　it。　　He　was　almost
invisible。　　He　remained　motionless　until　the　other　detrained
passengers　swam　past；　until　the　red　tail　lights　of　the　last　coach
vanished　into　the　deeps；　then　he　rushed　for　the　exit　to　the　street。

Away　toward　the　far　end　of　the　platform　there　appeared　a　shadowy
patch　in　the　fog。　　It　grew　and　presently　took　upon　itself　the　shape
of　a　man。　　For　one　so　short　and　squat　and　thick　his　legs　possessed
remarkable　agility；　for　he　reached　the　street　just　as　the　other　man
stopped　at　the　side　of　a　taxicab。

The　fool！　　As　if　such　a　movement　had　not　been　anticipated。　　Sixteen
thousand　miles；　always　eastward；　on　horses；　camels；　donkeys；　trains；
and　ships；　down　China　to　the　sea；　over　that　to　San　Francisco；　thence
across　this　bewildering　stretch　of　cities　and　plains　called　the
United　States；　always　and　ever　toward　New　York　…　and　the　fool　thought
he　could　escape！　　Thought　he　was　flying；　when　in　truth　he　was　being
driven　toward　a　wall　in　which　there　would　be　no　breach！　　Behind　and
in　front　the　net　was　closing。　　Up　to　this　hour　he　had　been　extremely
clever　in　avoiding　contact。　　This　was　his　first　stupid　act　…　thought
the　fog　would　serve　as　an　impenetrable　cloak。

Meantime；　the　other　man　reached　into　the　taxicab　and　awoke　the
sleeping　chauffeur。

〃A　hotel；〃　he　said。

〃Which　one？〃

〃Any　one　will　do。〃

〃Yes；　sir。　　Two　dollars。〃

〃When　we　arrive。　　No；　I'll　take　the　bag　inside　with　me。〃　　Inside
the　cab　the　fare　chuckled。　　For　those　who　fished　there　would　be　no
fish　in　the　net。　　This　fog　…　like　a　kindly　hand　reaching　down　from
heaven！

Five　minutes　later　the　taxicab　drew　up　in　front　of　a　hotel。　　The
unknown　stepped　out；　took　a　leather　purse　from　his　pocket　and
carefully　counted　out　in　silver　two　dollars　and　twenty　cents；　which
he　poured　into　the　chauffeur's　palm。

〃Thank　you；　sir。〃

〃You　are　an　American？〃

〃Sure！　　I　was　born　in　this　burg。〃

〃Like　the　idea？〃

〃Huh？〃

〃The　idea　of　being　an　American？〃

〃I　should　say　yes！　　This　is　one　grand　little　gob　o'　mud；　believe　me！
It's　going　to　be　dry　in　a　little　while；　and　then　it　will　be　some
grand　little　old　brick。　　Say；　let　me　give　you　a　tip！　　The　gas　in
this　joint　is　extra　if　you　blow　it　out！〃

Grinning；　the　chauffeur　threw　on　the　power　and　wheeled　away　into
the　fog。

His　late　fare　followed　the　vehicle　with　his　gaze　until　it　reached
the　vanishing　point；　then　he　laughed。　　An　American　cockney！　　He
turned　and　entered　the　hotel。　　He　marched　resolutely　up　to　the
desk　and　roused　the　sleeping　clerk；　who　swung　round　the　register。
The　unknown　without　hesitance　inscribed　his　name；　which　was　John
Hawksley。　　But　he　hesitated　the　fraction　of　a　second　before　adding
his　place　of　residence　…　London。

〃A　room　with　a　bath；　if　you　please；　second　flight。　　Have　the　man
call　me　at　seven。〃

〃Yes；　sir。　　Here；　boy！〃

Sleepily　the　bellboy　lifted　the　battered　kitbag　and　led　the　way　to
the　elevator。

〃Bawth！〃　said　the　night　clerk；　as　the　elevator　door　slithered　to
the　latch。　　〃Bawth！　　The　old　dear！〃

He　returned　to　his　chair；　hoping　that　he　would　not　be　disturbed
again　until　he　was　relieved。

What　do　we　care；　so　long　as　we　don't　know？　　　What's　the　stranger　to
us　but　a　fleeting　shadow？　　　The　Odysseys　that　pass　us　every　day；　and
we　none　the　wiser！

The　clerk　had　not　properly　floated　away　into　dreams　when　he　was
again　roused。　　Resentfully　he　opened　his　eyes。　　A　huge　fist　covered
with　a　fell　of　black　hair　rose　and　fell。　　Attached　to　this　fist　was
an　arm；　and　joined　to　that　were　enormous　shoulders。　　The　clerk's
trailing；　sleep…befogged　glance　paused　when　it　reached　the　newcomer's
face。　　The　jaws　and　cheeks　and　upper　lip　were　blue…black　with　a
beard　that　required　extra…tempered　razors　once　a　day。　　Black　eyes
that　burned　like　opals；　a　bullet…shaped　head　well　cropped；　and　a
pudgy　nose　broad　in　the　nostrils。　　Because　this　second　arrival　wore
his　hat　well　forward　the　clerk　was　not　able　to　discern　the　pinched
forehead　of　the　fanatic。　　Not　wholly　unpleasant；　not　particularly
agreeable；　the　sort　of　individual　one　preferred　to　walk　round　rather
than　bump　into。　　The　clerk　offered　the　register；　and　the　squat　man
scratched　his　name　impatiently；　grabbed　the　extended　key；　and　trotted
to　the　elevator。

〃Ah；〃　mused　the　clerk；　〃we　have　with　us　Mr。　Poppy　…　Popo　…　〃　　He
stared　at　the　signature　close　up。　　〃Hanged　if　I　can　make　it　out！　　It
looks　like　some　new　brand　of　soft　drink　we'll　be　having　after　July
first。　　Greek　or　Bulgarian。　　Anyhow；　he　didn't　awsk　for　a　bawth。
Looks　as　if　he　needed　one；　too。　　Here；　boy！〃

〃Ye…ah！〃

〃Take　a　peek　at　this　John　Hancock。〃

〃Gee！　　That　must　be　the　guy　who　makes　that　drugstore　drink　…　Boolzac。〃

The　clerk　swung　out；　but　missed　the　boy's　head　by　a　hair。　　The　boy
stood　off；　grinning。

〃Well；　you　ast　me！〃

〃All　right。　　If　anybody　else　comes　in　tell　'em　we're　full　up。　　I'll
be　a　wreck　to…morrow　without　my　usual　beauty　sleep。〃　　The　clerk
dropped　into　his　chair　again　and　elevated　his　feet　to　the　radiator。

〃Want　me　t'　git　a　pillow　for　yuh？〃

〃No　back　talk！〃　…　drowsily。

〃Oh！　　boy；　but　I　got　one　on　you！〃

〃What？〃

〃This　Boolzac　guy　didn't　have　no　baggage；　and　yuh　give　'im　the　key
without　little　ol'　three…per　in　advance。〃

〃No　grip？〃

〃Nix。　　Not　a　toot'brush　in　sight。〃

〃Well；　the　damage　is　done。　　I　might　as　well　go　to　sleep。〃

It　was　not　premeditated　on　the　part　of　the　clerk　to　give　the　squat
man　the　room　adjoining　that　of　Hawksley's。　　The　key　had　been　nearest
his　hand。　　But　the　squat　man　trembled　with　excitement　when　he　noted
that　it　was　stamped　214。　　He　had　taken　particular　pains　to　search
the　register　for　Hawksley's　number　before　rousing　the　clerk。　　He
hadn't　counted　on　any　such　luck　as　this。　　His　idea　had　been　merely
to　watch　the　door　of　Room　212。

He　had　the　feline　foot；　as　they　say。　　He　moved　about　lightly　and
without　sound　in　the　dark。　　Almost　at　once　he　approached　one　of　the
two　doors　and　put　his　ear　to　the　panel。　　Running　water。　　The　fool
had　time　to　take　a　bath！

A　plan　flashed　into　his　head。　　Why　not　end　the　affair　here　and　now；
and　reap　the　glory　for　himself？　　　What　mattered　the　net　if　the　fish
swam　into　your　hand？　　　Wasn't　this　particularly　his　affair？　　It　was
the　end；　not　the　means。　　A　close　touch　in　Hong…Kong；　but　the　fool
had　slipped　away。　　But　there；　in　the　next　room；　assured　that　he　had
escaped　…　it　would　be　easy。　　The　squat　man　tiptoed　to　the　window。
Luck　of　luck；　there　was　a　fire…escape　platform！　　He　would　let　half
an　hour　pass；　then　he　would　act。　　The　ape；　with　his　British
mannerisms！　　Death　to　the　breed；　root　and　branch！　　He　sat　down　to
wait。

On　the　other　side　of　the　wall　the　bather　finished　his　ablutions。
His　body　was　graceful；　vigorous；　and　youthful；　tinted　a　golden
bronze。　　His　nose　was　hawky；　his　eyes　a　Latin　brown；　alert　and
roving；　though　there　was　a　hint　of　weariness　in　them；　the　pressure
of　long；　racking　hours　of　ceaseless　vigilance。　　His　top　hair　was
a　glossy　black　inclined　to　curl；　but　the　four　days'　growth　of
beard　was　as　blond　as　a　ripe　chestnut　burr。　　In　spite　of　this　mark
of　vagabondage　there　were　elements　of　beauty　in　the　face。　　The
expanse　of　the　brow　and　the　shape　of　the　head　were　intellectual。
The　mouth　was　pleasure…loving；　but　the　nose　and　the　jaw　neutralized
this。

After　he　had　towelled　himself　he　reached　down　for　a　brown　leather
pouch　which　lay　on　the　three…legged　bathroom　stool。　　It　was　patently
a　tobacco　pouch；　but　there　was　evidently　something　inside　more
precious　than　Saloniki。　　He　held　the　pouch　on　his　palm　and　stared　at
it　as　if　it　contained　some　jinn　clamouring　to　be　let　out。　　Presently
he　broke　away　from　this　fascination　and　rocked　his　body；　eyes　closed　
…　like　a　man　suffering　unremitting　pain。

〃God's　curse　on　them！〃　he　whispered；　opening　his　eyes。　　He　raised
the　pouch　swiftly；　as　though　he　intended　dashing　it　to　the　tiled
floor；　but　his　arm　sank　gently。　　After　all；　he　would　be　a　fool　to
destroy　them。　　They　were　future　bread　and　butter。

He　would　soon　have　their　equivalent　in　money　…　money　that　would　bring
back　no　terrible　recollections。

Strange　that　every　so　often；　despite　the　horror；　he　had　to　take　them
out　and　gaze　at　them。　　He　sat　down　upon　the　stool；　spread　a　towel
across　his　knees；　and　opened　the　pouch。　　He　drew　out　a　roll　of　cotton
wool；　which　he　unrolled　across　the　towel。　　Flames！　　Blue　flames；　red；
yellow；　violet；　and　green　　…　precious　stones；　many　of　them　with
histories　that　reached　back　into　the　dim　centuries；　histories　of
murder　and　loot　and　envy。　　The　young　man　had　imagination　…　perhaps
too　much　of　it。　　He　saw　the　stones　palpitating　upon　lovely　white　and
brown　bosoms；　he　saw　bloody　and　greedy　hands；　the　red　sack　of　towns；
he　heard　the　screams　of　women　and　the　raucous　laughter　of　drunken
men。　　Murder　and　loot。

At　the　end　of　the　cotton　wool　lay　two　emeralds　about　the　size　of
half　dollars　and　half　an　inch　in　thickness；　polished；　and　as　vividly
green　as　a　dragonfly　in　the　sun；　fit　for　the　turban　of　Schariar；
spouse　of　Scheherazade。

Rodin　would　have　seized　upon　the　young　man's　attitude　…　the　limp
body；　the　haggard　face　…　hewn　it　out　of　marble　and　called　it
Conscience。　　The　possessor　of　the　stones　held　this　attitude　for
three　or　four　minutes。　　Then　he　rolled　up　the　cotton　wool；　jammed
it　into　the　pouch；　which　he　hung　to　his　neck　by　a　t