The Drums of Jeopardy

"Hang it!" he said, briskly. "You shall have your chance. Talk like that

will carry a man anywhere in this country. You shall stay here until

you are strong again. Then some night I'll put you on your train for

Montana. You want to ask questions. I'll save you the trouble by telling

you what I know."

But his narrative contained no mention of the emeralds. Why? A bit

conscience-stricken because, if he could, he was going to rob his guest

on the basis that findings is keepings? Cutty wasn't ready to analyze

the omission. Perhaps he wanted Hawksley himself to inquire about the

stones; test him out. If he asked frankly that would signify that he

had brought the stones in honestly, paid his obligations to the Customs.

Otherwise, smuggling; and in that event conscience wouldn't matter;

the emeralds became a game anybody could take a hand in--anybody who

considered the United States Customs an infringement upon human rights.

What a devil of a call those stones had for him! Did they mean anything

to Hawksley aside from their intrinsic value? But for the nebulous idea,

originally, that the emeralds were mixed up somewhere in this adventure,

Cutty knew that he would have sent Hawksley to a hospital, left him to

his fate, and never known who he was.

All through the narration Hawksley listened motionless, with his eyes

closed, possibly to keep the wavering instability of the walls from

interfering with his assimilation of this astonishing series of fact.

"Found you insensible on the floor," concluded Cutty, "hoisted you to my

shoulders, took you to the street--and here you are!"

Hawksley opened his eyes. "I say, you know, what a devil of an old

Sherlock you must be! And you carried me on your shoulders across that

fire escape? Ripping! When I stepped back into that room I heard a

rushing sound. I knew! But I didn't have the least chance.... You and

that bully girl!"

Cutty swore under his breath. He had taken particular pains to avoid

mentioning Kitty; and here, first off, the fat was in the fire. He

remembered now that he had told Hawksley that Kitty had saved his life.

Fortunately, the chap wasn't keen enough with that banged-up head of his

to apply reason to the omission.

"Saved my life. Suppose she doesn't want me to know."

Cutty jumped at this. "Doesn't care to be mixed up with the Bolshevik

end of it. Besides, she doesn't know who you are."

"The fewer that know the better. But I'll always remember her kindness

and that bally pistol with the fan in it. But you? Why did you bother to

bring me up here?"