blood　and　money　that　asked　only　for　simple　justice　to　mankind。　　The
  ideal　of　a　great　people　…　a　mixture　of　all　bloods；　even　German！　　No
  lessons　in　these　tremendous　happenings！　　And　you　babble　about　your
  damned　proletariat　who　represents　the　dregs　of　Russia。　　What　is　he？
  The　inefficient；　whining　that　the　other　man　has　the　luck；　so　kill
  him！　　Russia；　the　kindly　ox；　fallen　among　wolves！　　You　cannot　tear
  down　the　keystone　of　civilization　…　which　took　seven　thousand　years
  to　construct　…　insert　it　upside　down；　and　expect　the　arch　to　stand。
  You　have　your　chance　to　prove　your　theories。　　Prove　them　in
  Petrograd　and　Moscow；　and　you　will　not　have　to　go　forth　with　the
  torch。　　And　what　is　this　torch　but　the　hidden　fear　that　you　may　be
  wrong？　。。。　To　wreck　the　world　before　you　are　found　out！　　You　are
  idiots；　and　you　have　turned　Russia　into　a　madhouse！　　Spawns　from
  the　dung…heap！〃
  〃Damn　you；　Stefani　Gregor！〃　　Karlov　rushed　to　the　cot；　raised　his
  terrible　fists；　his　chest　heaving。　　Gregor　waited。　　〃No；　no！　　You
  wish　to　die！〃　　The　madman　swung　on　his　heels　and　dashed　toward　the
  door；　sweeping　the　pieces　of　the　violin　to　the　floor　as　he　passed
  the　table。
  Gregor　feebly　drew　himself　back　upon　his　cot　and　laid　his　face　in
  the　pillow。
  〃Ivan　…　my　violin　…　all　that　I　knew　and　loved　…　gone！　　And　God　will
  not　let　me　die！〃
  CHAPTER　XXI
  》From　a　window　in　one　of　the　vacant　warehouses；　twenty…odd　feet　away
  Cutty；　from　an　oblique　angle；　had　witnessed　the　peculiar　drama
  without　being　able　to　grasp　head　or　tail　to　it。　　For　two　hours　he
  had　crouched　behind　his　window；　watching　the　man　on　the　cot　and
  wondering　if　he　would　ever　turn　his　face　toward　the　candlelight。
  Then　Karlov　had　entered。　　Gregor's　ironic　calm　…　　with　the　exception
  of　the　time　he　had　bared　his　throat　…　and　Karlov's　tempestuous　exit
  baffled　him。　　To　the　eye　it　had　the　appearance　of　a　victory　for
  Gregor　and　a　defeat　for　Karlov；　but　Cutty　had　long　ago　ceased　to
  believe　his　eyes　without　some　corroborative　evidence　of　auricular
  character。
  He　had　recognized　both　men。　　Karlov　answered　to　Kitty's　description
  as　an　old　glove　answers　to　the　hand。　　And　no　man；　once　having　seen
  Gregor；　could　possibly　forget　his　picturesque　head。　　The　old　chap
  was　alive！　　This　fact　made　the　night's　adventure　tally　one　hundred
  per　cent。　　How　to　get　a　cheery　word　to　him；　to　buck　him　up　with；
  the　promise　of　help？　　A　hard　nut　to　crack；　so　many　obstacles。
  Primarily；　this　was　a　Federal　affair。　　Yonder　hid　the　werewolf　and
  his　pack；　and　it　would　be　folly　to　send　them　scattering　just　for　the
  sake　of　advising　Gregor　that　he　was　being　watched　over。
  Underneath　the　official　obligation　there　was　a　personal　interest　in
  not　risking　the　game　to　warn　Gregor。　　Cutty　was　now　positive　that
  the　drums　of　jeopardy　were　hidden　somewhere　in　this　house。　　To
  perform　three　acts；　then：　Save　Gregor；　capture　Karlov　and　his　pack；
  and　privately　confiscate　the　emeralds。　　Findings　were　keepings。　　No
  compromise　regarding　those　green　stones。　　It　would　not　particularly
  hurt　his　reputation　with　St。　Peter　to　play　the　half　rogue　once　in
  a　lifetime。　　Besides；　St。　　Peter；　hadn't　he　stolen　something　himself
  back　there　in　the　Biblical　days　；　or　got　into　a　scrape　or　something？
  The　old　boy　would　understand。　　Cutty　grinned　in　the　dark。
  Any　obsession　is　a　blindfold。　　A　straight　course　lay　open　to　Cutty；
  but　he　chose　the　labyrinthian　because　he　was　obsessed。　　He　wanted
  those　emeralds。　　Nothing　less　than　the　possession　of　them　would；　to
  his　thinking；　round　out　a　varied　and　active　career。　　Later；　perhaps；
  he　would　declare　the　stones　to　the　customs　and　pay　the　duty；　perhaps。
  Thus　his　subsequent　mishaps　this　night　may　be　laid　to　the　fact　that
  he　thought　and　saw　through　green　spectacles。
  The　idea　that　the　jewels　were　hidden　near　by　made　it　imperative　that
  he　should　handle　this　affair　exclusively。　　Coles；　the　operative　he
  had　sent　to　negotiate　with　Karlov；　was　conceivably　a　prisoner
  upstairs　or　down。　　Coles　knew　about　the　drums；　and　they　must　not
  turn　up　under　his　eye。　　Federal　property；　in　that　event。
  If　ever　he　laid　his　hands　upon　the　drums　he　would　buy　something
  gorgeous　for　Kitty。　　Little　thoroughbred！
  Time　for　work。　　Without　doubt　Karlov　had　cellar　exits　through　this
  warehouse　or　the　other。　　The　job　on　hand　would　be　first　to　locate
  these　exits；　and　then　to　the　trap　on　the　roof。　　With　his　pocket　lamp
  blazing　a　trail　he　went　down　to　the　cellar　and　carefully　inspected
  the　walls　that　abutted　those　of　the　house。　　Nothing　on　this　side。
  He　left　the　warehouse　and　hugged　the　street　wall　for　a　space。　　The
  street　was　deserted。　　Instead　of　passing　Karlov's　abode　he　wisely
  made　a　detour　of　the　block。　　He　reached　the　entrance　to　the　second
  warehouse　without　sighting　even　a　marauding　tom。　　In　the　cellar　of
  this　warehouse　he　discovered　a　newly　made　door；　painted　skillfully
  to　represent　the　limestone　of　the　foundation。　　Tiptop。
  Immediately　he　outlined　the　campaign。　　There　should　be　two　drives
  …　one　from　the　front　and　another　from　the　roof　…　so　that　not　an
  anarchist　or　Bolshevik　could　escape。　　The　mouth　of　the　Federal　sack
  should　be　held　at　this　cellar　exit。　　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？
  Another　point　worth　considering：　He　would　keep　his　discoveries　under
  cover　until　the　hour　to　strike　came。　　Some　over…zealous　subordinate
  might　attempt　a　coup　on　his　own　and　spoil　everything。
  He　picked　his　way　to　the　far　end　of　the　cellar；　to　the　doors。　　Locks
  gone。　　He　took　it　for　granted　that　the　real…estate　agent　would　not
  come　round　with　prospective　tenants。　　These　doors　would　take　them
  into　the　trucking　alley；　where　there　were　a　dozen　feasible　exits。
  There　was　no　way　out　of　the　house　yard；　as　the　brick　wall；　ten　feet
  high　and　running　from　warehouse　to　warehouse；　was　blind。　　Now　for
  the　trap　on　the　roof。
  He　climbed　the　three　flights　of　stairs　crisscrossed　and　festooned
  with　ancient　cobwebs。　　Occasionally　he　sneezed　in　the　crook　of　his
  elbow；　philosophizing　over　the　fact　that　there　was　a　lot　of　deadwood
  property　in　New　York。　　Americans　were　eternally　on　the　move。
  The　window　from　which　he　intended　dropping　to　the　house　roof　was
  obdurate。　　Only　the　upper　half　was　movable。　　With　hardly　any　noise
  at　all　he　pulled　this　down；　straddled　it；　balanced　himself；　secured
  a　good　grip　on　the　ledge；　and　let　himself　down。　　The　tips　of　his
  shoes；　rubber…soled；　just　reached　the　roof。　　He　landed　silently。
  The　glare　of　the　street　lamp　at　the　corner　struck　the　warehouse；
  and　this　indirect　light　was　sufficient　to　work　by。　　He　made　the
  trap　after　a　series　of　extra…cautious　steps。　　The　roof　was　slanting
  and　pebbled；　and　the　least　turn　of　the　foot　might　start　a　cascade
  and　bell　an　alarm。　　A　comfort…loving　dress…suiter　like　himself；
  playing　Old　Sleuth；　when　he　ought　to　be　home　and　in　bed！　　It　was　all
  of　two…thirty。　　What　the　deuce　would　he　do　when　there　were　no　more
  thrills　in　life？
  He　stooped　and　caught　hold　of　a　corner　of　the　trap　to　test　it　…　and
  drew　back　with　a　silent　curse。　　Glass！　　He　had　cut　his　hand。　　The
  beggars　had　covered　the　trap　with　cement　and　broken　glass；　sealing
  it。　　It　would　take　time　to　cut　round　the　trap；　and　even　then　he
  wouldn't　be　sure；　they　might　have　nailed　it　down　from　the　inside。
  The　worst　of　it　was　he　would　have　to　do　the　work　himself；　and　in　the
  meantime　Karlov　would　have　a　fair　wind　for　his　propaganda　gas；　and
  perhaps　the　disposal　of　the　drums　to　some　collector　who　wasn't　above
  bargaining　for　smuggled　emeralds。　　Odd；　though；　that　Karlov　should
  have　made　a　prisoner　of　Coles。　　What　lay　behind　that　manoeuvre？
  Well；　this　trap　must　be　liberated；　no　getting　round　that。
  Hang　it；　he　wasn't　going　to　be　dishonest　exactly；　it　would　be　simply
  a　double　play；　half　for　Uncle　Sam　and　half　for　himself。　　The　idea
  of　offering　freely　his　blood　and　money　to　Uncle　Sam　and　at　the　same
  time　putting　one　over　on　the　old　gentleman　had　a　novel　appeal。
  He　stood　up　and　wiped　a　tickling　cobweb　from　his　cheek。　　As　the
  window　from　which　he　had　descended　came　into　range　he　stared；
  loose…jawed。　　Then　be　chuckled；　as　thoroughbred　adventurers　generally
  chuckle　when　they　find　themselves　at　the　bottom　of　the　sack；　the
  mouth　of　which　has　subitaneously　and　automatically　closed。　　Wasn't
  he　the　brainy　old　top？　　Wasn't　he　Sherlock　Holmes　plus？　　Old　fool；
  how　the　devil　was　he　going　to　get　back　through　that　window？
  The　drums　of　jeopardy　…　even　to　think　of　them　was　unlucky！　　Not　to
  have　planned　a　retreat；　to　have　climbed　down　a　well　and　cut　the
  bucket　rope！　　For　in　effect　that　was　precisely　what　he　had　done。
  Only　wings　could　carry　him　up　to　that　window。　　With　sardonic　humour
  he　felt　of　his　shoulder　blades。　　Not　a　feather　in　sight。　　Then　he
  touched　his　ears。　　Ah；　here　was　something　definite；　they　had　grown
  several　inches　during　the　past　few　hours。　　Monumental　ass！
  Of　course　there　would　be　the　drain。　　He　could　escape；　but；　dear　Lord！
  with　enough　noise　to　wake