If this plan failed to draw Karlov into the open, then every jeweller
and pawnbroker in town would be notified and warned. What with the
secret-service operatives and the agents of the Department of Justice
on the watch for Karlov--who would recognize his limitations of
mobility--it was reasonable to assume that the Bolshevik would be only
too glad to dicker secretly for the disposal of the stones. Now to work.
Cutty looked at his watch.
Nearly midnight. Rather late, but he knew all the tricks of this
particular kind of game. If the advertisement appeared isolated, all the
better. The real job would be to hide his identity. He saw a way round
this difficulty. He wrote out six advertisements, all worded the same.
He figured out the cost and was delighted to find that he carried the
necessary currency. Then he got into his engineer's--dungarees, touched
up his face and hands to the required griminess, and sallied forth.
Luck attended him until he reached the last morning newspaper on the
list. Here he was obliged to proceed to the city room--risky business.
A queer advertisement coming into the city room late at night was always
pried into, as he knew from experience. Still, he felt that he ought not
to miss any chance to reach Karlov.
He explained his business to the sleepy gate boy, who carried the
advertisement and the cash to the night city editor's desk. Ordinarily
the night city editor would have returned the advertisement with the
crisp information that he had no authority to accept advertisements. But
the "drums of jeopardy" caught his attention; and he sent a keen
glance across the busy room to the rail where Cutty stood, perhaps
conspicuously.
"Humph!" He called to one of the reporters. "This looks like a story.
I'll run it. Follow that guy in the overalls and see what's in it."
Cutty appreciated the interlude for what it was worth. Someone was
going to follow him. When the gate boy returned to notify him that the
advertisement had been accepted, Cutty went down to the street.
"Hey, there; just a moment!" hailed the reporter. "I want a word with
you about that advertisement."
Cutty came to a standstill. "I paid for it, didn't I?"
"Sure. But what's this about the drums of jeopardy?"
"Two great emeralds I'm hunting for," explained Cutty, recalling the man
who stood on London Bridge and peddled sovereigns at two bits each, and
no buyer.
"Can it! Can it!" jeered the reporter. "Be a good sport and give us the
tip. Strike call among the city engineers?"