rels had been watching. They must have entered the
apartment shortly after he had entered hers. Conceivably they would have
Gregor's key. And they had watched and waited, striking him down it may
have been at the very moment he had crossed the sill of the window.

Her hand shook so idiotically that it was impossible for a time to tell
if the man's heart was beating. All at once a wave of hot fury rushed
over her--fury at the cowardliness of the assault--and the vertigo
passed. She laid her palm firmly over Johnny Two-Hawks' heart. Alive!
He was alive! She straightened his body and put a pillow under his head.
Then she sought water and towels.

There was no cut on his forehead, only blood; but the top of his head
had been cruelly beaten. He was alive, but without immediate aid he
might die. The poor young man!

There were two physicians in the block; one or the other would be in.
She ran to the door, to find it locked. She had forgotten. Next she
found the telephone wire cut and the speaking tube battered and inutile.
She would have to return to her own apartment to summon help. She dared
not leave the light on. The scoundrels might possibly return, and
the light would warn them that their victim had been discovered; and
naturally they would wish to ascertain whether or not they had succeeded
in their murderous assault.

As she was passing the first-landing windows she saw Cutty emerging
from the elevator. She flew across the fire-escape platform with the
resilient step of one crossing thin ice.

Probably the most astonished man in New York was the war correspondent
when the door opened and a pair of arms were flung about him, and a
voice smothered in the lapel of his coat cried: "Oh, Cutty, I never was
so glad to see any one!"

"What in the name of--"

"Come! We'll handle this ourselves. Hurry!" She dragged him along by the
sleeve.

"But--"

"It is life and death! No talk now!"

Cutty, immaculate in his evening clothes, very much perturbed, went
along after her. As she passed through the kitchen window and beckoned
him to follow he demurred.

"Kitty, what the deuce is going on here?"

"I'll answer your questions when we get him into my apartment. They
tried to murder him; left him there to die!"

Cutty possessed a great art, an art highly developed only in explorers
and newspaper reporters of the first order--adaptability; of being able
to cast aside instantly the conventions of civilization and let dow