Now, in the false dawn, a blue-jay awoke somewhere among the oaks and filled the misty silence with harsh grace-notes.
Then reaction, setting in like a tide, stirred more sombre depths in the heart of this young man.
He thought of Riga; and of the Red Terror; of murder at noon-day, and outrage by night. He remembered his only encounter with a lovely child -- once Grand Duchess of Esthonia -- then a destitute refugee in silken rags.
What a day that had been. ... Only one day and one evening. ... And never had he been so near in love in all his life. ...
That one day and evening had been enough for her to confide in an American officer her entire life's history. ... Enough for him to pledge himself to her service while life endured. ... And if emotion had swept every atom of reason out of his youthful head, there in the turmoil and alarm -- there in the terrified, riotous city jammed with refugees, reeking with disease, halt frantic from famine and the filthy, rising flood of war -- if really it all had been merely romantic impulse, ardour born of overwrought sentimentalism, nevertheless, what he had pledged that day to a little Grand Duchess in rags, he had fulfilled to the letter within the hour.
As the false dawn began to fade, he loosened hunting coat and cartridge sling, drew from his shirt-bosom the morocco case. It bore the arms and crest of the Grand Duchess Theodorica of Esthonia.
His fingers trembled slightly as he pressed the jewelled spring. It opened on an empty casket.
In the sudden shock of horror and astonishment, his convulsive clutch on the spring started a tiny bell ringing. Then, under his very nose, the empty tray slid aside revealing another tray underneath, set solidly with brilliants. A rainbow glitter streamed from the unset gems in the silken tray. Like an incredulous child he touched them. They were magnificently real.
In the centre lay blazing the great Erosite gem, -- the Flaming Jewel itself. Priceless diamonds, sapphires, emeralds ringed it. In his hands he held nearly four millions of dollars.
Gingerly he balanced the emblazoned case, fascinated. Then he replaced the empty tray, closed the box, thrust it into the bosom of his flannel shirt and buttoned it in.
Now there was little more for this excited young man to do. He was through with Clinch. Hal Smith, hold-up man and dish-washer at Clinch's Dump, had ended his career. The time had now arrived for him to vanish and make room for James Darragh.
Because there still remained a very agreeable role for Darragh to play. and he meant to eat it up -- as Broadway has it.