behind him. Episodes in the night.

Kitty dreamed of wonderful rose gardens, endless and changing; but
strive as she would she could not find Cutty anywhere, which worried
her, even in her dream.

The nurse heard the patient utter a single word several times before he
fell asleep.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Fan!" And he smiled.

She hunted for the palm leaf, but with a slight gesture he signified
that that was not what he wanted.

Cutty played solitaire with his chrysoprase until the telephone broke in
upon his reveries. What he heard over the wire disturbed him greatly.

"You were followed from the Avenue to the apartment."

"How do you know?"

"I am Henderson. You assigned me to watch the apartment in Eightieth
through the night. I followed the man who followed you. He saw your face
when you lit the pipe. When the banker left Miss Conover he was followed
home. That established him in the affair. The follower hung round, and
so did I. You appeared. He took a chance shot in the dark. Not sure, but
doing a bit of clever guessing."

"You still followed him?"

"Yes."

"Where did he wind up?"

"A house in the warehouse district. Vacant warehouses on each side. Some
new nest. I can lead you to it, sir, any time you wish."

"Thanks."

Cutty pushed aside the telephone and returned to his green stones. After
all, why worry? It was unfortunate, of course, but the apartment was
more inaccessible than the top of the Matterhorn. Still, they might
discover what his real business was and interfere seriously with his
future work on the other side. A ruin in the warehouse district? A good
place to look for Stefani Gregor--if he were still alive.

He was. And in his dark room he cried piteously for water--water--water!

CHAPTER XVII

A March day, sunny and cloudless, with fresh, bracing winds. Green
things pushed up from the soil; an eternal something was happening to
the tips of the tree branches; an eternal something was happening in
young hearts. A robin shook the dust of travel from his wings and bathed
publicly in a park basin.

Here and there under the ten thousand roofs of the great city poets were
busy with inkpots, trying to say an old thing in a new way. Woe to the
pinched soul that did not expand this day, for it was spring. Expansion!
Nature--perhaps she was relenting a little, perhaps she saw that
humanity was sliding down the scale, withering, and a bit of extra
sunshine would serve to che