printed pamphlet； little wedges wherever there were men who wanted
something they neither earned nor deserved。 Here and there across
the land little flares； one running into the other； like wildfire
on the plains； and then … the upheaval。 As in Russia； so now in
Germany； later； England and France and here。 The proletariat was
gaining power。
He was no fool； this individual。 He knew his clay； the day labourer；
with his parrotlike mentality。 Though the victim of this peculiar
potter absorbs sounds he doesn't often absorb meanings。 But he
takes these sounds and respouts them and convinces himself that he
is some kind of Moses； headed for the promised land。 Inflammable
stuff。 Hence； the strikes which puzzle the average intelligent
American citizen。 What is it all about？ Nobody seems to know。
Once upon a time men went on a strike because they were being cheated
and abused。 Now they strike on the principle that it is excellent
policy always to be demanding something； it keeps capitalism where it
belongs … on the ragged edge of things。 No matter what they demand
they never expect to give an equivalent； and a just cause isn't
necessary。 Thus the present…day agitator has only one perplexity
… that of eluding the iron hand of the Department of Justice。
Suddenly the man in the chair brought the newspaper close up and
stared。 He jumped to his feet； ran out and up the next flight of
stairs。 He stopped before a door and turned the knob a certain number
of times。 Presently the door opened the barest crack； then it was
swung wide enough to admit the visitor。
〃Look！〃 he whispered； indicating Cutty's advertisement。
The occupant of the room snatched the newspaper and carried it to a
window。
Will purchase the drums of jeopardy at top price。 No questions
asked。 Address this office。
Double C。
〃Very good。 I might have missed it。 We shall sell the accursed
drums to this gentleman。〃
〃Sell them？ But … 〃
〃Imbecile！ What we must do is to find out who this man is。 In the
end he may lead us to him。〃
〃But it may be a trap！〃
〃Leave that to me。 You have work of your own to do； and you had best
be about it。 Do you not see beneath？ Who but the man who harbours
him would know about the drums？ The man in the evening clothes。 I
was too far away to see his face。 Get me all the morning newspapers。
If the advertisement is in all of them I will send a letter to each。
We lost the young woman yesterday。 And nothing has been heard of
Vladimir and Stemmler。 Bad。 I do not like this place。 I move to
the house to…night。 My old friend Stefani may be lonesome。 I dare
not risk daylight。 Some fool may have talked。 To work！ All of us
have much to do to wake up the proletariat in this country of the
blind。 But the hour will come。 Get me the newspapers。〃
Karlov pushed his visitor from the room and locked and bolted the
door。 He stepped over to the window again and stared down at the
clutter of pushcarts； drays； trucks； and human beings that tried
to go forward and got forward only by moving sideways or worming
through temporary breaches； seldom directly … the way of humanity。
But there was no object lesson in this for Karlov； who was not
philosophical in the peculiar sense of one who was demanding a
reason for everything and finding allegory and comparison and
allusion in the ebb and flow of life。 The philosophical is often
misapplied to the stoical。 Karlov was a stoic； not a philosopher；
or he would not have been the victim of his present obsession。
The idea of live and let live has never been the propaganda of the
anarch。 To the anarch the death of some body or the destruction
of some thing is the cornerstone to his madhouse。
Nothing would ever cure this man of his obsession … the death of
Hawksley and the possession of the emeralds。 Moreover； there was
the fanatical belief in his poor disordered brain that the
accomplishment of these two projects would eventually assist in the
liberation of mankind。 Abnormally cunning in his methods of approach；
he lacked those imaginative scales by which we weigh our projects
and which we call logic。 A child alone in a house with a box of
matches； a dog on one side of Fifth Avenue that sees a dog on the
other side； but not the automobiles … inexorable logic … irresistible
force … whizzing up and down the middle of that thoroughfare。 It is
not difficult to prophesy what is going to happen to that child；
that dog。
Karlov was at this moment reaching out toward a satisfactory solution
relative to the disappearance of the gems。 They had not been found
on his enemy； they had not been found in the Gregor apartment； the
two men assigned to the task of securing them would not have risked
certain death by trying to do a little bargaining on their own
initiative。 In the first instance they had come forth empty…handed。
In the second instance … that of intimidating the girl to disclose
his whereabouts … neither Vladimir nor Stemmler had returned。
Sinister。 The man in the dress suit again？
Conceivably； then； the drums were in the possession of this girl；
and she was holding them against the day when the fugitive would
reclaim them。 The advertisement was a snare。 Very good。 Two could
play that game as well as one。
The girl。 Was it not always so？ That breed！ God's curse on them
all！ A crooked finger； and the women followed； hypnotized。 The girl
was away from the apartment the major part of the day； so it was in
order to search her rooms。 A pretty little fool。
But where were they hiding him？ Gall and wormwood！ That he should
slip through Boris Karlov's fingers； after all these tortuous windings
across the world！ Patience。 Sooner or later the girl would lead the
way。 Still； patience was a galling hobble when he had so little time；
when even now they might be hunting him。 Boris Karlov had left New
York rather well known。
He expanded under this thought。 For the spiritual breath of life to
the anarch is flattery； attention。 Had the newspapers ignored
Trotzky's advent into Russia； had they omitted the daily chronicle of
his activities； the Russian problem would not be so large as it is
this day。 Trotzky would have died of chagrin。
He would answer this advertisement。 Trap？ He would set one himself。
The man who eventually came to negotiate would be made a prisoner and
forced to disclose the identity of the man who had interfered with
the great projects of Boris Karlov； plenipotentiary extraordinary for
the red government of Russia。
Midtown； Cutty tapped his breakfast egg dubiously。 Not that he
speculated upon the freshness of the egg。 What troubled him was that
advertisement。 Last night； keyed high by his remarkable discovery
of the identity of his guest and his cupidity relative to the
emeralds； he had laid himself open。 If he knew anything at all about
the craft； that reporter would be digging in。 Fortunately he had
resources unsuspected by the reporter。 Legitimately he could send
a secret…service operative to collect the mail … if Karlov decided to
negotiate。 Still within his rights； he could use another operative
to conduct the negotiations。 If in the end Karlov strayed into the
net the use of the service for private ends would be justified。
Lord； those green stones！ Well； why not？ Something in the world
worth a hazard。 What had he in life but this second grand passion？
There shot into his mind obliquely an irrelevant question。 Supposing；
in the old days； he had proceeded to reach for Molly as he was now
reaching for the emeralds … a bit lawlessly？ After all these years；
to have such a thought strike him！ Hadn't he stepped aside meekly
for Conover？ Hadn't he observed and envied Conover's dazzling
assault？ Supposing Molly had been wavering； and this method of
attack had decided her？ Never to have thought of that before！ What
did a woman want？ A love storm； and then an endless after…calm。
And it had taken him twenty…odd years to make this discovery。
Fact。 He had never been shy of women。 He had somehow preferred to
play comrade instead of gallant； and all the women had taken
advantage of that； used him callously to pair with old maids； faded
wives； and homely debutantes。
What impellent was driving him toward these introspections？ Kitty；
Molly's girl。 Each time he saw her or thought of her … the uninvited
ghost of her mother。 Any other man upon seeing Kitty or thinking
about her would have jumped into the future from the spring of a
dream。 The disparity in years would not have mattered。 It was all
nonsense； of course。 But for his dropping into the office and
casually picking up the thread of his acquaintance with Kitty； Molly
… the memory of her … would have gone on dimming。 Actions；
tremendous and world…wide； had set his vision toward the future； he
had been too busy to waste time in retrospection and introspection。
Thus； instead of a gently rising and falling tide； healthily
recurrent； a flood of mixed longings that was swirling him into
uncertain depths。 Those emeralds had bobbed up just in time。 The
chase would serve to pull him out of this bog。
He heard a footstep and looked up。 The nurse was beckoning to him。
〃What is it？〃
〃He's awake； and there is sanity in his eyes。〃
〃Great！ Has he talked？〃
〃No。 The awakening happened just this moment； and I came to you。
You never can tell about blows on the skull or brain fever … never
any two eases alike。〃
Cutty threw down his napkin and accompanied the nurse to the bedside。
The glance of the patient trailed from Cutty to the nurse and back。
〃Don't talk；〃 said Cutty。 〃Don't ask any questions。 Take it easy
until later in the day。 You are in the hands of persons who wish
you well。 Eat what the nurse gives you。 When the right time comes
we'll tell you all about ourselves； You've been robbed and beaten。
But the men who did it are under arrest。〃
〃One question；〃 said the patient； weakly。
〃Well； just one。〃
〃A girl … who gave me something to eat？〃
〃Yes。 She fed you； and later probably your life。〃
〃Thanks。〃 Hawksley closed his eyes。
Cutty