there
you were, 'twixt the devil and the deep blue sea. Hang it, what evil
luck had stirred him to tell her about those emeralds? Already she
was building a story to satisfy her dramatic fancy. Two and two made
four--which signified that she was her father's daughter, that she would
not rest until she had explored every corner of this dark room. Wanting
to keep her out of it, and then dragging her into it through his
cupidity. Devil take those emeralds! Always the same; trouble wherever
they were.

The real danger would rise during the convalescence. Kitty would be
contriving to drop in frequently; not to see Hawksley especially,
but her initial success in playing hide and seek with secret agents,
friendly and otherwise, had tickled her fancy. For a while it would be
an exciting game; then it might become only a means to an end. Well, it
should not be.

Was there a girl! Already Hawksley had recorded her beauty. Very well;
the first sign of sentimental nonsense, and out he should go, Karlov or
no Karlov. Kitty wasn't going to know any hurt in this affair. That much
was decided.

Cutty stormed into his study, growling audibly. He filled a pipe and
smoked savagely. Another side, Kitty's entrance into the drama promised
to spoil his own fun; he would have to play two games instead of one. A
fine muddle!

He came to a stand before one of the windows and saw the glory of
the morning flashing from the myriad spires and towers and roofs, and
wondered why artists bothered about cows in pastures.

Touching his knees was an antique Florentine bridal chest, with
exquisite carving and massive lock. He threw back the lid and disclosed
a miscellany never seen by any eye save his own. It was all the garret
he had. He dug into it and at length resurrected the photograph of a
woman whose face was both roguish and beautiful. He sat on the floor a
la Turk and studied the face, his own tender and wistful. No resemblance
to Kitty except in the eyes. How often he had gone to her with the
question burning his lips, only to carry it away unspoken! He turned
over the photograph and read: "To the nicest man I know. With love from
Molly." With love. And he had stepped aside for Tommy Conover!

By George! He dropped the photograph into the chest, let down the lid,
and rose to his feet. Not a bad idea, that. To intrigue Kitty himself,
to smother her with attentions and gallantries, to give her out of his
wide experience, and to play the gam