"I'm telling you."
"Like Mike you are!"
"All right. It's the word to tie up the surface lines, like Newark, if
you want to know. Now, get t' hell out o' here before I hand you one on
the jaw!"
The reporter backed away. "Is that on the level?"
"Call up the barns and find out. They'll tell you what's on. And listen,
if you follow me, I'll break your head. On your way!"
The reporter dashed for the elevator--and back to the doorway in time to
see Cutty legging it for the Subway. As he was a reporter of the first
class he managed to catch the same express uptown.
On the way uptown Cutty considered that he had accomplished a shrewd
bit of work. Karlov or one of his agents would certainly see that
advertisement; and even if Karlov suspected a Federal trap he would find
some means of communicating with the issuer of the advertisement.
The thought of Kitty returned. What the dickens would she say--how would
she act--when she learned who this Hawksley was? He fervently hoped
that she had never read "Thaddeus of Warsaw." There would be all the
difference in the world between an elegant refugee Pole and a derelict
of the Russian autocracy. Perhaps the best course to pursue would be to
say nothing at all to her about the amazing discovery.
Upon leaving Elevator Four Cutty said: "Bob, I've been followed by a
sharp reporter. Sheer him off with any tale you please, and go home.
Goodnight."
"I'll fix him, sir."
Cutty took a bath, put on his lounging robe, and tiptoed to the
threshold of the patient's room. The shaded light revealed the nurse
asleep with a book on her knees. The patient's eyes were closed and his
breathing was regular. He was coming along. Cutty decided to go to bed.
Meantime, when the elevator touched the ground floor, the operator
observed a prospective passenger.
"Last trip, sir. You'll have to take the stairs."
"Where'll I find the engineer who went up with you just now?"
"The man I took up? Gone to bed, I guess."
"What floor?"
"Nothing doing, bo. I'm wise. You're the fourth guy with a subpoena
that's been after him. Nix."
"I'm not a lawyer's clerk. I'm a reporter, and I want to ask him a few
questions."
"Gee! Has that Jane of his been hauling in the newspapers? Good-night!
Toddle along, bo; there's nothing coming from me. Nix."