The Voice in the Fog Part 21

Hunting a few years ago and clumsily fell on the camp-stove. Scar on my shoulder where I struck as I rolled off. Stupid. Tripped over a case of canned corn. I have fingers now as sensitive as a blind man's."

"I am sorry," she said perfunctorily. "You must tell me of your adventures."

"Had a raft of 'em. Mr. Killigrew gone to New York?"

"For a part of the day. Had your breakfast?"

"No. Nothing to do; thought I'd wait for the rest of them. Read a little. Swim this morning, just about dawn. Refreshing."

"Then I'll see you at breakfast."

He smiled and stepped aside for her to pa.s.s. She proved rather a puzzle to him.

Kitty spent several minutes in the telephone booth.

She began to realize that the solution of the Webb-Monckton wager was as far away as ever. Lord Monckton was leaving on the morrow. She must play her cards quickly or throw them away. The fact that neither had in any way referred to the character of the wager left her in a haze. Sometime during the day or evening she must maneuver to get them together and tell them frankly that she knew everything. She wanted her sapphires; more, she wanted the incubus removed from Thomas'

shoulders. Mad as March hares, both of them; for they had not the least idea that the sapphires were hers!

Later, she stole to the library door and peered in. Thomas was at his desk. For a long time she watched him. He appeared restless, uneasy.

He nibbled the penholder, rumpled his hair, picked up the ivory elephant and balanced it, plunged furiously into work again, paused, stared at the Persian carpet, turned the inkwell around, worked, paused, sighed. Thomas was very unhappy. This state of mind was quite evident to Kitty. Kissed her and hadn't wanted to. He was unlike any young man she knew.

Presently he began to scribble aimlessly on the blotter. All at once he flung down the pen, rose and walked out through the cas.e.m.e.nt-doors, down toward the sea. Kitty's curiosity was irresistible. She ran over to the blotter.

Fool!

Blighter!

Rotter!

Double-dyed a.s.s!

Blockhead!

Kitty Killigrew--(scratched out)!

Nincomp.o.o.p!

Haberdasher!

a.s.s!

All of which indicated to the investigator that Thomas for the present had not a high opinion of himself. An ordinary young woman would have laughed herself into hysterics. Kitty tore off the scribbles, not the least sign of laughter in her eyes, and sought the window-seat in the living-room. There was one word which stood out strangely alien: haberdasher. Why that word? Was it a corner of the curtain she had been striving to look behind? Had Thomas been a haberdasher prior to his stewardship? And was he ashamed of the fact?

Haberdasher.

What's the matter with that word? If it irked Thomas it irked Kitty no less. It is a part of youth to crave for high-sounding names and occupations. It is in the mother's milk they feed on. Mothers dream of their babes growing up into presidents or at least amba.s.sadors, if sons; t.i.tles and brilliant literary salons, if daughters. What living mother would harbor a dream of a clerkship in a haberdasher's shop?

Perish the thought! Myself for years was told that I had as good a chance as anybody of being president of the United States; a far better chance than many, being as I was _my_ mother's son.

Irish blood and romance will always be mysteriously intertwined.

Haberdasher did not fit in anywhere with Kitty's projects; it was off-key, a jarring note. Whoever heard of a haberdasher's clerk reading _Morte d'Arthur_ and writing sonnets? She was reasonably certain that while Thomas had jotted it down in scornful self-flagellation, it occupied a place somewhere in his past.

"They turne out ther trashe And shew ther haberdashe, Ther pylde pedlarye."

There's no romance in collars and cuffs and ties and suspenders.

CHAPTER XXI

Meanwhile Killigrew arrived in New York, went to the bank and deposited Kitty's opal, and sought his office.

"There's a Mr. Haggerty in your office, Mr. Killigrew. I told him to wait."

"Haggerty, the detective?"

"Yes. He said you'd be glad to see him. Has news of some sort."

Killigrew hurried into his private office. "h.e.l.lo, Haggerty! What's the trouble this morning?"

"Got some news for you." Haggerty accepted a cigar. "I've a hunch that I can find Miss Killigrew's sapphires."

"No! I thought they had been sold over the other side."

"Seems not."

"Got your man?"

"Nope. Funny kind of a job, though. Fooled th' customs inspectors.

Sapphires 'r here in New York, somewheres."

"A thousand to you, Haggerty, if you recover them."

"A row between two stewards on th' _Celtic_ gave me th' clue."

"Why, that's the boat I came over on."

"Sure thing."

"And the thief was on board all the time?"

"Don't think he was when you crossed. I've got t' wait till th' boat docks before I can get particulars. It's like this. Th' chap who took th' sapphires engaged pa.s.sage as a steward. His cabin-mate saw him lookin' over th' stones. He'd taken 'em out o' their settings. This man Jameson pinches 'em, but his mate follows him up an' has it out with him in a waterfront groggery. Got 'em back. Cool customer. I went on board th' next morning an' quizzed him. An' say, he done me up brown. As unblinkin' a liar 's I ever met. Took me t' his cabin an'

showed me what he professed Jameson had swiped. Nothing but a pearl an' coral brooch. He did it so natural that I swallowed th' bull, horns an' hoofs. I've had every p.a.w.nshop in New York looked over, but they ain't there. I've been busy on the maharajah's emeralds. There's a case. Cleverest ever. Some drug, atomized through a keyhole, which puts y' t' by-by."

"A drug? Why, say, two of my neighbors have been robbed within the past three days, and they all complained of violent headaches."

"Well, what y' know about that! Say, Mr. Killigrew, any place where I could hang out down there for a couple o' days?"

"Come as my guest, Haggerty. I can tell the folks that you're from the office."