across　his　knees；　and　opened　the　pouch。　　He　drew　out　a　roll　of　cotton
  wool；　which　he　unrolled　across　the　towel。　　Flames！　　Blue　flames；　red；
  yellow；　violet；　and　green　　…　precious　stones；　many　of　them　with
  histories　that　reached　back　into　the　dim　centuries；　histories　of
  murder　and　loot　and　envy。　　The　young　man　had　imagination　…　perhaps
  too　much　of　it。　　He　saw　the　stones　palpitating　upon　lovely　white　and
  brown　bosoms；　he　saw　bloody　and　greedy　hands；　the　red　sack　of　towns；
  he　heard　the　screams　of　women　and　the　raucous　laughter　of　drunken
  men。　　Murder　and　loot。
  At　the　end　of　the　cotton　wool　lay　two　emeralds　about　the　size　of
  half　dollars　and　half　an　inch　in　thickness；　polished；　and　as　vividly
  green　as　a　dragonfly　in　the　sun；　fit　for　the　turban　of　Schariar；
  spouse　of　Scheherazade。
  Rodin　would　have　seized　upon　the　young　man's　attitude　…　the　limp
  body；　the　haggard　face　…　hewn　it　out　of　marble　and　called　it
  Conscience。　　The　possessor　of　the　stones　held　this　attitude　for
  three　or　four　minutes。　　Then　he　rolled　up　the　cotton　wool；　jammed
  it　into　the　pouch；　which　he　hung　to　his　neck　by　a　thong；　and　sprang
  to　his　feet。　　No　more　of　this　brooding；　it　was　sapping　his　vitality；
  and　he　was　not　yet　at　his　journey's　end。
  He　proceeded　to　the　bedroom；　emptied　the　battered　kitbag；　and　began
  to　dress。　　He　put　on　heavy　tan　walking　shoes；　gray　woollen　stockings；
  gray　knickerbockers；　gray　flannel　shirt；　and　a　Norfolk　jacket　minus
  the　third　button。
  Ah；　that　button！　　He　fingered　the　loose　threads　which　had　aforetime
  snugged　the　button　to　the　wool。　　The　carelessness　of　a　tailor　had
  saved　his　life。　　Had　that　button　held；　his　bones　at　this　moment
  would　be　reposing　on　the　hillside　in　far…away　Hong…Kong。　　Evidently
  Fate　had　some　definite　plans　regarding　his　future；　else　he　would　not
  be　in　this　room；　alive。　　But　what　plans？　　Why　should　Fate　bother
  about　him　further？　　She　had　strained　the　orange　to　the　last　drop。
  Why　protect　the　pulp？　　Perhaps　she　was　only　making　sport　of　him；
  lulling　him　into　the　belief　that　eventually　he　might　win　through。
  One　thing；　she　would　never　be　able　to　twist　his　heart　again。　　You
  cannot　fill　a　cup　with　water　beyond　the　brim。　　And　God　knew　that
  his　cup　had　been　full　and　bitter　and　red。
  His　hand　swept　across　his　eyes　as　if　to　brush　away　the　pictures
  suddenly　conjured　up。　　He　must　keep　his　thoughts　off　those　things。
  There　was　a　taint　of　madness　in　his　blood；　and　several　times　he
  had　sensed　the　brink　at　his　feet。　　But　God　had　been　kind　to　him
  in　one　respect：　The　blood　of　his　glorious　mother　predominated。
  How　many　were　after　him；　and　who？　　He　had　not　been　able　to　recognize
  the　man　that　night　in　Hong…Kong。　　That　was　the　fate　of　the　pursued：
  one　never　dared　pause　to　look　back；　while　the　pursuers　had　their　man
  before　them　always。　　If　only　he　could　have　broken　through　into　Greece；
  England　would　have　been　easy。　　The　only　door　open　had　been　in　the
  East。　　It　seemed　incredible　that　he　should　be　standing　in　this　room；
  but　three　hours　from　his　goal。
  America！　　The　land　of　the　free　and　the　brave！　　And　the　irony　of　it
  was　that　he　must　seek　in　America　the　only　friends　he　had　in　the
  world。　　All　the　Englishmen　he　had　known　and　loved　were　dead。　　He
  had　never　made　friends　with　the　French；　though　he　loved　France。　　In
  this　country　alone　he　might　successfully　lose　himself　and　begin　life
  anew。　　The　British　were　British　and　the　French　were　French；　but　in
  this　magnificent　America　they　possessed　the　tenacity　of　the　one　and
  the　gayety　of　the　other　…　these　joyous；　unconquered；　speed…loving
  Americans。
  He　took　up　the　overcoat。　　Under　the　light　it　was　no　longer　black　but
  a　very　deep　green。　　On　both　sleeves　there　were　narrow　bands　of　a
  still　deeper　green；　indicating　that　gold　or　silver　braid　had　once
  befrogged　the　cuffs。　　Inside；　soft　silky　Persian　lamb；　and　he　ran
  his　fingers　over　the　fur　thoughtfully。　　The　coat　was　still
  impregnated　with　the　strong　odour　of　horse。　　He　cast　it　aside；　never
  to　touch　it　again。　　From　the　discarded　small　coat　he　extracted　a
  black　wallet　and　opened　it。　　That　passport！　　He　wondered　if　there
  existed　another　more　cleverly　forged。　　It　would　not　have　served
  an　hour　west　of　the　Hindenburg　Line；　but　in　the　East　and　here　in
  America　no　one　had　questioned　it。　　In　San　Francisco　they　had
  scarcely　glanced　at　it；　peace　having　come。　　Besides　this　passport
  the　wallet　contained　a　will；　ten　bonds；　a　custom　appraiser's　receipt
  and　a　sheaf　of　gold　bills。　　The　will；　however；　was　perhaps　one　of
  the　most　astonishing　documents　conceivable。　　It　left　unreservedly
  to　Capt。　John　Hawksley　the　contents　of　the　wallet！
  Within　three　hours　of　his　ultimate　destination！　　He　knew　all　about
  great　cities。　　An　hour　after　he　left　the　train；　if　he　so　willed；
  he　could　lose　himself　for　all　time。
  》From　the　bottom　of　the　kitbag　he　dug　up　a　blue　velours　case；　which
  after　a　moment's　hesitation　he　opened。　　Medals　incrusted　with
  precious　stones；　but　on　the　top　was　the　photograph　of　a　charming
  girl。　　blonde　as　ripe　wheat；　and　arrayed　for　the　tennis　court。
  It　was　this　photograph　he　wanted。　　Indifferently　he　tossed　the　case
  upon　the　centre　table；　and　it　upset；　sending　the　medals　about　with
  a　ring　and　a　tinkle。
  The　man　in　the　next　room　heard　this　sound；　and　his　eye　roved
  desperately。　　Some　way　to　peer　into　yonder　room！　　But　there　was　no
  transom；　and　he　would　not　yet　dare　risk　the　fire　escape。　　The　young
  man　raised　the　photograph　to　his　lips　and　kissed　it　passionately。
  Then　he　hid　it　in　the　lining　of　his　coat；　there　being　a　convenient
  rent　in　the　inside　pocket。
  〃I　must　not　think！〃　he　murmured。　　〃I　must　not！〃
  He　became　the　hunted　man　again。　　He　turned　a　chair　upend　and　placed
  it　under　the　window。　　He　tipped　another　in　front　of　the　door。　　On
  the　threshold　of　the　bathroom　door　he　deposited　the　water　carafe
  and　the　glasses。　　His　bed　was　against　the　connecting　door。　　No　man
  would　be　able　to　enter　unannounced。　　He　had　no　intention　of　letting
  himself　fall　asleep。　　He　would　stretch　out　and　rest。　　So　he　lit　his
  pipe；　banked　the　two　pillows；　switched　out　the　light；　and　lay　down。
  Only　the　intermittent　glow　of　his　pipe　coal　could　be　seen。　　Near
  the　journey's　end；　and　no　more　tight…rope　walking；　with　death　at
  both　ends；　and　death　staring　up　from　below。　　Queer　how　the　human
  being　clung　to　life。　　What　had　he　to　live　for？　　Nothing。　　So　far　as
  he　was　concerned；　the　world　had　come　to　an　end。　　Sporting　instinct；
  probably　that　was　it；　couldn't　make　up　his　mind　to　shuffle　off　this
  mortal　coil　until　he　had　beaten　his　enemies。　　English　university
  education　had　dulled　the　bite　of　his　natural　fatalism。　　To　carry　on
  for　the　sport　of　it；　not　to　accept　fate　but　to　fight　it。
  By　chance　his　hand　touched　his　spiky　chin。　　Nevertheless；　he　would
  have　to　enter　New　York　just　as　he　was。　　He　had　left　his　razor　in　a
  Pullman　washroom　hurriedly　one　morning。　　He　dared　not　risk　a　barber's
  chair；　especially　these　American　chairs；　that　stretched　one　out　in
  a　most　helpless　manner。
  Slowly　his　pipe　sank　toward　his　breast。　　The　weary　body　was
  overcoming　the　will。　　A　sound　broke　the　pleasant　spell。　　He　sat　up；
  tense。　Someone　had　entered　through　the　window　and　stumbled　over　the
  chair！　　Hawksley　threw　on　the　light。
  CHAPTER　II
  When　the　day　clerk　arrived　the　night　clerk　sleepily　informed　him
  that　the　guest　in　Room　214　was　without　baggage　and　had　not　paid　in
  advance。
  〃Lave　a　call？〃
  〃No。　　I　thought　I'd　put　you　wise。　　I　didn't　notice　that　the　man　had
  no　grip　until　he　was　in　the　elevator。〃
  〃All　right。　　I'll　send　the　bell…hop　captain　up　with　a　fake　call　to
  see　if　the　man's　still　there。〃
  When　the　captain　…　late　of　the　A。E。F。　in　France　…　returned　to　the
  office　he　was　mildly　excited。
  〃Gee；　there's　been　a　whale　of　a　scrap　in　Room　212。　　The　chambermaid
  let　me　in。〃
  〃Murder？〃　whispered　the　clerks　in　unison。
  〃Murder　your　granny！　　Naw！　　Just　a　fight　between　212　and　214；
  because　both　of　'em　have　flown　the　roost。　　But　take　a　peek　at　what
  I　found　on　the　table。〃
  It　was　a　case　of　blue　velours。　　The　boy　threw　back　the　lid
  dramatically。
  〃War　medals？〃
  〃If　they　are　I　never　piped　'em　before。　　They　ain't　French　or
  British。〃　　The　captain　of　the　bell…boys　scratched　his　head
  ruminatively。　　〃Gee；　I　got　it！　　Orders；　that's　what　they　all　'em。
  Kings　pay　'em　out　Saturdays　when　the　pay　roll　is　nix。　　Will　you　pipe
  the　diamonds　and　rubies？　　There's　your　room　rents；　monseer。〃
  The　day　clerk；　who　considered　himself　a　judge；　was　of　the　opinion
  that　there　were　two　or　three　thousand　dollars　tied　up　in　the
  stones。　　It　was　a　police　affair。　　Some　ambassador　had　been　robbed；
  and　the　Britisher　and　the　Greek　or　Bulgarian　were　mixed　up　in　it。
  Loot。
  〃I　thought　the　war　was　over；〃　said　the　night　clerk。
  〃The　shootin'　is　over；　that's　all；〃　said　the　captain　of　the　bellboys；
  sagely。
  What　had　happened　in　Room　212？　　A　duel　of　wits　rather　than　of
  physical　contact。　　Hawksley　realized　instantly　that　here　was　the
  crucial　moment。　　Caught　and　overpowered；　he　was　lost。　　If　he　shouted
  for　help　and　it　came；　he　was　lost。　　Once　the　police　took　a　hand　in
  the　affair；　the　newspaper　publicity　that　would　follow　would　result
  in　the　total　ruin　of　all　his　hopes。　　There　was　only　one　chance　…　to
  finish　this　affair　outs