able condition, would not have the wit to manufacture character,
camouflage his soul.

"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 k