“Nobody but Harrison and the nurse. Both good citizens, and I've taken them into my confidence to a certain extent. You can talk freely before them.” “Am I to see the patient?” “Harrison says not. About Wednesday your Two-Hawks will be sitting up. I've determined to keep the poor devil here until he can take care of himself. But he is flat broke.” “He said he had money.” “Well, Karlov's men stripped him clean.” “Have you any idea who he is?” “To be honest, that's one of the reasons why I want to keep him here. He's Russian, for all his Oxford English and his Italian gestures; and from his babble I imagine he's been through seven kinds of hell. Torches and hobnailed boots and the incessant call for a woman named Olga--a young woman about eighteen.” “How did you find that out?” “From a photograph I found in the lining of his coat. A pretty blonde girl.” “Good heavens!”--recollecting her dream. “Where was it printed?” “Amateur photography. I'll pick it up on the way to the living room.” It was nothing like the blonde girl of her dream. Still, the girl was charming. Kitty turned over the photograph. There was writing on the back. “Russian? What does it say?” “'To Ivan from Olga with all her love.'” Cutty was conscious of the presence of an indefensible malice in his tones. Why the deuce should he be bitter--glad that the chap had left behind a sweetheart? He knew exactly the basis of Kitty's interest, as utterly detached as that of a reporter going to a fire. On the day the patient could explain himself, Kitty's interest would automatically cease. An old dog in the manger? Malice. “Cutty, something dreadful has happened to this poor young woman. That's what makes him cry out the name. Caught in that horror, and probably he alone escaped. Is it heartless to be glad I'm an American? Do they let in these Russians?” “Not since the Trotzky regime. I imagine Two-Hawks slipped through on some British passport. He'll probably tell us all about it when he comes round. But how do you feel after last night's bout?” “Alive! And I'm going on being alive, forever and ever! Oh, those awful drums! They look like dead eyes in those dim corners. Tumpitum-tump! Tumpitum-tump!” she cried, linking her arm in his. “What a gorgeous view! Just what I'm going to do when my ship comes in--live in a loft. I really believe I could write up here--I mean worth-while things I could enjoy writing and sell.” “It's yours if you want it when I leave.” “And I'd have a fine time explaining to my friends! You old innocent! ... Or are you so innocent?” “We do live in a cramped world. But I meant it. Don't forget to whistle down to Tony Bernini when you get back home to-night.” “I promise. “Why the gurgle?” “Because I'm tremendously excited. All my life I've wanted to do mysterious things. I've been with the audience all the while, and I want to be with the actors.” “You'll give some man a wild dance.” “If I do I'll dance with him. Now lead me to the cookies.”