the drums of jeopardy-第20部分

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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