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.”