Cutty washed the patient's hands and face and patched up the cut on the cheek, interlarding his chatter with trench idioms, banter, jokes. Underneath, though, he was chuckling. He was the hero of this tale; he had done all the thrilling stunts, carried limp bodies across fire escapes in the rain, climbed roofs, eluded newspaper reporters, fought with his bare fists, rescued the girl.... All with one foot in the grave! Fifty-two, gray haired - with a prospect of rheumatism on the morrow - and putting it over like a debonair movie idol!
Hawksley met these pleasantries halfway by grousing about being babied when there was nothing the matter with him but his head, his body, and his legs.
Why didn't she look at him? What was the meaning of this persistent avoidance? She must have forgiven last night. She was too much of a thoroughbred to harbour ill feeling over that. Why didn't she look at him?
The telephone called Cutty from the room.
Kitty went into the dining room for an extra pair of salt cellars and delayed her return until she heard Cutty coming back.
"Karlov is dead," he announced. "Started a fight in the taxi, got out, and was making for safety when one of the boys shot him. He hadn't the jewels on him, John. I'm afraid they are gone, unless he hid them somewhere in that - What's the matter, Kitty?"
For Kitty had dropped the salt cellars and pressed her hands against her bosom, her face colourless.
Hawksley, terrified, tried to get up.
"No, no! Nothing is the matter with me but my head.... To think I could forget! Good - heavens!" She prolonged the words drolly.
"Wait."
She turned her back to them. When she faced them again she extended a palm upon which lay a leather tobacco pouch, cracked and parched and blistered by the reactions of rain and sun.
"Think of my forgetting them! I found them this morning. Where do you suppose? On a step of the fire-escape ladder."
"Well, I'll be tinker-dammed!" said Cutty.
"I've reasoned it out," went on Kitty, breathlessly, looking at Cutty, "When the anarchist tore them from Mr. Hawksley's neck, he threw them out of the window. The room was dark; his companion could not see. Later he intended, no doubt, to go into the court and recover them and cheat his master. I was looking out of the window, when I noticed a brilliant flash of purple, then another of green. The pouch was open, the stones about to trickle out.
I dared not leave them in the apartment or tell anybody until you came home. So I carried them with me to the office. The drums, Cutty! The drums! Tumpitum-tump! Look!"
She poured the stones upon the white linen tablecloth. A thousand fires!
"The wonderful things!" she gasped. "Oh, the wonderful things!
I don't blame you, Cutty. They would tempt an angel. The drums of jeopardy; and that I should find them!"
"Lord!" said Cutty, in an awed whisper. Green stones! The magnificent rubies and sapphires and diamonds vanished; he could see nothing but the exquisite emeralds. He picked up one - still warm with Kitty's pulsing life - and toyed with it. Actually, the drums! And all this time they had been inviting the first comer to appropriate them. Money, love, tragedy, death; history, pageants, lovely women; murder and loot! All these days on the step of the fire-escape ladder! He must have one of them; positively he must.
Could he prevail upon Hawksley to sell one? Had he carried them through sentiment?
He turned to broach the suggestion of purchase, but remained mute.
Hawksley's head was sunk upon his chest; his arms hung limply at the sides of his chair.
"He is fainting!" cried Kitty, her love outweighing her resolves.
"Cutty!" - desperately, fearing to touch Hawksley herself.
"No! The stones, the stones! Take them away - out of sight! I'm too done in! I can't stand it! I can't - The Red Night! Torches and hobnailed boots!"
