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
background of pans and dishes； gas range and sink did not absorb
Kitty； her presence here in the morning lifted everything out of the
rut of commonplace and created an atmosphere that was ornamental。
Pink peignoir and turquoise…blue boudoir cap； silk petticoat and
stockings and adorable little slippers。 No harm to tell the secret！
Kitty was educating herself for a husband。 She knew that if she
acquired the habit of daintiness at breakfast before marriage it
would become second nature after marriage。 Moreover； she was
determined that it should be tremendous news that would cause a
newspaper to intervene。 She had all the confidence in the world
in her mirror。
She got her breakfast this morning； singing。 She was happy。 She
had found a door out of monotony； theatrical drama had given way to
the living。 She had opened the book of adventure and she was going
straight through to finis。 That there was an undertow of the
sinister escaped her or she ignored it。
In all high…strung Irish souls there is a bit of the old wife； the
foreteller； the gift of prescience； and Kitty possessed this in a
mild degree。 Something held her here； when for a dozen reasons she
should have gone elsewhere。
She strained the coffee； humming a tune out of The Mikado； the
revival of which she had seen lately：
My object all sublime
I shall achieve in time
To make the punishment fit the crime。
The punishment fit the crime。
And make the prisoner pent
Unwillingly represent
A source of innocent merriment。
Of innocent merriment！
And there you were！ To make the punishment fit the crime。 Wall in
the Bolsheviki； the I。W。W。's； the Red Socialist； the anarchists … and
let them try it for ten years。 Those left would be glad enough to
embrace democracy and sanity。 The poor benighted things； to imagine
that they were going forward there in Russia！ What kind of mentality
was it that could conceive a blessing to humanity in the abolition of
baths and work？ And Cutty felt sorry for them。 Well； as for that； so
did Kitty Conover； and she would continue feeling sorry for them so
long as they remained thousands of miles away。 But next door！
〃Grapefruit； eggs on toast； and coffee； mademoiselle is served！〃 she
cried； gayly； sitting down and attacking her breakfast with the zest
of healthy youth。
Often the eyes are like the lenses of a camera minus the sensitized
plate； they see objects without printing them。 Thus a dozen times
Kitty's glance absently swept the range and the racks on each side
of the stovepipe； one rack burdened with an empty pancake jug and
the other cluttered with old…fashioned flatirons； but she saw nothing。
She was carefully reviewing the events of the night before。 She
could not dismiss the impression that Cutty knew Stefani Gregor or
had heard of him； and in either case it signified that Gregor was
something more than a valet。 And decidedly Two…Hawks was not of the
Russian peasantry。
By the time she was ready to leave for the office the Irish blood
in her was seething and bubbling and dancing。 She knew she would
do crazy； impulsive things all day。 It was easy to analyze this
exuberance。 She had reached out into the dark and touched danger；
and found a new thrill in a humdrum world。
The Great Dramatist had produced a tremendous drama and she had
watched curtain after curtain fall from the wrong side of the lights。
Now she had been given a speaking part； and she would be down stage
for a moment or two … dusting the furniture … while the stars were
retouching their make…up。 It was not the thought of Cutty； of
Gregor； of Johnny Two…Hawks； of hidden treasure； simply she had
arrived somewhere in the great drama。
When she reached the office she had a hard time of it to settle down
to the day's work。
〃Hustle up that Sunday stuff；〃 said Burlingame。 Kitty laughed。
Just as she had pictured it。 She hustled。
〃I have it！〃 she cried； breaking a spell of silence。
〃What … St。 Vitus？〃 inquired Burlingame； patiently。
〃No； the Morgue！〃
〃What the dickens … ！〃
But Kitty was no longer there to answer。
In all newspaper offices there is a department flippantly designated
as the Morgue。 Obituaries on ice； as it were。 A photograph or an
item concerning a great man； a celebrated； beauty or some notorious
rogue； from the king calibre down to Gyp…the…Blood brand； all
indexed and laid away against the instant need。 So； running her
finger tip down the K's； Kitty found Karlov。 The half tone which
she eventually exhumed from the tin box was an excellent likeness of
the human gorilla who had entered her rooms with the policeman。 She
would be able to carry this positive information to Cutty that
afternoon。
When she left the office at four she took the Subway to Forty…second
Street。 She engaged a taxi from the Knickerbocker and discharged it
at the north entrance to the Waldorf； which she entered。 She walked
through to the south entrance and got into another taxi。 She left
this at Wanamaker's； ducking and dodging through the crowded aisles。
She selected this hour because； being a woman； she knew that the
press of shoppers would be the greatest during the day。 Karlov's
man and the secret…service operative detailed by Cutty both made the
same mistake … followed Kitty into the dry…goods shop and lost her
as completely as if she had popped up in China。 At quarter to five
she stepped into Elevator Number Four of the building which Cutty
called his home； very well pleased with herself。
CHAPTER XIII
To understand Kitty at this moment one must be able to understand
the Irish； and nobody does or can or will。 Consider her twenty…four
years； her corpuscular inheritance； the love of drama and the love
of adventure。 Imagine possessing sound ideas of life and the ability
to apply them； and spiritually always galloping off on some broad
highway … more often than not furnished by some engaging scoundrel
of a novelist … and you will be able to construct a half tone of
Kitty Conover。
That civilization might be actually on its deathbed； that positively
half of the world was starving and dying and going mad through the
reaction of the German blight touched her in a detached way。 She
felt sorry； dreadfully sorry； for the poor things； but as she could
not help them she dismissed them from her thoughts every morning after
she had read the paper； the way most of us do here in these United
States。 You cannot grapple with the misery of an unknown person
several thousand miles away。
That which had taken place during the past twenty…four hours was to
her a lark； a blindman's buff for grown…ups。 It was not in her to
tremble； to shudder； to hesitate； to weigh this and to balance
that。 Irish curiosity。 Perhaps in the original that immortal line
read： 〃The Irish rush in where angels fear to tread；〃 and some
proofreader had a particular grudge against the race。
When the elevator reached the seventeenth floor； the passengers