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Within easy reach of Prague, with its hundred towers, are many historic places, landmarks in the story of Bohemia. Foremost among these is the Castle of Karlov Týn. It stands on a rocky spur in a wooded valley, between four hills. You catch a sudden and fleeting glimpse of it as you approach Prague from Paris by the line that runs along the winding River Berounka.
Karlov or one of his agents would certainly see that advertisement; and even if Karlov suspected a Federal trap he would find some means of communicating with the issuer of the advertisement. The thought of Kitty returned. What the dickens would she say how would she act when she learned who this Hawksley was? He fervently hoped that she had never read "Thaddeus of Warsaw."
His one chance, actually. The poor devil! Kitty had the right idea. It was a mighty fine thing, these times, to be a citizen under the protection of the American doctrine. Three hundred thousand! And Karlov had got that along with the drums. The devil's own for luck! The fool would be able to start some fine ructions with all that capital behind him. Episodes in the night.
The subjugation of women, the old cynical warfare of sex the dominant business of his rich and idle forbears, the business that had made Boris Karlov a deadly and implacable enemy became paramount in his disordered brain. She had forgotten him! Very well. He would stir the soul of her, play with it, lift it to the stars and dash it down if she had a soul. Beautiful, natural, alone.
"Your Lenine offered peace, bread, and work for the overthrow of Kerensky. What you have given murder and famine and idleness. Can there be common good that is based upon the blood of innocents? Did Ivan ever harm a soul? Have I?" "You!" Karlov trembled. "You with your damned green stones!
No matter what kind of game he played offside, the raid itself must succeed absolutely. Nothing should swerve him from making these plans as perfect as it was humanly possible. He would be on hand to search Karlov himself. If the drums were not on him he would return and pick the old mansion apart, lath by lath. Gay old ruffian, wasn't he?
He must hold down his fury until this purpose was in the open. "Well, that is good," Gregor admitted. "But somehow it sounds ancient on my ear. Was there not a revolution in France?" "Fool, it is the world that is revolting!" Karlov paused. "And no man in the future shall see his sister or his daughter made into a loose woman without redress." "Your proletariat's sister and daughter.
Karlov did not intend to sell the drums; merely wanted precise information regarding the man who had advertised for them. If the secret-service man weakened under torture, Cutty recognized that his own usefulness would be at an end. He would have to step aside and let the great currents sweep on without him.
His yarn had passed a very shrewd censor. "Karlov feels it his duty to kill off all his countryman who do not agree with his theories. He wanted these funds here, but Hawksley was too clever for him. Remember, now, not a word of this to Hawksley. I tell you this in confidence." "I promise." "You'll have to spend the night here. It's round four, and the power has been shut off.
She saw where Cutty would drop, and now understood the cunning of the manoeuvre of placing the candle in front of the soapbox. Cutty would be an absolute mark for Karlov, protected by the shadow. She set herself, as a runner at the tape. Karlov was not the type criminal, which when cornered, thinks only of personal safety. He was a political fanatic.
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