This quality of light irony in a woman was a distinct novelty to Hawksley. She had humour, then? So much the better. An added zest to the game he was planning. He recalled now that she was not of the clinging kind either. A woman with a humorous turn of mind was ten times more elusive than a purely sentimental one. Give him an hour or two with that old Amati—if she really cared for music! She would be coming to the apartment again—some afternoon, when his host was out of the way. Better still, he would call her by telephone; the plea of loneliness. Scoundrel? Of course he was. He was not denying that. He would embark upon this affair without the smug varnish of self-lies. Fire—to play with it!
He ate his portion of beefsteak, potatoes, and toast, and emptied his coffee cup. It was really the first substantial meal he had had in many hours. A feeling of satisfaction began to permeate him. He smiled at Miss Frances, who shook her head dubiously. She could not quite make him out pathologically. Perhaps she had been treating him as shell-shocked when there was nothing at all the matter with his nerves.
Presently Kuroki came in with a yellow envelope, which he laid at the side of Cutty's plate.
“Telegrams!” exploded Cutty. “Hang it, I don't want any telegrams!”
“Open it and have it over with,” suggested Kitty.
“If you don't mind.”
It was the worst kind of news—a summons to Washington for conference. Which signified that the Government's plans were completed and that shortly he would be on his way to Piraeus.
A fine muddle! Hawksley in no condition to send upon his way; Kitty's affair unsettled; the emeralds still in camera obscura; Karlov at liberty with his infernal schemes, and Stefani Gregor his prisoner. Wild horses, pulling him two ways. A word, and Karlov would come to the end of his rope suddenly. But if he issued that word the whole fabric he had erected so painstakingly would blow away like cardboard. If those emeralds turned up in the possession of any man but himself the ensuing complications would be appalling. For he himself would be forced to tell what he knew about the stones: Hawksley would be thrust conspicuously into the limelight, and sooner or later some wild anarch would kill him. Known, Hawksley would not have one chance in a thousand. Kitty would be dragged into the light and harassed and his own attitude toward her misunderstood. All these things, if he acted upon his oath. Nevertheless, he determined to risk suspension of operations until he returned from Washington. There was one sound plank to cling to. He had first-hand information that anarchistic elements would remain in their noisome cellars until May first. If he were not ordered abroad until after that, no harm would follow his suspension of operations.
“Bad news?” asked Kitty, anxiously.
“Aggravating rather than bad. I am called to Washington. May be gone four or five days. Official business. Leaves things here a bit in the air.”