the drums of jeopardy- 第30部分

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　the　dead。　　And　that　would　write　〃Finis〃　to
this　particular　adventure。　　The　quarry　and　the　emeralds　would　be
gone　before　he　could　return　with　help。　　When　everything　had　gone　so
smoothly　…　a　jolt　like　this！

A　crowded　day；　and　no　mistake；　as　full　of　individual　acts　as　a　bill
at　a　vaudeville；　trained…animal　act　last。　　Was　it　possible　that　he
had　gone　fiddle　hunting　that　morning；　netting　an　Amati　worth　ten
thousand　dollars？　　Hawksley　…　no；　he　couldn't　blame　Hawksley。　　Still；
if　this　young　Humpty…Dumpty　hadn't　been　pushed　off　his　wall　he；
Cutty；　would　not　now　be　marooned　upon　this　roof　'twixt　the　devil
and　the　deep　blue　sea。　　To　remain　here　until　sunrise　would　be
impossible；　to　slide　down　the　drain　was　equally　impossible　…　that
is；　if　he　ever　wanted　to　see　Boris　Karlov　again。　　The　way　of　the
transgressor　was　hard。

He　sat　on　his　heels　and　let　his　gaze　rove　four…square；　permitting
no　object　to　escape。　　He　saw　a　clothes　pole　leaning　against　the
chimney。　　Evidently　the　former　tenants　had　hung　up　their　laundry
here。　　There　was　no　clothesline；　however。　　Caught；　jolly　well；
blooming　well　caught！　　If　ever　this　got　abroad　he　would　be　laughed
out　of　the　game。　　He　wasn't　going　to　put　one　over　on　Uncle　Sam　after
all。　　There　might　be　some　kind　of　a　fire　escape　on　the　front　of
the　house。　　No　harm　in　taking　a　look；　it　would　serve　to　pass　the
time。

There　was　the　usual　frontal　parapet　about　three　feet　in　height。
Upturned　in　the　shadow　lay　a　gift　from　the　gods…a　battered　kitchen
chair；　probably　used　to　reach　the　clothesline　in　the　happy　days　when
the　word　〃Bolshevism〃　was　known　to　only　a　select　few　dark　angels。

Cutty　waved　a　hand　cheerfully　if　vaguely　toward　his　guiding　star；
picked　up　the　chair；　commandeered　the　clothes　pole；　and　silently
manoeuvred　to　the　wall　of　the　warehouse。　　Standing　on　the　chair　he
placed　the　tip　of　the　pole　against　the　top　of　the　upper　frame　and
pushed　the　frame　halfway　up。　　He　repeated　this　act　upon　the　obdurate
lower　half。　　He　heaved　slowly　but　with　all　his　force。　　Glory　be；
the　lower　half　went　up　far　enough　to　afford　ingress！　　He　would　eat
his　breakfast　in　the　apartment　as　usual。　　To…morrow　night　he　would
establish　his　line　of　retreat　by　fetching　a　light　rope　ladder。
There　was　sweat　at　the　roots　of　his　hair；　however；　when　he　finally
gained　the　street。　　He　was　very　tired。　　He　observed　mournfully　that
the　vigour　which　had　always　recharged　itself；　no　matter　how
recklessly　he　had　drawn　upon　it；　was　beginning　to　protest。
Fifty…two。

Well；　his　troubles　were　over　for　the　night。　　So　he　believed。
Arriving　home；　dirty　and　spent；　he　had　to　find　Kitty　asleep　on　the
divan！



CHAPTER　XXII


〃Kitty；〃　he　said；　breaking　the　tableau；　〃what　are　you　doing　here？〃

〃You've　been　hurt！　　There　is　blood　on　you！〃

〃A　trifling　cut。　　But　I'm　hurt；　nevertheless；　that　you　should　be　so
thoughtless　as　to　come　here　against　my　orders。　　It　doesn't　matter
that　Karlov　has　given　up　the　idea　of　having　you　followed。　　But　for
the　sake　of　us　all　you　must　be　made　to　understand　that　we　are
d