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Maeterlinck; fifty…six; and Cutty; fifty…two; were two different men。
Cutty might mix his metaphors occasionally; but he wasn't going to
mix his ghosts。
He returned to his singular game。 More tiaras and necklaces; and
his brain took firm hold of the theme which had in the beginning
lured him to the green stones。
Two…Hawks。 That name bothered him。 He knew he had heard it before;
but never in the Russian tongue。 It might be that the chap had been
spoofing Kitty。 Still; he had also called himself Hawksley。
The smoke thickened; there were frequent flares of matches。 One by
one Cutty discarded the photographs; dropping them on the floor
beside his chair; his mind boring this way and that for a solution。
He had now come to the point where he ceased to see the photographs
or the green stones。 The movements of his hands were almost
automatic。 And in this abstract manner he came to the last
photograph。 He built a necklace and even ventured an earring。
It was a glorious face … black eyes that followed you; full lipped;
every indication of fire and genius。 It must be understood that he
rarely saw the photographs when he played this game。 It wasn't an
amusing pastime; a mental relaxation。 It was a unique game of
solitaire; the photographs and chrysoprase being substituted for
cards; and in some inexplicable manner it permitted him to concentrate
upon whatever problem filled his thoughts。 It was purely accidental
that he saw Patti to…night or recalled her art。 Coming upon the last
photograph without having found a solution of the riddle of Two…Hawks
he relaxed the mental pressure; and his sight reestablished its
ability to focus。
〃Good Lord!〃 he ejaculated。
He seized the photograph excitedly; scattering the green stones。
She! The Calabrian; the enchanting colouratura who had vanished
from the world at the height of her fame; thirty…odd years gone!
Two…Hawks!
Cutty saw himself at twenty; in the pit at La Scala; with music…mad
Milan all about him。 Two…Hawks! He remembered now。 The nickname
the young bloods had given her because she had been eternally
guarded by her mother and aunt; fierce…beaked Calabrians; who had
determined that Rosa should never throw herself away on some beggarly
Adonis。
And this chap was her son! Yesterday; rich and powerful; with a
name that was open sesame wherever he went; to…day; hunted;
penniless; and forlorn。 Cutty sank back in his chair; stunned by
the revelation。 In that room yonder!
CHAPTER XIV
For a long time Cutty sat perfectly motionless; his pipe at an
upward angle … a fine commentary on the strength of his jaws … and
his gaze boring into the shadows beyond his desk。 What was
uppermost in his thoughts now was the fateful twist of events that
had brought the young man to the assured haven of this towering
loft。
All based; singularly enough; upon his wanting to see Molly's girl
for a few moments; and thus he had established himself in Kitty's
thoughts。 Instead of turning to the police she had turned to him。
Old Cutty; reaching round vaguely for something to stay the current
… age; hoping by seeing this living link 'twixt the present and the
past to stay the afterglow of youth。 As if that could be done! He;
who had never paid any attention to gray hairs and wrinkles and
time; all at once found himself in a position similar to that of
the man who supposes he has an inexhaustible sum at the bank and
has just been notified that he has overdrawn。
Cutty knew that life wasn't really coordination and premeditation
so much as it was coincident。 Trivials。 Nothing was absolute and
dependable but death; between birth and death a series of accidents
and incidents and coincidents which men called life。
He tapped his pipe on the ash tray and stood up。 He gathered the
chrysoprase and restored the stones to the canvas bag。 Then he
carefully stacked the photographs and carried them to the portfolio。
The green stones he deposited in a safe; from which he took a
considerable bundle of small notebooks; returning to the desk with
these。 Denatured dynamite; these notebooks; full of political
secrets; solutions of mysteries that baffle historians。 A truly
great journalist never writes history as a historian; he is afraid
to。 Sometimes conjecture is safer than fact。 And these little
notebooks were the repository of suppressed facts ranging over
twenty…odd years。 Gerald Stanley Lee would have recognized them
instantly as coming under the head of what he calls Sh!
An hour later Cutty returned the notebooks to their abiding place;
his memory refreshed。 The poor devil! A dissolute father and uncle;
dissolute forbears; corrupt blood weakened by intermarriage; what
hope was there? Only one … the rich; fiery blood of the Calabrian
mother。
But why had the chap come to America? Why not England or the
Riviera; where rank; even if shorn of its prerogatives; is still
treated respectfully? But America!
Cutty's head went up。 Perhaps that was it … to barter his phantom
greatness for money; to dazzle some rich fool of an American girl。
In that case Karlov would be welcome。 But wait a moment。 The chap
had come in from the west。 In that event there should be an Odyssey
of some kind tucked away in the affair。
Cutty resumed his pacing。 The moment his imagination caught the
essentials he visualized the Odyssey。 Across mountains and deserts;
rivers and seas; he followed Two…Hawks in fancy; pursued by an
implacable hatred; more or less historical; of which the lad was
less a cause than an abstract object。 And Karlov … Cutty understood
Karlov now … always span near; his hate reenergizing his faltering
feet。
There was evidently some iron in this Two…Hawks' blood。 Fear never
would have carried him thus far。 Fear would have whispered;
〃Futility! Futility!〃 And he would have bent his head to the stroke。
So then there was resource and there was courage。 And he lay in
yonder room; beaten and penniless。 The top piece in the grim irony
… to have come all these thousands of miles unscathed; to be dropped
at the goal。 But America? Well; that would be solved later。
〃By the Lord Harry!〃 Cutty stopped and struck his hands together。
〃The drums!〃
》From the hour Kitty had pronounced the name Stefani Gregor an idea
had taken lodgment; an irrepressible idea; that somewhere in this
drama would be the drums of jeopardy。 The mark of the thong! Never
any doubt of it now。 Those magnificent emeralds were here in New
York; The mob … the Red Guard … hammering on the doors; what would
have been Two…Hawks' most natural first thought? To gather what
treasures the hand could be laid to and flee。 Here in New York;
and in Karlov's hands; ultimately to be cut up for Bolshevik
propaganda! The infernal pity of it!
The passion of the gem hunter blazed forth; dimming all other phases
of the drama。 Here was a real game; a man's game; sport! Cutty
rubbed his hands together pleasurably。 To recover those green flames
before they could be broken up; under the ancient ruling that
〃Findings is keepings。〃 The stones; of course; meant nothing to
Karlov beyond the monetary value; a