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?"
"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."
"Would ten dollars make you talk?" asked the reporter, desperately.
"Ye-ah - about the Kaiser and his wood-sawing. By-by!"
The operator, secretly enjoying the reporter's discomfiture, shut off the lights, slammed the elevator door to the latch, and walked to the revolving doors, to the tune of Garry Owen.
The reporter did not follow him but sat down on the first step of the marble stairs to think, for there was a lot to think about. He sensed clearly enough that all this talk about street-railway strikes and subpoenas was rot. The elevator man and the engineer were in cahoots. There was a story here, but how to get to it was a puzzler.
He had one chance in a hundred of landing it - tip the mail clerk in the business office to keep an eye open for the man who called for "Double C" mail.
Eventually, the man who did call for that mail presented a card to the mail clerk. At the bottom of this card was the name of the chief of the United States Secret Service.
"And say to the reporter who has probably asked to watch - hands off! Understand? Absolutely - off!"
When the reporter was informed he blew a kiss into air and sought his city editor for his regular assignment. He understood, with the wisdom of his calling, that one didn't go whale fishing with trout rods.
