"What?" barked Cutty.
"Somebody is offering to buy them. There was an advertisement in the
paper this morning. Cutty?"
"Yes."
"The first problem in arithmetic is two and two make four. By-by!"
Dizzily Cutty hung up the receiver. He had not reckoned on the
possibility of Kitty seeing that damfool advertisement. Two and two made
four; and four and four made eight; so on indefinitely. That is to say,
Kitty already had a glimmer of the startling truth. The initial misstep
on his part had been made upon her pronouncement of the name Stefani
Gregor. He hadn't been able to control his surprise. And yesterday,
having frankly admitted that he knew Gregor, all that was needed
to complete the circle was that advertisement. Cutty tore his hair,
literally. The very door he hoped she might overlook he had thrown open
to her.
Thaddeus of Warsaw. But it should not be. He would continue to offer
a haven to that chap; but no nonsense. None of that sinister and
unfortunate blood should meddle with Kitty Conover's happiness. Her
self-appointed guardian would attend to that.
He realized that his attitude was rather inexplicable; but there were
some adventures which hypnotized women; and one of this sort was
now unfolding for Kitty. That she had her share of common sense was
negligible in face of the facts that she was imaginative and romantical
and adventuresome, and that for the first time she was riding one of the
great middle currents in human events. She was Molly's girl; Cutty was
going to look out for her.
Mighty odd that this fear for her should have sprung into being that
night, quite illogically. Prescience? He could not say. Perhaps it was
a borrowed instinct--fatherly; the same instinct that would have stirred
her father into action--the protection of that dearest to him.
If he told her who Hawksley really was, that would intrigue her. If he
made a mystery of the affair, that, too, would intrigue her. And there
you were, 'twixt the devil and the deep blue sea. Hang it, what evil
luck had stirred him to tell her about those emeralds? Already she
was building a story to satisfy her dramatic fancy. Two and two made
four--which signified that she was her father's daughter, that she would
not rest until she had explored every corner of this dark room. Wanting
to keep her out of it, and then dragging her into it through his
cupidity. Devil take those emeralds! Always the same; trouble wherever
they were.
The real danger would rise during the convalescence. Kitty would be
contriving to drop in frequently; not to see Hawksley especially,
but her initial success in playing hide and seek with secret agents,
friendly and otherwise, had tickled her fancy. For a while it would be
an exciting game; then it might become only a means to an end. Well, it
should not be.