The Drums of Jeopardy Part 36

"Cutty, there is going to be a nice place in heaven for you some day. I understand. I believe Mother understands, too. Am I selfish? I can't say No to you and I can't say Yes. Yet I should be a liar if I did not say that everything in me leaps toward the idea. It is both hateful and fascinating. Common sense says Yes; and something else in me says No.

I like dainty things, dainty surroundings. I want to travel, to see something of the world. I once thought I had creative genius, but I might as well face the fact that I haven't. Only by accident will I ever earn more than I'm earning now. In a few years I'll grow old suddenly.

You know what the newspaper game does to women. The rush and hurry of it, the excitements, the ceaseless change. It is a furnace, and women shrivel up in it quicker than men."

"There won't be any nonsense, Kitty. An hour before I go aboard my s.h.i.+p.

I'll go back to the job the happiest of men. Molly's girl taken care of!

Just before your father died I promised him I'd keep an eye on you. I never forgot, but conditions made it impossible. The apartment will be yours as long as you need it. Kuroki, of course, goes with me. It's merely going by convention on the blind side. To leave you something in my will wouldn't serve at all, I'm a tough old codger and may be marked down for a hale old ninety. All I want is to make you happy and carefree."

"Cutty, I'd like to curl up in some corner and cry, gratefully. I didn't know there were such men. I just don't know what to do. It isn't as if you were asking me to be your wife. And as you say, I can't accept money. There is a pride in me that rejects the whole thing; but it may be the same fool pride that has cut away my friends. I ought to fall on your neck with joy: and here I am trying to look round corners! You are my father's friend, my mother's, mine. Why shouldn't I accept the proposition? You are alone, too. You have a perfect right to do as you please with your money, and I have an equally perfect right to accept your gifts. We are all afraid of the world, aren't we? That's probably at the bottom of my doddering. Cutty, what is love?" she broke off, whimsically.

"Looking into mirrors and hunting for specks," he answered, readily.

"I mean seriously."

"So do I. Before I went round to the stage entrance to take your mother out to supper I used to preen an hour before the mirror. My collar, my cravat, my hair, the nap on my stovepipe, my gloves--terrible things!

And what happened? Your dad, dressed in his office clothes, came along like a cyclone, walked all over my toes, and swooped up your mother right from under my nose. Now just look the proposition over from all angles. Think of yourself; let the old world go hang. They'll call it alimony. In a year or so you'll be free; and some chap like Tommy Conover will come along, and bang! You'll know all about love. Here's old Brooklyn Bridge. I'll see you to the elevator. All nonsense that you should have the least hesitance."

Fifteen minutes later he was striding along Park Row. By the swing of his stride any onlooker would have believed that Cutty was in a hurry to arrive somewhere. Instead, one was only walking. Suddenly he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk with the two currents of pedestrians flowing on each side of him, as a man might stop who saw some wonderful cloud effect. But there was nothing ecstatical in his expression; on the contrary, there was a species of bewildered terror. The psychology of all his recent actions had in a flash become vividly clear.

An unbelievable catastrophe had overtaken him. He loved Kitty, loved her with an intense, s.h.i.+elding pa.s.sion, quite unlike that which he had given her mother. Such a thing could happen! He offered not the least combat; the revelation was too smas.h.i.+ng to admit of any doubt. It was not a recrudescence of his love for Molly, stirred into action by the a.s.sociation with Molly's daughter. He wanted Kitty for himself, wanted her with every fibre in his body, fiercely. And never could he tell her--now.

The tragic irony of it all numbed him. Fate hadn't played the game fairly. He was fifty-two, on the far side of the plateau, near sunset.

It wasn't a square deal.

Still he stood there on the sidewalk, like a rock in the middle of a turbulent stream, rejecting selfish thoughts. Marry Kitty, and tell her the truth afterward. He knew the blood of her--loyalest of the loyal.

He could if he chose play that sort of game--cheat her. He could not withdraw his proposition. If she accepted it he would have to carry it through. Cheat her.

CHAPTER XXV

Kitty hung up her hat and coat. She did not pat her hair or tuck in the loose ends before the mirror--a custom as invariable as sunrise. The coat tree stood at the right of the single window, and out of this window Kitty stared solemnly, at everything and at nothing.

Burlingame eyed her seriously. Cutty had given him a glimmer of the tale--enough to make known to him that this pretty, sensible girl, though no fault of her own, was in the shadow of some actual if unknown danger. And Cutty wanted her out of town for a few days. Burlingame had intended sending Kitty out of town on an a.s.signment during Easter week.

An exchange of telegrams that morning had closed the gap in time.

"Well, you might say 'Good morning.'"

"I beg your pardon, Burly!" In newspaper offices you belong at once or you never belong; and to belong is to have your name sheared to as few syllables as possible. You are formal only to the city editor, the managing editor, and the auditor.

"What's the matter?"

"I've been set in the middle of a fairy story," said Kitty, "and I'm wondering if it's worth the trouble to try to find a way out. A Knight of the Round Table, a prince of chivalry. What would you say if you saw one in spats and a black derby?"

"Why," answered Burlingame, "I suppose I'd consider July first as the best thing that could happen to me."

Kitty laughed; and that was what he wanted.

What had that old rogue been doing now--offering Kitty his eighteen-story office building?

"It's odd, isn't it, that I shouldn't possess a little histrionic ability. You'd think it would be in my blood to act."

"It is, Kitty; only not to mimic. You're an actress, but the Big Dramatist writes your business for you. Now, I've got some fairly good news for you. An a.s.signment."

"Work! What is it?"

"I am going to send you on a visit to the most charming movie queen in the business. She is going to return to Broadway this autumn, and she has a trunkful of plays to read. I have found your judgment ace-high.

Mornings you will read with her; afternoons you will visit. She remembers your mother, who was the best comedienne of her day. So she will be quite as interested in you as you are in her. I want you to note her ways, how she amuses herself, eats, exercises. I want you to note the contents of her beautiful home; if she likes dogs or cats or horses.

You will take a camera and get half a dozen good pictures, and a page yarn for Easter Sunday. Stay as long as she wants you to."

"But who?"

Burlingame jerked his thumb toward a photograph on the wall.

"Oh! This will be the most scrumptious event in my life. I'm wild about her! But I haven't any clothes!"

Burlingame waved his hands. "I knew I'd hear that yodel. Eve didn't have anything to speak of, but she travelled a lot. Truth is, Kitty, you'd better dress in monotones. She might wake up to the fact that you're a mighty pretty young woman and suddenly become temperamental. She has a husband round the lot somewhere. Make him think his wife is a lucky woman. Here's all the dope--introduction, expenses, and tickets. Train leaves at two-fifty. Run along home and pack. Remember, I want a page yarn. No flapdoodle or mush; straight stuff. She doesn't need any advertising. If you go at it right you two will react upon each other as a tonic."

Kitty realized that this little junket was the very thing she needed--open s.p.a.ces, long walks in which to think out her problem.

She hurried home and spent the morning packing. When this heartrending business was over she summoned Tony Bernini.

"I am going out of town, Mr. Bernini. I may be gone a week."

"All right, Miss Conover." Bernini hid a smile. He knew all about this trip, having been advised by Cutty over the wire.

"Am I being followed any more?"

"Not that we know of. Still, you never can tell. What's your destination?" Kitty told him. "Better not go by train. I can get a fast roadster and run you out in a couple of hours. Right after lunch you go to the boss's garage and wait for me. I'll take care of your grips and camera. I'll follow on your heels."

"Anybody would consider that Karlov was after me instead of Hawksley."

Bernini smiled. "Miss Conover, the moment Karlov puts his hands on you the whole game goes blooey. That's the plain fact. There is death in this game. These madmen expect to blow up the United States on May first. We are easing them along because we want the top men in our net.

But if Karlov takes it into his head to get you, and succeeds, he'll have a stranglehold on the whole local service; because we'd have to make great concessions to free you."

"Why wasn't I told this at the start?"

"You were told, indirectly. We did not care to frighten you."

"I'm not frightened," said Kitty.

"Nope. But we wish to the Lord you were, Miss Conover. When you want to come home, wire me and I'll motor out for you."

Another fragment. Karlov's agent sought his chief and found him in the cellar of the old house, sinisterly engaged. The wall bench was littered with paraphernalia well known to certain chemists. Had the New York bomb squad known of the existence of this den, the short hair on their necks would have risen.

"Well?" greeted Karlov, moodily.

"I have found the man in the dress suit."