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Page 49
Ass!
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 ambassadors, if
sons; titles 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. "Hello, 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 passage 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 pawnshop 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."
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