potluck　that　night　with　the　anarchist　who　was　planning　to　blow　up
  the　prime　minister。
  Burlingame；　an　intimate；　often　exposed　for　Kitty's　delectation　the
  amazing　and　colourful　facets　of　Cutty's　diamond…brilliant　mind。
  Cutty　wrote　authoritatively　on　famous　gems　and　collected　drums。
  He　had　one　of　the　finest　collections　of　chrysoprase　in　the　world。
  He　loved　these　semi…precious　stones　because　of　their　unmatchable；
  translucent　green　…　like　the　pulp　of　a　grape。　　From　Burlingame
  Kitty　had　learned　that　Cutty；　rather　indifferent　to　women；　carried
  about　with　him　the　photographs　…　large　size　…　of　famous　professional
  beauties　and　a　case　filled　with　polished　chrysoprase。　　He　would　lay
  a　photograph　on　a　table　and　adorn　the　lovely　throat　with　astonishing
  necklaces　and　the　head　with　wonderful　tiaras；　all　the　while　his
  brain　at　work　with　some　intricate　political　puzzle。
  And　he　collected　drums。　　The　walls　of　his　apartment　…　part　of　the
  loft　of　a　midtown　office　building　…　were　covered　with　a　most
  startling　assortment　of　drums：　drums　of　war；　of　the　dance；　of　the
  temples　of　the　feast；　ancient　and　modern；　some　of　them　dreadful
  looking　objects；　as　Kitty　had　cause　to　remember。
  Though　Cutty　had　known　her　father　and　mother　intimately；　Kitty　was
  a　comparative　stranger。　　He　recollected　seeing　her　perhaps　a　dozen
  times。　　She　had　been　a　shy　child；　not　given　to　climbing　over
  visitors'　knees；　not　the　precocious　offspring　of　the　average
  theatrical　mother。　　So　in　the　past　he　had　somewhat　overlooked　her。
  Then　one　day　recently　he　had　dropped　in　to　see　Burlingame　and　had
  seen　Kitty　instead；　which　accounts　for　his　presence　here　this　day。
  Neither　Kitty　nor　Burlingame　suspected　the　true　attraction。　　The
  dramatic　editor　accepted　the　advent　as　a　peculiar　compliment　to
  himself。　　And　it　is　to　be　doubted　if　Cutty　himself　realized　that
  there　was　a　true　magnetic　pole　in　this　cubbyhole　of　a　room。
  Kitty；　however；　had　vivid　recollections。　　Actually　the　first　strange
  man　she　had　ever　met。　　But　not　having　been　visible　on　her　horizon；
  except　in　flashes；　she　knew　of　the　man　only　what　she　had　read　and
  what　Burlingame　had　casually　offered　during　discussions。
  〃Well；　anyhow；〃　said　Burlingame；　complacently；　〃the　war　is　over。
  Cutty　smiled　indulgently。　　〃That's　the　trouble　with　us　chaps　who
  tramp　round　the　world　for　news。　　We　can't　bamboozle　ourselves　like
  you　folks　who　stay　at　home。　　The　war　was　only　the　first　phase。
  There's　a　mess　over　there；　wanting　something　and　not　knowing　exactly
  what；　those　millions；　milling　cattle；　with　neither　shed　nor　pasture。
  The　Lord　only　knows　how　long　it　will　take　to　clarify。　　Would　you
  mind　if　I　smoked？〃
  〃Wow！〃　cried　Burlingame。
  〃Not　at　all；〃　answered　Kitty。　　〃I　don't　see　how　any　pipe　could　be
  worse　than　Mr。　Burlingame's。〃
  〃I　apologize；〃　said　the　dramatic　editor；　humbly。
  〃You　needn't；〃　replied　the　girl。　　She　turned　to　the　war　correspondent。
  〃Any　new　drums？〃
  〃I　remember　that　day。　　You　were　scared　half　to　death　at　my　walls。〃
  〃Small　wonder！　　I　was　only　twelve；　and　I　dreamed　of　cannibals　for
  weeks。〃
  〃Drums！　　I　wonder　if　any　living　man　has　heard　a　greater　variety
  than　I？　　What　a　lot　of　them！　　I　have　heard　them　calling　a　jehad　in
  the　Sudan。　　Tumpi…tum…tump！　　tumpitum…tump！　　Makes　a　white　man's
  hair　stand　up　when　he　hears　it　in　the　night。　　I　don't　know　what　it
  is；　but　the　sound　drives　the　Oriental　mad。　　And　that　reminds　me
  …　I've　had　them　in　mind　all　day　…　the　drums　of　jeopardy！〃
  〃What　an　odd　phrase！　　And　what　are　the　drums　of　jeopardy？〃　asked
  Kitty；　leaning　on　her　arms。　　Odd；　but　suddenly　she　felt　a　longing
  to　go　somewhere；　thousands　and　thousands　of　miles　away。　　She　had
  never　been　west　of　Chicago　or　east　of　Boston。　　Until　this　moment
  she　had　never　felt　the　call　of　the　blood　…　her　father's。　　Cocoanut
  palms　and　birds　of　paradise！　　And　drums　in　the　night　going
  tumpi…tum…tump！　　tumpi…tum…tump！
  〃I've　always　been　mad　over　green　things；〃　began　Cutty。　　〃A　wheat
  field　in　the　spring；　leafing　maples。　　It's　Nature's　choice　and　mine。
  My　passion　is　emeralds；　and　I　haven't　any　because　those　I　want　are
  beyond　reach。　　They　are　owned　by　the　great　houses　of　Europe　and
  Asia；　and　lie　in　royal　caskets；　or　did。　　If　I　could　go　into　a　mine
  and　find　an　emerald　as　big　as　my　fist　I　should　be　only　partly　happy
  if　it　chanced　to　be　of　fine　colour。　　In　a　little　while　I　should　lose
  interest　in　it。　　It　wouldn't　be　alive；　if　you　can　get　what　I　mean。
  Just　as　a　man　would　rather　have　a　homely　woman　to　talk　to　than　a
  beautiful　window　dummy　to　admire。　　A　stone　to　interest　me　must　have
  a　story　…　a　story　of　murder　and　loot；　of　beautiful　women；　palaces。
  〃Br…r…r！〃　cried　Burlingame。
  〃Why；　I've　seen　emeralds　I　would　steal　with　half　a　chance。　　I
  couldn't　help　it。　　Fact；〃　declared　Cutty；　earnestly。　　〃Think　of
  the　loot　in　the　Romanoff　palaces！　　What's　become　of　all　those
  magnificent　stones？　　In　a　little　while　they'll　be　turning　up　in
  Amsterdam　to　be　cut　…　some　of　them。　　Or　maybe　Mister　Bolsheviki's
  inamorata　will　be　stringing　them　round　her　neck。　　Loot。〃
  〃But　the　drums　of　jeopardy！〃　said　Kitty。
  〃Emeralds；　green　as　an　English　lawn　in　May　after　a　shower；　Kitty。
  By　the　way；　do　you　mind　if　I　call　you　Kitty？　　I　used　to。〃
  〃And　I've　always　thought　of　you　as　Cutty。　　Fifty…fifty。〃
  〃It's　a　bargain。　　Well；　the　drums　to　my　thinking　are　the　finest　two
  examples　of　the　green　beryl　in　the　world。　　Polished；　of　course；　as
  emeralds　always　should　be。　　I　should　say　that　they　were　about　the
  size　of　those　peppermint　chocolate　drops　there。〃
  〃Have　one？〃　said　Kitty。
  〃No。　　Spoil　the　taste　of　the　pipe。〃
  〃You　ought　to　spoil　that　taste　once　in　a　while；〃　was　Burlingame's
  observation。　　〃But　go　on。〃
  〃I　suppose　originally　there　was　a　single　stone；　later　cut　into
  halves；　because　they　are　perfect　matches。　　The　drums　proper　are
  exquisitely　carved　ivory　statuettes；　of　Hindu　or　Mohammedan　drummers；
  squatting；　the　golden　base　of　the　drums　between　the　knees；　and　the
  drumheads　the　emeralds。　　Lord；　how　they　got　to　me！　　I　wanted　to　run
  off　with　them。　　The　history　of　murder　and　loot　they　could　tell！
  Some　Delhi　mogul　owned　them　first。　　Then　Nadir　Shah　carried　them　off
  to　Persia；　along　with　the　famous　peacock　throne。　　I　saw　them　in　a
  palace　on　the　Caspian　in　1912。　　Russia　was　very　strong　in　Persia　at
  one　time。　　Perhaps　they　were　gifts；　perhaps　they　were　stolen　…　these
  emeralds。　　Anyhow；　I'd　never　heard　of　them　until　that　year。　　And　I
  travelled　all　the　way　up　from　Constantinople　to　get　a　glimpse　of
  them　if　it　were　possible。　　I　had　to　do　some　mighty　fine　wire…pulling。
  For　one　of　those　stones　I　would　give　half　of　all　I　own。　　To　see　them
  in　the　possession　of　another　man　would　be　a　supreme　test　to　my　honesty。〃
  〃You　old　pirate！〃　said　Burlingame。
  〃But　why　the　word　jeopardy？〃　persisted　Kitty；　who　was　intrigued　by
  the　phrase。
  〃Probably　some　Hindu　trick。　　It　is　a　language　of　flowery　metaphors。
  It　means；　I　suppose；　that　when　you　touch　the　drums　they　bite。　　In
  journeying　from　one　spot　to　another　they　always　leave　misfortune
  behind；　as　I　understand　it。　　Just　coincidence；　but　you　couldn't
  drive　that　into　an　Oriental　skull。　　This　is　what　makes　the　study　of
  precious　stones　so　interesting。　　There　is　always　some　enchantment；
  some　evil　spell。　　To　handle　the　drums　is　to　invite　a　minor　accident。
  Call　it　twaddle；　probably　is；　and　yet　I　have　reason　to　believe　that
  there's　something　to　the　superstition。〃
  Burlingame　sniffed。
  〃I　can　prove　it；〃　Cutty　declared。　　〃I　held　those　drums　in　my　hands
  one　day。　　I　carried　them　to　a　window　the　better　to　observe　them。
  On　my　return　to　the　hotel　I　was　knocked　down　by　a　horse　and　laid
  up　in　bed　for　a　week。　　That　same　night　someone　tried　to　kill　the
  man　who　showed　me　the　emeralds。　　Coincidence？　　Perhaps。　　But　these
  days　I'm　shying　at　thirteen；　the　wrong　side　of　the　street；　ladders；
  and　religious　curses。〃
  〃An　old　hard…boiled　egg　like　you？〃　Burlingame　threw　up　his　hands
  in　mock　despair。
  〃I　laugh；　too；　but　I　duck；　nevertheless。　　The　chap　who　showed　me
  the　stones　was　what　you'd　call　the　honorary　custodian；　a　privileged
  character　because　of　his　genius。　　Before　approaching　him　I　sent　him
  a　copy　of　my　monograph　on　green　stones。　　I　found　that　he　was　quite
  as　crazy　over　green　as　I。　　That　brought　us　together；　and　while　I
  drew　him　out　I　kept　wondering　where　I　had　seen　him　before。　　Both　his
  name　and　his　face　were　vaguely　familiar。　　lt　seems　a　superstition
  had　come　along　with　the　stones；　from　India　to　Persia；　from　there　to
  Russia。　　A　maid　fortunate　enough　to　see　the　drums　would　marry　and
  be　happy。　　The　old　fellow　confessed　that　occasionally　he　secretly
  admitted　a　peasant　maid　to　gaze　upon　the　stones。　　But　he　never　let
  the　male　inmates　of　the　palace　find　this　out。　　He　knew　them　a　little
  too　intimately。　　A　bad　lot。〃
  〃And　this　palace？〃　asked　Kitty。
  〃Not　one　stone　on　another。　　The　proletariat　rose　up　and　destroyed
  it。　　To　mobs　anything　beautiful　is　offensive。　　Palaces　looted；　banks；
  museums；　houses。　　The　ignorant　toying　with　hand　grenades；　thinking
  them　sceptres。　　All　the　scum　in　the　world　boiling　to　the　top。　　After
  the　Red　Day　comes　the　Red　Night。〃
  〃Whatever　will　become　of　them　…　the　little　kings　and　princes　and
  dukes？〃　　After　all；　thought　Kitty；　they　were