sed in his wallet. Another queer
thing, he could not work up a bit of the old enthusiasm. It was only
a green stone. One of the finest examples of the emerald known, and he
could not conjure up the panorama of murder and loot behind it. Possibly
because he was no longer detached; the stone had entered his own life
and touched it with tragedy. For it was tragedy to be fifty-two and
to realize it. Thus whenever he took out the emerald he found his
imagination walled in. Besides, it was a kind of magic mirror; he saw
always his own tentative villainy. He was not quite the honest man he
had once been.
But what was happening down the line there? The passengers were making
way for someone. Kitty, and racing back to the gate! She did not pause
until she stood in front of him, breathless.
"Forget something?" he asked, awkwardly.
"Uh-hm!" Suddenly she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him. "If
only the three of us could be always together! Take care of yourself.
Johnny and I need you." Then she caught his hand, gave it a pressure,
and was off again. Cutty stood there, staring blindly in her direction.
Old Stefani Gregor; sacrifice. By and by he became conscious of
something warm and hard in his palm. He looked down.
A green stone, green as the turban of a Mecca pilgrim, green as the eye
of a black panther in the thicket. He dropped the emerald into a vest
pocket and fumbled round for his pipe--always his mental crutch. He
lit it and marched out of the station into the night--chuckling
sardonically. For the second time the thought occurred to him: Of all
his earthly possessions he would carry into the Beyond--a chuckle.
Molly, then Kitty; but the drums of jeopardy were his!
End of Project Gutenberg's The Drums Of Jeopardy, by Harold MacGrath
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