small　arms。　　Again　I　thank　you。　　For　your　own　sake　I　trust　that　we
  may　never　meet　again。　　Good…bye。〃　　He　stepped　out　of　the　window　and
  vanished。
  Kitty；　at　a　mental　impasse；　could　only　stare　into　the　night　beyond
  the　window。　　This　mesmeric　state　endured　for　a　minute；　then　a　gentle
  and　continuous　sound　dissipated　the　spell。　　It　was　raining。
  Obliquely　she　saw　the　burnt　egg　in　the　pan。　　The　thing　had　happened；
  she　had　not　been　dreaming。
  Her　brain　awoke。　　Thought　crowded　thought；　before　one　matured　another
  displaced　it；　and　all　as　futile　as　the　sparks　from　the　anvil。　　An
  avalanche　of　conjecture；　and　out　of　it　all　eventually　emerged　one
  concrete　fact。　　The　man　Was　honest。　　His　hunger　had　been　honest；　his
  laughter。　　Who　was　he；　what　was　he？　　For　all　his　speech；　not　English；
  for　all　his　gestures；　not　Italian。　　Moribund　perspectives。　　Somewhere
  that　day　he　had　fought　for　his　life。　　John　Two…Hawks。
  And　there　was　the　mysterious　evanishment　of　old　Gregory；　whose　name
  was　Stefani　Gregor。　　In　a　humdrum；　prosaic　old　apartment　like　this！
  Kitty　had　ideas　about　adventure　…　an　inheritance；　though　she　was　not
  aware　of　that。　　There　had　to　be　certain　ingredients；　principally
  mystery。　　Anything　sordid　must　not　be　permitted　to　edge　in。　　She　had
  often　gone　forth　upon　semi…perilous　enterprises　as　a　reporter；
  entered　sinister　houses　where　crimes　had　been　committed；　but　always
  calculating　how　much　copy　at　eight　dollars　a　column　could　be　squeezed
  out　of　the　affair。　　But　this　promised　to　be　something　like　those
  tales　which　were　always　clear　and　wonderful　in　her　head　but　more　or
  less　opaque　when　she　attempted　to　transfer　them　to　paper。　　A　secret
  society？　　Vengeance？　　An　echo　of　the　war？
  〃Johnny　Two…Hawks；〃　she　murmured　aloud。　　〃And　he　hopes　we'll　never
  meet　again！〃
  There　was　a　mirror　over　the　sink；　and　she　threw　a　glance　into　it。
  Very　well；　if　he　thought　like　that　about　it。
  Here　the　doorbell　tinkled。　　That　would　be　the　faithful　janitor。　　She
  ran　to　the　door。
  〃Whadjuh　wanta　see　me　about；　Miz　Conover？〃
  〃What　has　happened　to　old　Mr。　Gregory？〃
  〃Him？　　Why；　some　amb'lance　fellers　carted　him　off　this　afternoon。
  Didn't　know　nawthin'　was　the　matter　with　'im　until　I　runs　into　them
  in　the　hall。〃
  〃He'd　been　hurt？〃
  〃Couldn't　say；　miz。　　He　was　on　a　stretcher　when　I　seen　'im。　　Under
  a　sheet。〃
  〃But　he　might　have　been　dead！〃
  〃Nope。　　I　ast　'em；　an'　they　said　a　shock　of　some　sort。〃
  〃What　hospital？〃
  〃Gee；　I　forgot　t'ast　that！〃
  〃I'll　find　out。　　Good…night。〃
  But　Kitty　did　not　find　out。　　She　called　up　all　the　known　private　and
  public　hospitals；　but　no　Gregor　or　Gregory　had　been　received　that
  afternoon；　nor　anybody　answering　his　description。　　The　fog　had
  swallowed　up　Stefani　Gregor。
  CHAPTER　VI
  The　reportorial　instinct　in　Kitty　Conover；　combined　with　her　natural
  feminine　curiosity；　impelled　her　to　seek　to　the　bottom　of　affair。
  Her　newspaper　was　as　far　from　her　as　the　poles；　simply　a　paramount
  desire　to　translate　the　incomprehensible　into　sequence　and
  consequence。　　Harmless　old　Gregor's　disappearance　and　the　advent　of
  John　Two…Hawks　…　the　absurdity　of　that　name！　　…　with　his　impeccable
  English　accent；　his　Latin　gestures；　and　his　black　eye；　convinced　her
  that　it　was　political；　an　electrical　cross　current　out　of　that　broken
  world　over　there。　　Moribund　perspectives。　　What　did　that　signify　save
  that　Johnny　Two…Hawks　had　fought　somewhere　that　day　for　his　life？
  Had　Gregor　been　spirited　away　so　as　to　leave　Two…Hawks　without
  support；　to　confuse　and　discourage　him　and　break　down　his　powers　of
  resistance？　　Or　had　there　been　something　of　great　value　in　the　Gregor
  apartment；　and　Johnny　Two…Hawks　had　come　too　late　to　save　his　friend？
  A　word　slipped　into　her　mind　like　a　whiff　of　miasma　off　an　evil　swamp。
  As　she　recognized　the　word　she　felt　the　same　horror　and　repugnance
  one　senses　upon　being　unexpectedly　confronted　by　a　cobra。
  Internationalism。　　The　scum　of　the　world　boiling　to　the　top。　　A
  half…blind　viper　striking　venomously　at　everything　…　even　itself！　　A
  destroyer　who　tore　down　but　who　knew　not　how　or　what　to　build。　　Kitty
  knew　that　lower　New　York　was　seething　with　this　species　of　terrorism
  …　thousands　of　noisome　European　rats　trying　to　burrow　into　the
  granary　of　democracy。　　But　she　had　no　particular　fear　of　the　result。
  The　reacting　chemicals　of　American　humour　and　common　sense　would
  neutralize　that　virus。　　Supposing　a　ripple　from　this　indecent　eddy
  had　touched　her　feet？　　The　torch　of　liberty　in　the　hands　of　Anarch！
  Johnny　Two…Hawks。　　Somehow　…　even　if　she　never　saw　him　again　…　she
  knew　she　would　always　remember　him　by　that　name。　　Phases　of　the
  encounter　began　to　return。　　Fine　hands；　perhaps　he　painted　or　played。
  The　oblong　head　of　well…balanced　mentality。　　A　pleasant　voice。
  Breeding。　　To　be　sure；　he　had　laughed　at　that　fan　popping　out。
  Anybody　would　have　laughed。　　Never　had　she　felt　so　idiotic。　　He　had
  gravely　expressed　the　hope　that　they　might　never　meet　again　because
  his　life　was　in　danger。　　What　danger？　　Conceivably　the　enmity　of　a
  society　…　internationalism。　　The　word　having　found　lodgment　in　her
  thoughts　took　root。　　Internationalism　…　Utopia　while　you　wait！
  Anarchism　and　Bolshevism　offering　nostrums　for　humanity's　ills！　　And
  there　were　sane　men　who　defended　the　cult　on　the　basis　that　the
  intention　was　honest。　　Who　can　say　that　the　rattlesnake　does　not
  consider　his　intentions　honourable？
  The　attribute　lacking　in　the　ape　to　make　him　human　is　continuity　of
  thought　and　action　in　all　things　save　one。　　He　often　starts　out　we11
  but　he　never　arrives。　　His　interest　is　never　sustained。　　He　drops
  one　thing　and　turns　to　another。　　The　exception　is　his　enmity；　savage
  and　cunning；　relentless　and　enduring。
  Kitty　was　awake　to　one　fact。　　She　could　not　venture　to　dig　into　this
  affair　alone。　　On　the　other　hand；　she　did　not　want　one　of　the　men
  from　the　city　room　…　a　reporter　who　would　see　nothing　but　news。　　If
  Gregor　was　only　a　prisoner　publicity　might　be　the　cause　of　his　death；
  and　publicity　would　certainly　react　hardily　against　Johnny　Two…Hawks。
  To　whom　might　she　turn？
  Cutty！　　…　with　his　great　physical　strength；　his　shrewd　and　alert
  mentality；　and　his　wide　knowledge　of　peoples　and　tongues。　　There　was
  the　man　for　her　…　Kitty　Conover's　godfather。　　She　dumped　the　contents
  of　her　handbag　upon　the　stand　in　the　hallway　in　her　impatience　to
  find　Cutty's　card　with　his　telephone　number。　　It　was　not　in　the
  directory。　　She　might　catch　him　before　he　went　out　for　the　evening。
  A　Japanese　voice　answered　her　call。
  〃'Souse；　but　he　iss　out。〃
  〃Where？〃
  〃No　tell　me。〃
  〃How　long　has　he　been　gone？〃
  〃'Scuse！〃
  Kitty　heard　the　click　of　the　receiver　as　it　went　down　upon　the　hook。
  But　she　wasn't　the　daughter　of　Conover　for　nothing。　　She　called　up
  the　University　Club。　　No。　　The　Harvard　Club。　　No。　　The　Players；　the
  Lambs；　and　in　the　latter　club　she　found　him。
  〃Who　is　it？〃　Cutty　spoke　impatiently。
  〃Kitty　Conover。〃
  〃Oh！　　What's　the　matter？　　Can't　you　have　lunch　with　me？〃
  〃Something　very　strange　is　happening　in　this　old　apartment　house；
  Cutty。　　I'm　afraid　it　is　a　matter　of　life　and　death。　　Otherwise　I
  shouldn't　have　bothered　you。　　Can　you　come　up　right　away？〃
  〃As　soon　as　a　taxi　can　take　me！〃
  〃Thanks。〃
  Kitty　then　went　through　the　apartment　and　turned　out　all　the　lights。
  Next　she　drew　up　a　chair　to　the　kitchen　window　and　sat　down　to　watch。
  All　was　dark　across　the　way。　　But　there　was　nothing　singular　in　this
  fact。　　Johnny　Two…Hawks　would　have　sense　enough　to　realize　that　it
  would　be　safer　to　move　about　in　the　dark。　　It　was　even　probable
  that　he　was　lying　down。
  Tumpitum…tump！　　Tumpitum…tump！　　went　the　racing　Elevated；　and　Kitty's
  heart　raced　along　with　it。　　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。
  She　uttered　a　shaky　little　laugh。　　She　would　tell　Cutty。　　The　real
  drums　of　jeopardy　weren't　emeralds　but　the　roll　of　warning　that
  prescience　taps　upon　the　spine；　the　occult　sense　of　impending　danger。
  That　was　why　the　Elevated　went　tumpitum…tump！　tumpitum…tump！　　She
  would　tell　Cutty。　　The　drums　of　fear。
  He　over　there　and　she　here；　in　darkness；　both　of　them　waiting　for
  something　to　happen；　and　the　invisible　drumsticks　beating　the　tattoo
  of　fear。　　If　he　were　in　her　thoughts　might　not　she　be　a　little　in
  his？　　She　stood　up。　　She　would　do　it。　　Convention　in　a　moment　like
  this　was　nonsense。　　Hadn't　he　kept　his　side　of　the　line　scrupulously？
  Nonchalance。　　It　occurred　to　her　for　the　first　time　that　there　must
  be　good　material　in　a　man　who　could　come　through　in　a　contest　with
  death；　nonchalant。　　She　would　fetch　him　and　have　him　here　to　meet
  Cutty；　this　rather　forlorn　Johnny　Two…Hawks；　with　his　unshaven　face；
  his　black　eye；　and　his　nonchalance。　　She　would　fetch　him　at　once。
  It　would　save　a　good　deal　of　time。
  There　were　but　ten　apartments　in　the　building；　two　on　a　floor。　　The
  livi