Kitty lifted out the wallet from behind the flatirons. No doubt of it,
Johnny Two-Hawks had placed it there when she had gone to the speaking
tube to summon the janitor. Not knowing if he would ever call for it!
Preferring that she rather than his enemies should have it. And without
a word! What a simple yet amazing hiding place; and but for the need of
a flatiron the wallet would have stayed there until she moved. Left it
there, with the premonition that he was heading into trouble. But
what if they had killed him? How would she have explained the wallet's
presence in her apartment? Good gracious, what an escape!
Without direct consciousness she raised the flap. She saw the edges of
money and documents; but she did not touch anything. There was no
need. She knew it belonged to Johnny Two-Hawks. Of course there was
an appalling attraction. The wallet was, figuratively, begging to be
investigated. But resolutely she closed the flap. Why? Because it was
as though Two-Hawks had placed the wallet in her hands, charging her
to guard it against the day he reclaimed it. There was no outward proof
that the wallet was his. She just knew, that was all.
Still, she examined the outside carefully. In one corner had been
originally a monogram or a crest; effectually obliterated by the
application of fire.
Who he was and what he was, by a simple turn of the wrist. It was
Cutty's affair now, not hers. He had a legal right to examine the
contents. He was an agent of the Federal Government. The drums of
jeopardy and Stefani Gregor and Johnny Two-Hawks, all interwoven. She
had waited in vain for Cutty to mention the emeralds. What signified his
silence? She had indirectly apprised him of the fact that she knew
the author of that advertisement offering to purchase the drums, no
questions asked. Who but Cutty in New York would know about them? The
mark of the thong. Johnny Two-Hawks had been carrying the drums, and
Karlov's men had torn them from their victim's neck during the battle.
Was there any reason why Cutty should not have taken her completely into
his confidence? Palaces looted. If Stefani Gregor had lived in a palace,
why not his protege? Still, it was possible Cutty was holding back until
he could tell her everything.
But what to do with it? If she called him up and made known her
discovery, Cutty would rush up as fast as a taxicab could bring him.
He had peremptorily ordered her not to come to his apartment for the
present. But to sit here and wait, to be alone again after he had gone!
It was not to be borne. Orders or no orders, she would carry the wallet
to him. He could lecture her as much as he pleased. To-night, at least,
she would lay aside her part as parlour maid in the drama. It would give
her something to do, keep her mind off herself. Nothing but excitement
would pull her out of this semi-hysterical doldrum.