"It's all so exciting!" said Kitty. "But that poor old man Gregor! He

had a wonderful violin, Cutty; and sometimes I used to hear him play

folklore music--sad, haunting melodies."

"We'll know in a little while what's become of him. I doubt there is a

foreign organization in the city that hasn't one or more of our men on

the inside. A word will be dropped somewhere. I'm rarely active on

this side of the Atlantic; and what I'm doing now is practically due to

interest. But every active operative in New York, Boston, Philadelphia,

and Chicago is on the lookout for a man who, if left free, will stir

up a lot of trouble. He has leadership, this Boris Karlov, a former

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intimate here of Trotzky's. We have reason to believe that he slipped

through the net in San Francisco. Probably under a cleverly forged

passport. Now please describe the man who came in with the policeman. I

haven't had time to make inquiries at the precinct, where they will have

a minute description of him."

"He made me think of a gorilla, just as I told you. His face was pretty

well banged up. Naturally I did not notice any scar. A dreadfully black

beard, shaven."

"Squat, powerful, like a gorilla. Lord, I wish I'd had a glimpse of him!

He's one of the few topnotchers I haven't met. He's the spark, the hand

on the plunger. The powder is all ready in this land of ours; our job is

to keep off the sparks until we can spread the stuff so it will only

go puff instead of bang. This man Karlov is bad medicine for democracy.

Poor devil!"

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I'm honestly sorry for them. This fellow Karlov has suffered.

He is now a species of madman nothing will cure. He and his kind have

gained their ends in Russia, but the impetus to kill and burn and loot

is still unchecked. Sorry, yes; but we can't have them here. They

remind me of nothing so much as those blind deep-sea monsters in one of

Kipling's tales, thrown up into air and sunlight by a submarine volcano,

slashing and bellowing. But we can't have them here any longer. Keep

those revolvers under your pillow. All you have to do is to point.

Nobody will know that you can't shoot. And always remember, we're

watching over you. Good-night."

"Mouquin's for lunch?"

"Well, I'll be hanged! But it can't be, Kitty. You and I must not be

seen in public. If that was Karlov you will be marked, and so will any

one who travels with you."




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