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Updated: May 9, 2025
If he died and left her a legacy she would accept it gratefully enough. Cutty's plan was only a method of circumventing this indefinite wait. Comforts, the good things of life, amusements simply by nodding her head. Why not? It wasn't as if Cutty was asking her to be his wife; he wasn't. Just wanted to dodge convention, and give her freedom and happiness.
There must have been something electrical in Cutty's resentment, for the object of it felt it subtly, and it fired his own. He resented the freedom of action that had always been denied him, resented his host's mental and physical superiority. Did Cutty care for the girl, or was he playing the game as it had been suggested to him? Money and freedom.
It stood snugly against the curb opposite the entrance to Cutty's apartment. The door was slightly ajar. The driver watched the south corner; the three men inside never took their gaze off the north corner. "But, I say, hasn't this been a jolly lark?" "If we had known we could have borrowed a dollar from the blind man; he'd never have missed it."
To play or even think of playing a game like that! She was despicable. A silly little fool, too, to suppose that so keen a mind as Cutty's would not see through the artifice! What was happening to her that she could let such a thought into her head? By and by she was able to pick up Cutty's narrative and review it.
Meanwhile, Captain Harrison of the Medical Corps entered the Conover apartment briskly. "You old vagabond, what have you been up to? I beg pardon!" as he saw Kitty emerge from behind Cutty's bulk. "This is Miss Conover, Harrison." "Very pleased, I'm sure. Luckily my case was in the coat room at the club. I took the liberty of telephoning for Miss Frances, who returned on the same ship with me.
He's only a poor devil of a madman," said Cutty. Karlov turned and calmly spat into Cutty's face. A dozen fists were raised, but Cutty intervened. "No! Let him be. Just take him away and lock him up. He's a rough road to travel. And hustle a comfortable car for me to go home in. Not a word to the newspapers. This isn't a popular raid."
Nihilist or Bolshevist or socialist, there was little choice; and Cutty sensibly did not want her drawn into the whirlpool. What a pleasant intimacy hers and Cutty's promised to be! And if he hadn't casually dropped into the office that afternoon she would have surrendered the affair to the police, and that would have been the end of it.
Once again Kitty's glance roved back to Hawksley. This time she encountered a concentration in his unwavering stare. She did not quite like it. Perhaps he was only thinking about something and wasn't actually seeing her. Still, it quieted down the fluttering gayety of her mood. There was a sun spot of her own that became visible whenever her interest in Cutty's monologue lagged.
As a matter of fact, one of the three men in the taxi recognized Kitty, but too late to intercept her. Her manoeuvre had confused him temporarily. And while he and his companions were debating, Kitty had time to summon Cutty's man from Elevator Four. "Step into the car!" he roughly ordered, after she had given him a gist of her suspicions.
Queer how the echo of Cutty's description of the drums calling a jehad a holy war should adapt itself to that Elevated. Drums! Perhaps the echo clung because she had been interested beyond measure in his tale of those two emeralds, the drums of jeopardy. Mobs sacking palaces and museums and banks and homes; all the scum of the world boiling to the top; the Red Night that wasn't over.
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