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 surged
forth. All except Kitty, who tarried.
“We don't carry to the eighteenth, miss.
“I am Miss Conover,” she replied. “I dared not tell you until we were
alone.”
“I see.” The boy nodded, swept her with an appraising glance, and sent
the elevator up to the loft.
“You understand? If any one inquires about me, you don't remember.”
“Yes, miss. The boss's orders.”
“And if any one does inquire you are to report at once.”
“That, too.”
The boy rolled back the door and Kitty stepped out upon a Laristan
runner of rose hues and cobalt blue. She wondered what it cost Cutty
to keep up an establishment like this. There were fourteen rooms, seven
facing the north and seven facing the west, with glorious vistas of
steam-wreathed roofs and brick Matterhorns and the dim horizon touching
the sea. Fine rugs and tapestries and furniture gathered from the four
ends of the world; but wholly livable and in no sense atmospheric of the
museum. Cutty had excellent taste.
She had visited the apartment but twice before, once in her childhood
and again when she was eighteen. Cutty had given a dinner in honour of
her mother's birthday. She smiled as she recalled the incident. Cutty
had placed a box of candles at the side of her mother's plate and told
her to stick as many into the cake as she thought best.
“Hello!” said Cutty, emerging from one of the doors. “What the dickens
have you been up to? My man has just telephoned me that he lost track of
you in Wanamaker's.”
Kitty explained, delighted.
“Well, well! If you can lose a man such as I set to watch you, you'll
have no trouble shaking the others.”
“It was Karlov, Cutty.”
“How did you learn?”
“Searched the morgue and found a half tone of him. Positively Karlov.
How is the patient?”
“Harrison says he's pulling round amazingly. A tough skull. He'll be up
for his meals in no time.”
“How do you do it?” she asked with a gesture.
“Do what?”
“Manage a place like this? In a busy office district. It's the most
wonderful apartment in New York. Riverside has nothing like it. It must
cost like sixty.”
“The building is mine, Kitty. That makes it possible. An uncle who knew
I hated money and the responsibilities that go with it, died and left it
to me.”
“Why, Cutty, you must be rich!”
“I'm sorry. What can I do? I can't give it away.”
“But you don't have to work!”
“Oh, yes, I do. I'm that kind. I'd die of a broken heart if I had to sit
still. It's the game.”
“Did mother know?”
“Yes.”
With the toe of a snug little bronze boot Kitty drew an outline round a
pattern in the rug.
“Love is a funny thing,” was her comment.
“It sure is, old-timer. But what put the thought into your head?”
“I was thinking how very much mumsy must have been in love with father.”
“But she never knew that I loved her, Kitty.”
“What's that got to do with it? If she had wanted money you wouldn't
have had the least chance in the world.”
“Probably not! But what would you have done in your mother's place?”
“Snapped you up like that!” Kitty flashed back.
“You cheerful little--little--”
“Liar. Say it!” Kitty laughed. “But am I a cheerful little liar? I don't
know. It would be an awful temptation. Somebody to wait on you; heaps of
flowers when you wanted them; beautiful gowns and thingummies and furs
and limousines. I've often wondered what I should do if I found myself
with love and youth on one side and money and attraction on the other.
I've always been in straitened circumstances. I never spent a dollar in
all my days when I didn't think I ought to have held back three or
four cents of it. You can't know, Cutty, what it is to be poor and want
beautiful things and good times. Of course. I couldn't marry just
money. There would have to be some kind of a man to go with it. Someone
interesting enough to make me forget sometimes that I'd thrown away a
lover for a pocket-book.”
“Would you marry me, Kitty?”
“Are you serious?”
“Let's suppose I am.”
“No. I couldn't marry you, Cutty I should always be having my mother's
ghost as a rival.”
“But supposing I fell in love with you?”
“Then I'd always be doubting your constancy. But what queer talk!”'
“Kitty, you're a joy! Lordy, my luck in dropping in to see you
yesterday!”
“And a little whippersnapper like me calling a great man like you
Cutty!”
“Well, if it embarrasses you, you might switch to papa once in a while.”
Kitty's laughter rang down the corridor. “I'll remember that whenever I
want to make you mad. Who's here?”
“Nobody but Harrison and the nurse. Both good citizens, and I've taken
them into my confidence to a certain extent. You can talk freely before
them.”
“Am I to see the patient?”
“Harrison says not. About Wednesday your Two-Hawks will be sitting up.
I've determined to keep the poor devil here until he can take care of
himself. But he is flat broke.”
“He said he had money.”
“Well, Karlov's men stripped him clean.”
“Have you any idea who he is?”
“To be honest, that's one of the reasons why I want to keep him here.
He's Russian, for all his Oxford English and his Italian gestures; and
from his babble I imagine he's been through seven kinds of hell. Torches
and hobnailed boots and the incessant call for a woman named Olga--a
young woman about eighteen.”
“How did you find that out?”
“From a photograph I found in the lining of his coat. A pretty blonde
girl.”
“Good heavens!”--recollecting her dream. “Where was it printed?”
“Amateur photography. I'll pick it up on the way to the living room.”
It was nothing like the blonde girl of her dream. Still, the girl was
charming. Kitty turned over the photograph. There was writing on the
back.
“Russian? What does it say?”
“'To Ivan from Olga with all her love.'”
Cutty was conscious of the presence of an indefensible malice in his
tones. Why the deuce should he be bitter--glad that the chap had left
behind a sweetheart? He knew exactly the basis of Kitty's interest, as
utterly detached as that of a reporter going to a fire. On the day the
patient could explain himself, Kitty's interest would automatically
cease. An old dog in the manger? Malice.
“Cutty, something dreadful has happened to this poor young woman. That's
what makes him cry out the name. Caught in that horror, and probably he
alone escaped. Is it heartless to be glad I'm an American? Do they let
in these Russians?”
“Not since the Trotzky regime. I imagine Two-Hawks slipped through on
some British passport. He'll probably tell us all about it when he comes
round. But how do you feel after last night's bout?”
“Alive! And I'm going on being alive, forever and ever! Oh, those awful
drums! They look like dead eyes in those dim corners. Tumpitum-tump!
Tumpitum-tump!” she cried, linking her arm in his. “What a gorgeous
view! Just what I'm going to do when my ship comes in--live in a loft. I
really believe I could write up here--I mean worth-while things I could
enjoy writing and sell.”
“It's yours if you want it when I leave.”
“And I'd have a fine time explaining to my friends! You old innocent!
... Or are you so innocent?”
“We do live in a cramped world. But I meant it. Don't forget to whistle
down to Tony Bernini when you get back home to-night.”
“I promise.
“Why the gurgle?”
“Because I'm tremendously excited. All my life I've wanted to do
mysterious things. I've been with the audience all the while, and I want
to be with the actors.”
“You'll give some man a wild dance.”
“If I do I'll dance with him. Now lead me to the cookies.”
She was the life of the tea table. Her wit, her effervescence, her
whimsicalities amused even the prim Miss Frances. When she recounted
the exploit of the camouflaged fan, Cutty and Harrison laughed so loudly
that the nurse had to put her finger on her lips. They might wake the
patient.
“I am really interested in him,” went on Kitty. “I won't deny it. I want
to see how it's going to turn out. He was very nice after I let him into
the kitchen. A perfectly English manner and voice, and Italian gestures
when off his guard. I feel so sorry for him. What strangers we races are
to each other! Until the war we hardly knew the Canadians. The British
didn't know us at all, and the French became acquainted with the British
for the first time in history. And the German thought he knew us all
and really knew nobody. All the Russians I ever saw were peasants of
the cattle type; so that the word Russian conjures up two pictures--the
grand duke at Monte Carlo and a race of men who wear long beards and
never bathe except when it rains. Think of it! For the first time since
God set mankind on earth peoples are becoming acquainted. I never saw a
Russian of this type before.”.
“A leaf in the whirlpool.--Anyhow, we'll keep him here until he's on his
feet. By the way, never answer any telephone call--I mean, go anywhere
on a call--unless you are sure of the speaker.”
“I begin to feel important.”
“You are important. You have suddenly become a connecting link between
this Karlov and the man we wish to protect. I'll confess I wanted you
out of that apartment at first; but when I saw that you were bent on
remaining, I decided to make use of you.”
“You are going to give me a part in the play?”
“Yes. You are to go about your affairs as always, just as if nothing had
happened. Only when you wish to come here will you play any game like
that of to-day. Then it will be advisable. Switch your route each time.
Your real part is to be that of lure. Through you we shall gradually
learn who Karlov's associates are. If you don't care to play the role
all you have to do is to move.”
“The idea! I'm grateful for anything. You men will never understand.
You go forth into the world each day--politics, diplomacy, commerce,
war--while we women stay at home and knit or darn socks or take care of
the baby or make over our clothes and hats or do household work or
play the piano or read. Never any adventure. Never any games. Never any
clubs. The leaving your house to go to the office is an adventure. A
train from here to Philadelphia is an adventure. We women are always
craving it. And about all we can squeeze out of life is shopping and
hiding the bills after marriage, and going to the movies before marriage
with young men our fathers don't like. We can't even stroll the street
and admire the handsome gowns of our more fortunate sisters the way you
men do. When you see a pretty woman on the street do you ever stop to
think that there are ten at home eating their hearts out? Of course you
don't. So I'm going through with this, to satisfy suppressed instincts;
and I shan't promise to trot along as usual.”
“They may attempt to kidnap you, Kitty.”
“That doesn't frighten me.”
“So I observe. But if they ever should have the luck to kidnap you, tell
all you know at once. There's only one way up here--the elevator. I can
get out to the fire escape, but none can get in from that direction, as
the door is of steel.”
“And, of course, you'll take me into your confidence completely?”
“When the time comes. Half the fun in an adventure is the element of the
unexpected,” said Cutty.
“Where did you first meet Stefani Gregor?”
Captain Harrison laughed. He liked this girl. She was keen and could
be depended upon, as witness last night's work. Her real danger lay in
being conspicuously pretty, in looking upon this affair as merely a kind
of exciting game, when it was tragedy.
“What makes you think I know Stefani Gregor?” asked Cutty, genuinely
curious.
“When I pronounced that name you whirled upon me as if I had struck
you.”
“Very well. When we learn who Two-Hawks is I'll tell you what I know
about Gregor. And in the meantime you will be ceaselessly under guard.
You are an asset, Kitty, to whichever side holds you. Captain Harrison
is going to stay for dinner. Won't you join us?”
“I'm going to a studio potluck with some girls. And it's time I was on
the way. I'll let your Tony Bernini know. Home probably at ten.”
Cutty went with her to the elevator and when he returned to the tea
table he sat down without speaking.
“Why not kidnap her yourself,” suggested Harrison, “if you don't want
her in this?”
“She would never forgive me.”
“If she found it out.”
“She's the kind who would. What do you think of her, Miss Frances?”
“I think she is wonderful. Frankly, I should tell her everything--if
there is anything more to be told.”
When dinner was over, the nurse gone back to the patient and Captain
Harrison to his club, Cutty lit his odoriferous pipe and patrolled the
windows of his study. Ever since Kitty's departure he had been mulling
over in his mind a plan regarding her future--to add a codicil to his
will, leaving her five thousand a year, so Molly's girl might always
have a dainty frame for her unusual beauty. The pity of it was that
convention denied him the pleasure of settling the income upon her at
once, while she was young. He might outlive her; you never could tell.
Anyhow, he would see to the codicil. An accident might step in.
He got out his chrysoprase. In one corner of the room there was a large
portfolio such as artists use for their proofs and sketches; and from
this he took a dozen twelve-by-fourteen-inch photographs of beautiful
women, most of them stage beauties of bygone years. The one on top
happened to be Patti. The adorable Patti!... Linda, Violetta, Lucia.
Lord, what a nightingale she had been! He laughed laid the photograph
on the desk, and dipped his hand into a canvas bag filled with polished
green stones which would have great commercial value if people knew more
about them; for nothing else in the world is quite so beautifully green.
He built tiaras above the lovely head and laid necklaces across the
marvellous throat. Suddenly a phenomenon took place. The roguish eyes of
the prima donna receded and vanished and slate-blue ones replaced them.
The odd part of it was, he could not dissipate the fancied eyes for the
replacement of the actual. Patti, with slate-blue eyes! He discarded
the photograph and selected another. He began the game anew and was
just beginning the attack on the problem uppermost in his mind when the
phenomenon occurred again. Kitty's eyes! What infernal nonsense! Kitty
had served merely to enliven his tender recollections of her
mother. Twenty-four and fifty-two. And yet, hadn't he just read that
Maeterlinck, fifty-six, had married Mademoiselle Dahon, many years
younger?
In a kind of resentful fury he pushed back his chair and fell to pacing,
eddies and loops and spirals of smoke whirling and sweeping behind him.
The only light was centred upon the desk, so he might have been some god
pacing cloud-riven Olympus in the twilight. By and by he laughed; and
the atmosphere--mental--cleared. 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!