When Cutty awoke - having had about two hours' sleep - he was instantly conscious that the zest had gone from the adventure. It had resolved itself into official business into which he had projected himself gratuitously; and having assumed the offices of chief factor, he would have to see the affair through, victim of his own greediness. It did not serve to marshal excuses. He had frankly entered the affair in the role of buccaneer; and here he was, high and dry on the reef.
The drums of jeopardy, so far as he was concerned, had been shot into the moon two hundred thousand miles out of reach. He found himself resenting Hawksley's honesty in the matter of the customs.
But immediately this sense of resentment caused him to chuckle.
Certainly some ancestor of his had been a Black Bart or a Galloping Dick.
He would put a few straight questions to Hawksley, however. To have lost all those precious stones and not to have inquired about them was a bit foggy, wasn't normal, human. Unless - bang on the plexus came the thought! - the beggar had hidden them himself. He had been exceedingly clever in hiding the wallet. Come to think of it, he hadn't mentioned that, either. Of course he had hidden the stones - either in Gregor's apartment or m Kitty's. Blind as a bat. Now he understood why Karlov had made a prisoner of Coles. The old buzzard had sensed a trap and had countered it. The way of the transgressor was hard. His punishment for entertaining a looter's idea would be work when he wanted to loaf and enjoy himself.
Arriving at Hawksley's door he was confronted by a spectacle not without its humorous touch: The nurse extending a bowl and Hawksley staring at the sky beyond the window, stonily.
"But you must!" insisted Miss Frances.
"Chops or beefsteak!"
"It will give you nausea."
"Permit me to find out. Dash it, I'm hungry!" Hawksley declared.
"I'm no fever patient. A smart rap on the head; nothing more than that. Healthy food will draw the blood down from there. Haven't lost anything but a few hours of consciousness, and you treat me as though I'd been jolly well peppered with shrapnel and gassed.
Touch that stuff? Rather not! Chops or beefsteak!"
"Let him have it, Miss Frances," advised Cutty from the doorway.
"But it's unusual," replied the nurse as a final protest.
"Give it a try. Is he strong enough to sit up through breakfast?"
"He's really not fit. But if he insists on doing the one he might as well do the other."
"Righto!" - from the patient.
"Will you tell Kuroki to make it a beefsteak breakfast for four?
I know how Mr. Hawksley feels. Been through the same bout." Cutty wanted Miss Frances out of the room.
"Very well. Only, I've warned him." Miss Frances left, somewhat miffed.
"Thanks," said Hawksley, smiling. "She thinks I'm a canary."
"Whereas you're an eagle."
"Or a vulture."
Cutty chew up a chair. "Frankly, I believe a good breakfast will put you a peg up."
"A beefsteak!" Hawksley stared ecstatically at the ceiling. "You see, I'm naturally tough. Always went in for rough sports - football, rowing, boxing. Poor old Stefani's idea; and not so bad, either. Of course he was always worrying about my hands; but I always took great care to keep them soft and pliant. Which sounds rummy, considering the pounding I used to give and take. My word, I used to go to bed with my hands done up in ointments like a professional beauty! Of course I'm dizzy yet, and the bally spot is sore; but solid food and some exercise will have me off your hands in no time. I don't fancy being coddled, y'know. I've been trouble enough."
"Don't let that worry you. I'll bring some togs in; flannels and soft shirts. We're about the same height. Anyhow, the difference won't be noticeable in flannels. I've had to tell Miss Conover a bit of fiction. I'll tell you, so if need arises you can back me up.
When Cutty finished his romance Hawksley frowned. "All said and done, if I'm not that splendid old chap's protege, what am I? But for his patience and kindness I'd have run true to the blood. He was with me at the balancing age, when a chap becomes a man or a rotter. He actually gave up a brilliant career because of me. He is a great musician, with that strange faculty of taking souls out of people and untwisting them. I have the gift, too, in a way; but there's always a bit of the devil in me when I play. Natural bent, I fancy. And they've killed him!"
"No," said Cutty, slowly. "But this is for your ear alone: He's alive; and one of these days I'll bring him to you. So buck up."
"Alive! Stefani alive!" whispered Hawksley. He stretched out his hand rather blindly, and Cutty was surprised at the strength of the grip. "Makes me feel choky. I say, are all Americans good Samaritans?"
Cutty put this aside because he did not care to disillusion Hawksley.
"I found an appraiser's receipt in your wallet. You carried some fine jewels. Did you hide them or did Karlov get them? It struck me as odd that you haven't inquired about them." The change that came into Hawksley's face alarmed Cutty. The rich olive skin became chalky and the eyes closed. "What is it? Shall I call Miss Frances?"
"No." Hawksley opened his eyes, but looked dully straight ahead.
"The stones! I was trying to forget! My God, I was trying to forget!"
"But they were yours?" Cutty was mystified beyond expression.
