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upon the centre table； and it upset； sending the medals about with
a ring and a tinkle。
The man in the next room heard this sound； and his eye roved
desperately。 Some way to peer into yonder room！ But there was no
transom； and he would not yet dare risk the fire escape。 The young
man raised the photograph to his lips and kissed it passionately。
Then he hid it in the lining of his coat； there being a convenient
rent in the inside pocket。
〃I must not think！〃 he murmured。 〃I must not！〃
He became the hunted man again。 He turned a chair upend and placed
it under the window。 He tipped another in front of the door。 On
the threshold of the bathroom door he deposited the water carafe
and the glasses。 His bed was against the connecting door。 No man
would be able to enter unannounced。 He had no intention of letting
himself fall asleep。 He would stretch out and rest。 So he lit his
pipe； banked the two pillows； switched out the light； and lay down。
Only the intermittent glow of his pipe coal could be seen。 Near
the journey's end； and no more tight…rope walking； with death at
both ends； and death staring up from below。 Queer how the human
being clung to life。 What had he to live for？ Nothing。 So far as
he was concerned； the world had come to an end。 Sporting instinct；
probably that was it； couldn't make up his mind to shuffle off this
mortal coil until he had beaten his enemies。 English university
education had dulled the bite of his natural fatalism。 To carry on
for the sport of it； not to accept fate but to fight it。
By chance his hand touched his spiky chin。 Nevertheless； he would
have to enter New York just as he was。 He had left his razor in a
Pullman washroom hurriedly one morning。 He dared not risk a barber's
chair； especially these American chairs； that stretched one out in
a most helpless manner。
Slowly his pipe sank toward his breast。 The weary body was
overcoming the will。 A sound broke the pleasant spell。 He sat up；
tense。 Someone had entered through the window and stumbled over the
chair！ Hawksley threw on the light。
CHAPTER II
When the day clerk arrived the night clerk sleepily informed him
that the guest in Room 214 was without baggage and had not paid in
advance。
〃Lave a call？〃
〃No。 I thought I'd put you wise。 I didn't notice that the man had
no grip until he was in the elevator。〃
〃All right。 I'll send the bell…hop captain up with a fake call to
see if the man's still there。〃
When the captain … late of the A。E。F。 in France … returned to the
office he was mildly excited。
〃Gee； there's been a whale of a scrap in Room 212。 The chambermaid
let me in。〃
〃Murder？〃 whispered the clerks in unison。
〃Murder your granny！ Naw！ Just a fight between 212 and 214；
because both of 'em have flown the roost。 But take a peek at what
I found on the table。〃
It was a case of blue velours。 The boy threw back the lid
dramatically。
〃War medals？〃
〃If they are I never piped 'em before。 They ain't French or
British。〃 The captain of the bell…boys scratched his head
ruminatively。 〃Gee； I got it！ Orders； that's what they all 'em。
Kings pay 'em out Saturdays when the pay roll is nix。 Will you pipe
the diamonds and rubies？ There's your room rents； monseer。〃
The day clerk； who considered himself a judge； was of the opinion
that there were two or three thousand dollars tied up in the
stones。 It was a police affair。 Some ambassador had been robbed；
and the Britisher and the Greek or Bulgarian were mixed up in it。
Loot。
〃I thought the war was over；〃 said the night clerk。
〃The shootin' is over； that's all；〃 said the captain of the bellboys；
sagely。
What had happened in Room 212？ A duel of wits rather than of
physical contact。 Hawksley realized instantly that here was the
crucial moment。 Caught and overpowered； he was lost。 If he shouted
for help and it came； he was lost。 Once the police took a hand in
the affair； the newspaper publicity that would follow would result
in the total ruin of all his hopes。 There was only one chance … to
finish this affair outside the hotel； in some fog…dimmed street。
There leaped into his mind； obliquely and queerly； a picture in one
of Victor Hugo's tales … Quasimodo。 And there he stood； in every
particular save the crooked back。 And on the top of this came the
recollection that he had seen the man before。。。。 The torches！ The
red torches and the hobnailed boots！
There began an odd game； a dancing match； which the young man led
adroitly； always with his thought upon the open window。 There
would be no shooting； Quasimodo would not want the police either。
Half a dozen times his fingers touched futilely the dancing master's
coat。 Bank and forth across the room； over the bed； round the stand
and chairs。 Persistently； as if he understood the young man's
manoeuvres； the squat individual kept to the window side of the room。
An inspiration brought the affair to an end。 Hawksley snatched up
the bedclothes and threw them as the ancient retiarius threw his net。
He managed to win to the lower platform of the fire escape before
Quasimodo emerged。
There was a fourteen…foot drop to the street； and the man with the
golden stubble on his chin and cheeks swung for a moment to gauge
his landing。 Quasimodo came after with the agility of an ape。
The race down the street began with about a hundred yards in between。
Down the hill they went； like phantoms。 The distance did not widen。
Bears will run amazingly fast and for a long while。 The quarry cut
into Pearl Street for a block； turned a corner； and soon vaguely
espied the Hudson River。 He made for this。
To the mind of Quasimodo this flight had but one significance … he
was dealing with an arrant coward； and he based his subsequent acts
upon this premise； forgetting that brave men run when need says must。
It would have surprised him exceedingly to learn that he was not
driving； that he was being led。 Hawksley wanted his enemy alone；
where no one would see to interfere。 Red torches and hobnailed
boots！ For once the two bloods； always more or less at war； merged
in a common purpose … to kill this beast； to grind the face of him
into pulp！ Red torches and hobnailed boots！
Presently one of the huge passenger boats； moored for the winter；
loomed up through the fog； and toward this Hawksley directed his
steps。 He made a flying leap aboard and vanished round the
deckhouse to the river side。
Quasimodo laughed as he followed。 It was as if the tobacco pouch
and the appraiser's receipt were in his own pocket； and broad rivers
made capital graveyards。 They two alone in the fog！ He whirled
round the deckhouse … and backed on his heels to get his balance。
Directly in front； in a very understandable pose； was the intended
victim； his jaw jutting； his eyelids narrowed。
Quasimodo tried desperately to reach for his pistol； but a bolt of
lightning stopped the action。 There is something peculiar about a
blow on the nose； a good blow。 The Anglo…Saxon peoples alone
possess the counterattack … a rush。 To other peoples concentration
of thought is impossible after the impact。 Inst