A bit of natural cynicism edged into his thoughts: Kitty had seen through the beard, otherwise she would have turned the affair over to the police. Not at all like her mother, yet equally her mother's match in beauty and intelligence. Conover's girl, whose eyes had nearly popped out of her head at the first sight of those drum-lined walls of his.
Two-Hawks. What was it that was trying to stir in his recollection?
Two-Hawks. He was sure he had heard that name before. Hawksley meant nothing at all; but Two-Hawks possessed a strange attraction.
He stared off into space. He might have heard the name in a tongue other than English.
A sound. It came from the lips of the young man. Cutty frowned.
The poor chap wasn't breathing in a promising way; he groaned after each inhalation. And what had become of the old fellow Kitty called Gregory? A queer business.
Kitty came in with a basin and a roll of absorbent cotton.
"He is groaning!" she whispered.
"Pretty rocky condition, I should say. That handkerchief in his cap doubtless saved him. Now, little lady, I frankly don't like the idea of his being here. Suppose he dies? In that event there'll be the very devil to pay. You're all alone here, without even a maid."
"Am I all alone?" - softly.
"Well, no; come to think of it, I'm no longer your godfather in theory. Give me the cotton and hold the basin."
He was very tender. The wound bled a little; but it was not the kind that bled profusely. It was less a cut than a smashing bruise.
"Well, that's all I can do. Who was this tenant Gregory?"
"A dear old man. A valet at a Broadway hotel. Oh, I forgot!
Johnny Two-Hawks called him Stefani Gregor."
"Stefani Gregor?"
"Yes. What is it? Why do you say it like that?"
"Say it like what?" - sparring for time.
"As if you had heard the name before?"
"Just as I thought!" cried Cutty, his nimble mind pouncing upon a happy invention. "You're romantic, Kitty. You're imagining all sorts of nonsense about this chap, and you must not let the situation intrigue you. If I spoke the name oddly - this Stefani Gregor - it was because I sensed in a moment that this was a bit of the overflow. Southeastern Europe, where the good Samaritan gets kicked instead of thanked. Now, here's a good idea. Of course we can't turn this poor chap loose upon the public, now that we know his life is in danger. That's always the trouble with this Samaritan business. When you commit a fine action you assume an obligation.
You hoist the Old Man of the Sea on your shoulders, as it were. The chap cannot be allowed to remain here. So, if Harrison agrees, we'll take him up to my diggings, where no Bolshevik will ever lay eyes upon him."
"Bolshevik?"
"For the sake of a handle. They might be Chinamen, for all I know.
I can take care of him until he is on his feet. And you will be saved all this annoyance.
"But I don't believe it's going to be an annoyance. I'm terribly interested, and want to see it through."
"If he can be moved, out he goes. No arguments. He can't stay in this apartment. That's final."
"Exactly why not?" Kitty demanded, rebelliously.
"Because I say so, Kitty."
"Is Stefani Gregor an undesirable?"
"You knew him. What do you say?" countered her godfather, evading the trap. The innocent child! He smiled inwardly.
Kitty was keen. She sensed an undercurrent, and her first attempt to touch it had failed. The mere name of Stefani Gregor had not roused Cutty's astonishment. She was quite positive that the name was not wholly unfamiliar to her father's friend.
Still, something warned her not to press in this direction. He would be on the alert. She must wait until he had forgotten the incident. So she drew up a chair beside the bed and sat down.
Cutty leaned against the footrail, his expression neutral. He sighed inaudibly. His delightful catnap was over. Stefani Gregor, Kitty's neighbour, a valet in a fashionable hotel! Stefani Gregor, who, upon a certain day, had placed the drums of jeopardy in the palms of a war correspondent known to his familiars as Cutty. And who was this young man on the bed?
"There goes the bell!" cried Kitty, jumping up.
"Wait!"
The ring was repeated vigorously and impatiently.
"Kitty, I don't quite like the sound of that bell. Harrison would have no occasion to be impatient. Somebody in a hurry. Now, attend to me. I'm going to steal out to the kitchen. Don't be afraid. Call if I'm needed. Open the door just a crack, with your foot against it. If it's Harrison he'll be in uniform. Call out his name. Slam the door if it is someone you don't know."
Kitty opened the door as instructed, but she swung it wide because one of the men outside was a policeman. The man behind him was a thickset, squat individual, with puffed, discoloured eyes and a nose that reminded Kitty of an alligator pear.
"What's going on here?" the policeman demanded to know.
