INITIALS ONLY
 
 SHE FELL WITH THE LETTER STILL IN HER HAND
 
 BY ANNA KATHARINE GREEN 
 
 Author of "The Leavenworth Case," "The Millionaire 
 Baby," "The House of the Whispering Pines." 
 
 WITH FRONTISPIECE IN COLORS 
 By ARTHUR I. KELLER 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS Niw YORK
 
 Copyright, 1911, 
 BY STREET AND SMITH 
 
 Copyright, 1911, 
 BY DODD, MEAD & Co. 
 
 Published, September, 1911
 
 CONTENTS 
 BOOK I 
 
 AS SEEN BY TWO STRANGERS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I POINSETTIAS I 
 
 II " I KNOW THE MAN " 10 
 
 III THE MAN 17 
 
 IV SWEET LITTLE Miss CLARKE ... 27 
 V THE RED CLOAK 42 
 
 VI INTEGRITY 55 
 
 VII THE LETTERS 62 
 
 VIII STRANGE DOINGS FOR GEORGE ... 67 
 IX THE INCIDENT OF THE PARTLY LIFTED 
 
 SHADE 78 
 
 BOOK II 
 
 AS SEEN BY DETECTIVE SWEETWATER 
 
 X A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION .... 93 
 
 XI ALIKE IN ESSENTIALS 112 
 
 XII MR. GRYCE FINDS AN ANTIDOTE FOR 
 
 OLD AGE 122 
 
 XIII TIME, CIRCUMSTANCE, AND A VILLAIN'S 
 
 HEART 129 
 
 XIV A CONCESSION 133 
 
 XV THAT'S THE QUESTION 141 
 
 XVI OPPOSED I4S 
 
 2137970
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XVII IN WHICH A BOOK PLAYS LEADING 
 
 PART 153 
 
 XVIII WHAT AM I TO Do Now? .... 170 
 
 XIX THE DANGER MOMENT . . . . .177 
 
 XX CONFUSION 189 
 
 XXI A CHANGE 194 
 
 XXII O. B. AGAIN 195 
 
 BOOK III 
 
 THE HEART OF MAN 
 
 XXIII DORIS ;. .. ; -. 205 
 
 XXIV SUSPENSE 214 
 
 XXV THE OVAL HUT 218 
 
 XXVI SWEETWATER RETURNS 227 
 
 XXVII THE IMAGE OF DREAD 233 
 
 XXVIII I HOPE NEVER TO SEE THAT MAN . . 243 
 
 XXIX Do You KNOW MY BROTHER? . . . 253 
 
 XXX CHAOS 262 
 
 XXXI WHAT is HE MAKING? 274 
 
 XXXII TELL ME, TELL IT ALL 278 
 
 XXXIII ALONE! 286 
 
 XXXIV THE HUT CHANGES ITS NAME . . . 293 
 XXXV SILENCE AND A KNOCK .... 303 
 
 XXXVI THE MAN WITHIN AND THE MAN 
 
 WITHOUT 308 
 
 XXXVII His GREAT HOUR 317 
 
 XXXVIII NIGHT 326 
 
 XXXIX THE AVENGER 339 
 
 XL DESOLATE 345 
 
 XLI FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING . . 349 
 
 XLII AT Six . . .352
 
 BOOK I 
 AS SEEN BY TWO STRANGERS
 
 POINSETTIAS 
 
 " A remarkable man! " 
 
 It was not my husband speaking, but some pas- 
 serby. However, I looked up at George with a smile, 
 and found him looking down at me with much the 
 same humour. We had often spoken of the odd 
 phrases one hears in the street, and how interesting it 
 would be sometimes to hear a little more of the con- 
 versation. 
 
 " That's a case in point," he laughed, as he guided 
 me through the crowd of theatre-goers which inva- 
 riably block this part of Broadway at the hour of 
 eight. " We shall never know whose eulogy we have 
 just heard. * A remarkable man ! ' There are not 
 many of them." 
 
 " No," was my somewhat indifferent reply. It 
 was a keen winter night and snow was packed upon 
 the walks in a way to throw into sharp relief the fig- 
 ures of such pedestrians as happened to be walking 
 alone. " But it seems to me that, so far as general 
 appearance goes, the one in front answers your de- 
 scription most admirably." 
 
 I pointed to a man hurrying around the corner just 
 ahead of us. 
 
 " Yes, he's remarkably well built. I noticed him 
 when he came out of the Clermont." This was a 
 hotel we had just passed.
 
 2 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 " But it's not only that. It's his height, his very 
 striking features, his expression " I stopped sud- 
 denly, gripping George's arm convulsively in a sur- 
 prise he appeared to share. We had turned the 
 corner immediately behind the man of whom we 
 were speaking and so had him still in full view. 
 
 "What's he doing?" I asked, in a low whisper. 
 We were only a few feet behind. "Look! look! 
 don't you call that curious? " 
 
 My husband stared, then uttered a low, " Rather." 
 The man ahead of us, presenting in every respect 
 the appearance of a gentleman, had suddenly stooped 
 to the kerb and was washing his hands in the snow, 
 furtively, but with a vigour and purpose which could 
 not fail to arouse the strangest conjectures in any 
 chance onlooker. 
 
 " Pilate ! " escaped my lips, in a sort of nervous 
 chuckle. But George shook his head at me. 
 
 " I don't like it," he muttered, with unusual grav- 
 ity. "Did you see his face?" Then as the man 
 rose and hurried away from us down the street, " I 
 should like to follow him. I do believe " 
 
 But here we became aware of a quick rush and 
 sudden clamour around the corner we had just left, 
 and turning quickly, saw that something had occurred 
 on Broadway which was fast causing a tumult. 
 
 "What's the matter?" I cried. "What can 
 have happened? Let's go see, George. Perhaps it 
 has something to do with our man." 
 
 My husband, with a final glance down the street 
 at the fast disappearing figure, yielded to my impor- 
 tunity, and possibly to some new curiosity of his own.
 
 POINSETTIAS 3 
 
 " I'd like to stop that man first," said he. " But 
 what excuse have I? He may be nothing but a 
 crank, with some crack-brained idea in his head. 
 We'll soon know; for there's certainly something 
 wrong there on Broadway." 
 
 " He came out of the Clermont," I suggested. 
 
 " I know. If the excitement isn't there, what 
 weVe just seen is simply a coincidence." Then, as 
 we retraced our steps to the corner "Whatever 
 we hear or see, don't say anything about this man. 
 It's after eight, remember, and we promised Adela 
 that we would be at the house before nine." 
 
 " I'll be quiet." 
 
 " Remember." 
 
 It was the last word he had time to speak before 
 we found ourselves in the midst of a crowd of men 
 and women, jostling one another in curiosity or in 
 the consternation following a quick alarm. All 
 were looking one way, and, as this was towards the 
 entrance of the Clermont, it was evident enough to 
 us that the alarm had indeed had its origin in the 
 very place we had anticipated. I felt my husband's 
 arm press me closer to his side as we worked our way 
 towards the entrance, and presently caught a warn- 
 ing sound from his lips as the oaths and confused 
 cries everywhere surrounding us were broken here 
 and there by articulate words and we heard: 
 
 "Is it murder?" 
 
 " The beautiful Miss Challoner! " 
 
 " A millionairess in her own right! " 
 
 " Killed, they say." 
 
 "No, no! suddenly dead; that's all."
 
 4 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 " George, what shall we do? " I managed to cry 
 into my husband's ear. 
 
 " Get out of this. There is no chance of our 
 reaching that door, and I can't have you standing 
 round any longer in this icy slush." 
 
 "But but is it right?" I urged, in an impor- 
 tunate whisper. " Should we go home while he " 
 
 "Hush! My first duty is to you. We will go 
 make our visit; but to-morrow " 
 
 " I can't wait till to-morrow," I pleaded, wild to 
 satisfy my curiosity in regard to an event in which I 
 naturally felt a keen personal interest. 
 
 He drew me as near to the edge of the crowd as 
 he could. There were new murmurs all about us. 
 
 " If it's a case of heart-failure, why send for the 
 police? " asked one. 
 
 " It is better to have an officer or two here," 
 grumbled another. 
 
 " Here comes a cop." 
 
 " Well, I'm going to vamoose." 
 
 " I'll tell you what I'll do," whispered George, 
 who, for all his bluster was as curious as myself. 
 " We will try the rear door where there are fewer 
 persons. Possibly we can make our way in there, 
 and if we can, Slater will tell us all we want to 
 know." 
 
 Slater was the assistant manager of the Clermont, 
 and one of George's oldest friends. 
 
 " Then hurry," said I. " I am being crushed 
 here." 
 
 George did hurry, and in a few minutes we were 
 before the rear entrance of the great hotel. There
 
 POINSETTIAS S 
 
 was a mob gathered here also, but it was neither so 
 large nor so rough as the one on Broadway. Yet I 
 doubt if we should have been able to work our way 
 through it if Slater had not, at that very instant, 
 shown himself in the doorway, in company with an 
 officer to whom he was giving some final instruc- 
 tions. George caught his eye as soon as he was 
 through with the man, and ventured on what I 
 thought a rather uncalled for plea. 
 
 " Let us in, Slater," he begged. " My wife feels 
 a little faint ; she has been knocked about so by the 
 crowd." 
 
 The manager glanced at my face, and shouted to 
 the people around us to make room. I felt myself 
 lifted up, and that is all I remember of this part of 
 our adventure. For, affected more than I realised 
 by the excitement of the event, I no sooner saw the 
 way cleared for our entrance than I made good my 
 husband's words by fainting away in earnest. 
 
 When I came to, it was suddenly and with perfect 
 recognition of my surroundings. The small recep- 
 tion room to which I had been taken was one I had 
 often visited, and its familiar features did not hold 
 my attention for a moment. What I did see and 
 welcome was my husband's face bending close over 
 me, and to him I spoke first. My words must have 
 sounded oddly to those about. " Have they told you 
 anything about it? " I asked. " Did he " 
 
 A quick pressure on my arm silenced me, and then 
 I noticed that we were not alone. Two or three 
 ladies stood near, watching me, and one had evi- 
 dently been using some restorative, for she held a
 
 6 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 small vinaigrette in her hand. To this lady, George 
 made haste to introduce me, and from her I pres- 
 ently learned the cause of the disturbance in the hotel. 
 
 It was of a somewhat different nature from what 
 I expected, and during the recital, I could not prevent 
 myself from casting furtive and inquiring glances at 
 George. 
 
 Edith, the well-known daughter of Moses Chal- 
 loner, had fallen suddenly dead on the floor of the 
 mezzanine. She was not known to have been in 
 poor health, still less in danger of a fatal attack, 
 and the shock was consequently great to her friends, 
 several of whom were in the building. Indeed, it 
 was likely to prove a shock to the whole community, 
 for she had great claims to general admiration, and 
 her death must be regarded as a calamity to persons 
 in all stations of life. 
 
 I realised this myself, for I had heard much of the 
 young lady's private virtues, as well as of her great 
 beauty and distinguished manner. A heavy loss, in- 
 deed, but 
 
 " Was she alone when she fell? " I asked. 
 
 " Virtually alone. Some persons sat on the other 
 side of the room, reading at the big round table. 
 They did not even hear her fall. They say that the 
 band was playing unusually loud in the musicians' 
 gallery." 
 
 " Are you feeling quite well, now? " 
 
 " Quite myself," I gratefully replied as I rose 
 slowly from the sofa. Then, as my kind informer 
 stepped aside, I turned to George with the proposal 
 that we should go now.
 
 POINSETTIAS 7 
 
 He seemed as anxious as myself to leave, and to- 
 gether we moved towards the door, while the hum of 
 excited comment which the intrusion of a fainting, 
 woman had undoubtedly interrupted, recommenced 
 behind us till the whole room buzzed. 
 
 In the hall we encountered Mr. Slater, whom I 
 have before mentioned. He was trying to maintain 
 order while himself in a state of great agitation. 
 Seeing us, he could not refrain from whispering a 
 few words into my husband's ear. 
 
 ' The doctor has just gone up her doctor, I 
 mean. He's simply dumbfounded. Says that she 
 was the healthiest woman in New York yesterday. 
 I think don't mention it, that he suspects some- 
 thing quite different from heart failure." 
 
 ' What do you mean?" asked George, following 
 the assistant manager down the broad flight of steps 
 leading to the office. Then, as I pressed up close 
 to Mr. Slater's other side, " She was by herself, 
 wasn't she, in the half floor above? " 
 
 1 Yes, and had been writing a letter. She fell 
 with it still in her hand." 
 
 " Have they carried her to her room? " I eagerly 
 inquired, glancing fearfully up at the large semi-cir- 
 cular openings overlooking us from the place where 
 she had fallen. 
 
 " Not yet. Mr. Hammond insists upon waiting 
 for the coroner." (Mr. Hammond was the pro- 
 prietor of the hotel.) "She is lying on one of the 
 big couches near which she fell. If you like, I can 
 give you a glimpse of her. She looks beautiful. 
 It's terrible to think that she is dead."
 
 8 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 I don't know why we consented. We were under 
 a spell, I think. At all events, we accepted his offer 
 and followed him up a narrow staircase open to very 
 few that night. At the top, he turned upon us with 
 a warning gesture which I hardly think we needed, 
 and led us down a narrow hall flanked by openings 
 corresponding to those we had noted from below. 
 At the furthest one he paused and, beckoning us to 
 his side, pointed across the lobby into the large writ- 
 ing-room which occupied the better part of the mez- 
 zanine floor. 
 
 We saw people standing in various attitudes of 
 grief and dismay about a couch, one end of which 
 only was visible to us at the moment. The doctor 
 had just joined them, and every head was turned 
 towards him and every body bent ^orward in anxious 
 expectation. I remember the face of one grey haired 
 old man. I shall never forget it. He was prob- 
 ably her father. Later, I knew him to be so. Her 
 face, even her form, was entirely hidden from us, 
 but as we watched (I have often thought with what 
 heartless curiosity) a sudden movement took place 
 in the whole group < and for one instant a startling 
 picture presented itself to our gaze. Miss Challoner 
 was stretched out upon the couch. She was dressed 
 as she came from dinner, in a gown of ivory-tinted 
 satin, relieved at the breast by a large bouquet of 
 scarlet poinsettias. I mention this adornment, be- 
 cause it was what first met and drew our eyes and 
 the eyes of every one about her, though the face, 
 now quite revealed, would seem to have the greater 
 attraction. But the cause was evident and one not
 
 POINSETTIAS 9 
 
 to be resisted. The doctor was pointing at these 
 poinsettias in horror and with awful meaning, and 
 though we could not hear his words, we knew almost 
 instinctively, both from his attitude and the cries 
 which burst from the lips of those about him, that 
 something more than broken petals and disordered 
 laces had met his eyes ; that blood was there slowly 
 oozing drops from the heart which for some rea- 
 son had escaped all eyes till now. 
 
 Miss Challoner was dead, not from unsuspected 
 disease, but from the violent attack of some murder- 
 ous weapon. As the realisation of this brought fresh 
 panic and bowed the old father's head with emotions 
 even more bitter than those of grief, I turned a ques- 
 tioning look up at George's face. 
 
 It was fixed with a purpose I had no trouble in 
 understanding.
 
 II 
 
 " I KNOW THE MAN " 
 
 YET he made no effort to detain Mr. Slater, when 
 that gentleman, under this renewed excitement, has- 
 tily left us. He-was not the man to rush into any- 
 thing impulsively, and not even the presence of mur- 
 der could change his ways. 
 
 " I want to feel sure of myself," he explained. 
 " Can you bear the strain of waiting around a little 
 longer, Laura? I mustn't forget that you fainted 
 just now." 
 
 " Yes, I can bear it; much better than I could bear 
 going to Adela's in my present state of mind. Don't 
 you think the man we saw had something to do with 
 this? Don't you believe " 
 
 " Hush ! Let us listen rather than talk. What 
 are they saying over there? Can you hear? " 
 
 " No. And I cannot bear to look. Yet I don't 
 want to go away. It's all so dreadful." 
 
 " It's devilish. Such a beautiful girl ! Laura, I 
 must leave you for a moment. Do you mind? " 
 
 "No, no; yet " 
 
 I did mind; but he was gone before I could take 
 back my word. Alone, I felt the tragedy much 
 more than when he was with me. Instead of watch- 
 ing, as I had hitherto done, every movement in the 
 room opposite, I drew back against the wall and hid 
 my eyes, waiting feverishly for George's return. 
 
 10
 
 "I KNOW THE MAN' n 
 
 He came, when he did come, in some haste and 
 with certain marks of increased agitation. 
 
 " Laura," said he, " Slater says that we may pos- 
 sibly be wanted and proposes that we stay here all 
 night* I have telephoned Adela and have made it 
 all right at home. Will you come to your room? 
 This is no place for you." 
 
 Nothing could have pleased me better ; to be near 
 and yet not the direct observer of proceedings in 
 which we took so secret an interest! I showed my 
 gratitude by following George immediately. But I 
 could not go without casting another glance at the 
 tragic scene I was leaving. A stir was perceptible 
 there, and I was just in time to see its cause. A tall, 
 angular gentleman was approaching from the direc- 
 tion of the musicians' gallery, and from the manner 
 of all present, as well as from the whispered com- 
 ment of my husband, I recognised in him the special 
 official for whom all had been waiting. 
 
 " Are you going to tell him? " was my question to 
 George as we made our way down to the lobby. 
 
 ' That depends. First, I am going to see you 
 settled in a room quite remote from this business." 
 
 " I shall not like that." 
 
 " I know, my dear, but it is best." 
 
 I could not gainsay this. 
 
 Nevertheless, after the first few minutes of relief, 
 I found it very lonesome upstairs. The pictures 
 which crowded upon me of the various groups of 
 excited and wildly-gesticulating men and women 
 through which we had passed on our way up, min- 
 gled themselves with the solemn horror of the scene
 
 12 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 in the writing-room, with its fleeting vision of youth 
 and beauty lying pulseless in sudden death. I 
 could not escape the one without feeling the imme- 
 diate impress of the other, and if by chance they 
 both yielded for an instant to that earlier scene of a 
 desolate street, with its solitary lamp shining down 
 on the crouched figure of a man washing his shak- 
 ing hands in a drift of freshly fallen snow, they im- 
 mediately rushed back with a force and clearness all 
 the greater for the momentary lapse. 
 
 I was still struggling with these fancies when the 
 door opened, and George came in. There was news 
 in his face as I rushed to meet him. 
 
 "Tell me tell," I begged. 
 
 He tried to smile at my eagerness, but the attempt 
 was ghastly. 
 
 " I've been listening and looking," said he, " and 
 this is all I have learned. Miss Challoner died, not 
 from a stroke or from disease of any kind, but from 
 a wound reaching the heart. No one saw the at- 
 tack, or even the approach or departure of the per- 
 son inflicting this wound. If she was killed by a 
 pistol-shot, it was at a distance, and almost over the 
 heads of the persons sitting at the table we saw there. 
 But the doctors shake their heads at the word pistol- 
 shot, though they refuse to explain themselves or to 
 express any opinion till the wound has been probed. 
 This they are going to do at once, and when that 
 question is decided, I may feel it my duty to speak 
 and may ask you to support my story." 
 
 " I will tell what I saw," said I. 
 
 " Very good. That is all that will be required.
 
 " I KNOW THE MAN " 13 
 
 We are strangers to the parties concerned, and only 
 speak from a sense of justice. It may be that our 
 story will make no impression, and that we shall be 
 dismissed with but few thanks. But that is nothing 
 to us. If the woman has been murdered, he is the 
 murderer. With such a conviction in my mind, there 
 can be no doubt as to my duty." 
 
 " We can never make them understand how he 
 looked." 
 
 " No. I don't expect to." 
 
 " Or his manner as he fled." 
 
 " Nor that either." 
 ' We can only describe what we saw him do." 
 
 " That's all." 
 
 " Oh, what an adventure for quiet people like us 1 
 George, I don't believe he shot her." 
 
 " He must have." 
 
 " But they would have seen have heard the 
 people around, I mean." 
 
 " So they say; but I have a theory but no mat- 
 ter about that now. I'm going down again to see 
 how things have progressed. I'll be back for you 
 later. Only be ready." 
 
 Be ready! I almost laughed, a hysterical 
 laugh, of course, when I recalled the injunction. Be 
 ready! This lonely sitting by myself, with nothing 
 to do but think was a fine preparation for a sudden 
 appearance before those men some of them police- 
 officers, no doubt. 
 
 But that's enough about myself; I'm not the hero- 
 ine of this story. In a half hour or an hour > 
 I never knew which George reappeared, only to
 
 ii 4 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 tell me that no conclusions had as yet been reached; 
 an element of great mystery involved the whole 
 affair, and the most astute detectives on the force had 
 been sent for. Her father, who had been her con- 
 stant companion all winter, had not the least sugges- 
 tion to offer in way of its solution. So far as he 
 knew and he believed himself to have been in per- 
 fect accord with his daughter she had injured no 
 one. She had just lived the even, happy and useful 
 life of a young woman of means, who sees duties be- 
 yond those of her own household and immediate sur- 
 roundings. If, in the fulfillment of those duties, 
 she had encountered any obstacle to content, he did 
 not know it; nor could he mention a friend of hers 
 he would even say lovers, since that was what he 
 meant who to his knowledge could be accused of 
 harbouring any such passion of revenge as was man- 
 ifested in this secret and diabolical attack. They were 
 all gentlemen and respected her as heartily as they 
 appeared to admire her. To no living being, man 
 or woman, could he point as possessing any motive 
 for such a deed. She had been the victim of some 
 mistake, his lovely and ever kindly disposed daugh- 
 ter, and while the loss was irreparable he would never 
 make it unendurable by thinking otherwise. 
 
 Such was the father's way of looking at the mat- 
 ter, and I own that it made our duty a trifle hard. 
 But George's mind, when once made up, was per- 
 sistent to the point of obstinacy, and while he was 
 yet talking he led me out of the room and down the 
 hall to the elevator. 
 
 " Mr. Slater knows we have something to say,
 
 "I KNOW THE MAN" 15 
 
 and will manage the interview before us in the very 
 best manner," he confided to me now with an en- 
 couraging air. ' We are to go to the blue reception 
 room on the parlour floor." 
 
 I nodded, and nothing more was said till we en- 
 tered the place mentioned. Here we came upon 
 several gentlemen, standing about, of a more or less 
 professional appearance. This was not very agree- 
 able to one of my retiring disposition, but a took 
 from George brought back my courage, and I found 
 myself waiting rather anxiously for the questions I 
 expected to hear put. 
 
 Mr. Slater was there according to his promise, 
 and after introducing us, briefly stated that we had 
 some evidence to give regarding the terrible occur- 
 rence which had just taken place in the house. 
 
 George bowed, and the chief spokesman I am 
 sure he was a police-officer of some kind asked 
 him to tell what it was. 
 
 George drew himself up George is not one of 
 your tall men, but he makes a very good appearance 
 at times. Then he seemed suddenly to collapse. 
 The sight of their expectation made him feel how 
 flat and childish his story would sound. I, who had 
 shared his adventure, understood his embarrassment, 
 but the others were evidently at a loss to do so, for 
 they glanced askance at each other as he hesitated, 
 and only looked back when I ventured to say : 
 
 " It's the peculiarity of the occurrence which af- 
 fects my husband. The thing we saw may mean 
 nothing." 
 
 " Let us hear what it was and we will judge."
 
 1 6 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 Then my husband spoke up, and related our little 
 experience. If it did not create a sensation, it was 
 because these men were well accustomed to surprises 
 of all kinds. 
 
 " Washed his hands a gentleman out there 
 in the snow just after the alarm was raised here? " 
 repeated one. 
 
 " And you saw him come out of this house? " an- 
 other put in. 
 
 ' Yes, sir; we noticed him particularly." 
 
 " Can you describe him? " 
 
 It was Mr. Slater who put this question; he had 
 less control over himself, and considerable eagerness 
 could be heard in his voice. 
 
 " He was a very fine-looking man; unusually tall 
 and unusually striking both in his dress and appear- 
 ance. What I could see of his face was bare of 
 beard, and very expressive. He walked with the 
 swing of an athlete, and only looked mean and small 
 when he was stooping and dabbling in the snow." 
 
 " His clothes. Describe his clothes." There was 
 an odd sound in Mr. Slater's voice. 
 
 " He wore a silk hat and there was fur on his 
 overcoat. I think the fur was black." 
 
 Mr. Slater stepped back, then moved forward 
 again with a determined air. 
 
 " I know the man," said he.
 
 Ill 
 
 THE MAN 
 
 " You know the man? " 
 
 "I do ; or rather, I know a man who answers to 
 this description. He comes here once in a while. I 
 do not know whether or not he was in the building 
 to-night, but Clausen can tell you; no one escapes 
 Clausen's eye." 
 
 " His name." 
 
 " Brotherson. A very uncommon person in many 
 respects ; quite capable of such an eccentricity, but in- 
 capable, I should say, of crime. He's a gifted talker 
 and so well read that he can hold one's attention for 
 hours. Of his tastes, I can only say that they appear 
 to be mainly scientific. But he is not averse to so- 
 ciety, and is always very well dressed." 
 
 " A taste for science and for fine clothing do not 
 often go together." 
 
 " This man is an exception to all rules. The one 
 I'm speaking of, I mean. I don't say that he's the 
 fellow seen pottering in the snow." 
 
 " Call up Clausen." 
 
 The manager stepped to the telephone. 
 
 Meanwhile, George had advanced to speak to a 
 man who had beckoned to him from the other side 
 of the room, and with whom in another moment I 
 saw him step out. Thus deserted, I sank into a 
 chair near one of the windows. Never had I felt 
 
 17
 
 1 8 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 more uncomfortable. To attribute guilt to a totally 
 unknown person a person who is little more to 
 you than a shadowy silhouette against a background 
 of snow is easy enough and not very disturbing to 
 the conscience. But to hear that person named; 
 given positive attributes; lifted from the indefinite 
 into a living, breathing actuality, with a man's hopes, 
 purposes and responsibilities, is an entirely different 
 proposition. This Brotherson might be the most 
 innocent person alive ; and, if so, what had we done ? 
 Nothing to congratulate ourselves upon, certainly. 
 And George was not present to comfort and encour- 
 age me. He was 
 
 Where was he? The man who had carried him 
 off was the youngest in the group. What had he 
 wanted of George? Those who remained showed 
 no interest in the matter. They had enough to say 
 among themselves. But I was interested natu- 
 rally so, and, in my uneasiness, glanced restlessly 
 from the window, the shade of which was up. The 
 outlook was a very peaceful one. This room faced 
 a side street, and, as my eyes fell upon the whitened 
 pavements, I received an answer to one, and that the 
 most anxious, of my queries. This was the street 
 into which we had turned, in the wake of the hand- 
 some stranger they were trying at this very moment 
 to identify with Brotherson. George had evidently 
 been asked to point out the exact spot where the man 
 had stopped, for I could see from my vantage point 
 two figures bending near the kerb, and even pawing 
 at the snow which lay there. It gave me a slight 
 turn when one of them I do not think it was
 
 THE MAN 19 
 
 George began to rub his hands together in much 
 the way the unknown gentleman had done, and, in 
 my excitement, I probably uttered some sort of an 
 ejaculation, for I was suddenly conscious of a silence 
 in the room, and when I turned saw all the men 
 about me looking my way. 
 
 I attempted to smile, but instead, shuddered pain- 
 fully, as I raised my hand and pointed down at the 
 street. 
 
 " They are imitating the man," I cried; " my hus- 
 band and and the person he went out with. It 
 looked dreadful to me ; that is all." 
 
 One of the gentlemen immediately said some kind 
 words to me, and another smiled in a very encourag- 
 ing way. But their attention was soon diverted, and 
 so was mine by the entrance of a man in semi-uni- 
 form, who was immediately addressed as Clausen. 
 
 I knew his face. He was one of the doorkeepers ; 
 the oldest employe about the hotel, and the one best 
 liked. I had often exchanged words with him my- 
 self. 
 
 Mr. Slater at once put his question : 
 
 " Has Mr. Brotherson passed your door at any 
 time to-night? " 
 
 " Mr. Brotherson I I don't remember, really I 
 don't," was the unexpected reply. " It's not often I 
 forget. But so many people came rushing in dur- 
 ing those few minutes, and all so excited " 
 
 " Before the excitement, Clausen. A little while 
 before, possibly just before." 
 
 " Oh, now I recall him ! Yes, Mr. Brotherson 
 went out of my door not many minutes before the cry
 
 20 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 upstairs. I forgot because I had stepped back 
 from the door to hand a lady the muff she had 
 dropped, and it was at that minute he went out. I 
 just got a glimpse of his back as he passed into the 
 street." 
 
 " But you are sure of that back? " 
 
 " I don't know another like it, when he wears that 
 big coat of his. But Jim can tell you, sir. He was 
 in the cafe up to that minute, and that's where Mr. 
 Brotherson usually goes first." 
 
 u Very well; send up Jim. Tell him I have some 
 orders to give him." 
 
 The old man bowed and went out. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Slater had exchanged some 
 words with the two officials, and now approached me 
 with an expression of extreme consideration. They 
 were about to excuse me from further participation 
 in this informal inquiry. This I saw before he 
 spoke. Of course they were right. But I should 
 greatly have preferred to stay where I was till George 
 came back. 
 
 However, I met him for an instant in the hall be- 
 fore I took the elevator, and later I heard in a 
 round-about way what Jim and some others about 
 the house had to say of Mr. Brotherson. 
 
 He was an habitue of the hotel, to the extent of 
 dining once or twice a week in the cafe, and smok- 
 ing, afterwards, in the public lobby. When he was 
 in the mood for talk, he would draw an ever-en- 
 larging group about him, but at other times he would 
 be seen sitting quite alone and morosely indifferent to 
 all who approached him. There was no mystery
 
 THE MAN 21 
 
 about his business. He was an inventor, with one or 
 two valuable patents already on the market. But this 
 was not his only interest. He was an all round sort 
 of man, moody but brilliant in many ways a char- 
 acter which at once attracted and repelled, odd in 
 that he seemed to set little store by his good looks, 
 yet was most careful to dress himself in a way to 
 show them off to advantage. If he had means be- 
 yond the ordinary no one knew it, nor could any 
 man say that he had not. On all personal matters 
 he was very close-mouthed, though he would talk 
 about other men's riches in a way to show that he 
 cherished some very extreme views. 
 
 This was all which could be learned about him 
 off-hand, and at so late an hour. I was greatly 
 interested, of course, and had plenty to think of till 
 I saw George again and learned the result of the 
 latest investigations. 
 
 Miss Challoner had been shot, not stabbed. No 
 other deduction was possible from such facts as were 
 now known, though the physicians had not yet 
 handed in their report, or even intimated what that 
 report would be. No assailant could have ap- 
 proached or left her, without attracting the notice of 
 some one, if not all of the persons seated at a table 
 in the same room. She could only have been reached 
 by a bullet sent from a point near the head of a small 
 winding staircase connecting the mezzanine floor 
 with a coat-room adjacent to the front door. This 
 has already been insisted on, as you will remember, 
 and if you will glance at the diagram which George 
 hastily scrawled for me, you will see why.
 
 22 
 
 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 A. B., as well as C. D., are half circular open- 
 ings into the office lobby. E. F. are windows giving 
 upon Broadway, and G. the party wall, necessarily 
 
 WHEREMISSCFELL 
 x 
 
 TA6LEJ 
 
 H 
 
 MUSICIAN'S GALLERY 
 
 DINING ROOM LEVEL WITH LOBBY 
 
 unbroken by window, door or any other opening. It 
 follows then that the only possible means of approach 
 to this room lies through the archway H., or from the 
 elevator door. But the elevator made no stop
 
 THE MAN 23 
 
 at the mezzanine on or near the time of the attack 
 upon Miss Challoner; nor did any one leave the table 
 or pass by it in either direction till after the alarm 
 given by her fall. 
 
 But a bullet calls for no approach. A man at X. 
 might raise and fire his pistol without attracting any 
 attention to himself. The music, which all acknowl- 
 edge was at its full climax at this moment, would 
 drown the noise of the explosion, and the staircase, 
 out of view of all but the victim, afford the same 
 means of immediate escape, which it must have given 
 of secret and unseen approach. The coat-room into 
 which it descended communicated with the lobby very 
 near the main entrance, and if Mr. Brotherson were 
 the man, his sudden appearance there would thus be 
 accounted for. 
 
 To be sure, this gentleman had not been noticed in 
 the coatroom by the man then in charge, but if the 
 latter hfcd been engaged at that instant, as he often 
 was, in hanging up or taking down a coat from the 
 rack, a person might easily pass by him and disap- 
 pear into the lobby without attracting his attention. 
 So many people passed that way from the dining- 
 room beyond, and so many of these were tall, fine- 
 looking and well-dressed. 
 
 It began to look bad for this man, if indeed he 
 were the one we had seen under the street-lamp ; and, 
 as George and I reviewed the situation, we felt our 
 position to be serious enough for us severally to set 
 down our impressions of this man before we lost 
 our first vivid idea. I do not know what George 
 wrote, for he sealed his words up as soon as he had
 
 24 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 finished writing, but this is what I put on paper 
 while my memory was still fresh and my excitement 
 unabated: 
 
 He had the look of a man of powerful intellect and deter- 
 mined will, who shudders while he triumphs ; who outwardly 
 washes his hands of a deed over which he inwardly gloats. 
 This was when he first rose from the snow. Afterwards 
 he had a moment of fear; plain, human, everyday fear. But 
 this was evanescent. Before he had turned to go, he showed 
 the self-possession of one who feels himself so secure, or is so 
 well-satisfied with himself, that he is no longer conscious 
 of other emotions. 
 
 " Poor fellow," I commented aloud, as I folded 
 up these words ; " he reckoned without you, George. 
 By to-morrow he will be in the hands of the police." 
 
 "Poor fellow?" he repeated. "Better say 
 1 Poor Miss Challoner ! ' They tell me she was one 
 of those perfect women who reconcile even the pes- 
 simist to humanity and the age we live in. Why any 
 one should want to kill her is a mystery; but why 
 this man should There! no one professes to ex- 
 plain it. They simply go by the facts. To-morrow 
 surely must bring strange revelations." 
 
 And with this sentence ringing in my mind, I lay 
 down and endeavoured to sleep. But it was not 
 till very late that rest came. The noise of passing 
 feet, though muffled beyond their wont, roused me 
 in spite of myself. These footsteps might be those 
 of some late arrival, or they might be those of some 
 wary detective intent on business far removed from 
 the usual routine of life in this great hotel.
 
 THE MAN 25 
 
 I recalled the glimpse I had had of the writing- 
 room in the early evening, and imagined it as it was 
 now, with Miss Challoner's body removed and the 
 incongruous flitting of strange and busy figures across 
 its fatal floors, measuring distances and peering into 
 corners, while hundreds slept above and about them 
 in undisturbed repose. 
 
 Then I thought of him, the suspected and possibly 
 guilty one. In visions over which I had little if any 
 control, I saw him in all the restlessness of a slowly 
 dying down excitement the surroundings strange 
 and unknown to me, the figure not seeking for 
 quiet; facing the past; facing the future; knowing, 
 perhaps, for the first time in his life what it was for 
 crime and remorse to murder sleep. I could not 
 think of him as lying still slumbering like the rest 
 of mankind, in the hope and expectation of a busy 
 morrow. Crime perpetrated looms so large in the 
 soul, and this man had a soul as big as his body; of 
 that I was assured. That its instincts were cruel and 
 inherently evil, did not lessen its capacity for suffer- 
 ing. And he was suffering now; I could not doubt 
 it, remembering the lovely face and fragrant memory 
 of the noble woman he had, under some unknown im- 
 pulse, sent to an unmerited doom. 
 
 At last I slept, but it was only to rouse again with 
 the same quick realisation of my surroundings, which 
 I had experienced on my recovery from my fainting 
 fit of hours before. Someone had stopped at our 
 door before hurrying by down the hall. Who was 
 that someone? I rose on my elbow, and endeav- 
 oured to peer through the dark. Of course, I could
 
 26 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 see nothing. But when I woke a second time, there 
 was enough light in the room, early as it undoubtedly 
 was, for me to detect a letter lying on the carpet just 
 inside the door. 
 
 Instantly I was on my feet. Catching the letter 
 up, I carried it to the window. Our two names were 
 on it Mr. and Mrs. George Anderson : the writ- 
 ing, Mr. Slater's. 
 
 I glanced over at George. He was sleeping 
 peacefully. It was too early to wake him, but I 
 could not lay that letter down unread; was not my 
 name on it? Tearing it open, I devoured its con- 
 tents, the exclamation I made on reading it, waking 
 George. 
 
 The writing was in Mr. Slater's hand, and the 
 words were: 
 
 " I must request, at the instance of Coroner Heath and 
 such of the police as listened to your adventure, that you 
 make no further mention of what you saw in the street under 
 our windows last night. The doctors find no bullet in the 
 wound. This clears Mr. Brotherson."
 
 IV 
 
 SWEET LITTLE MISS CLARKE 
 
 WHEN we took our seats at the breakfast-table, it 
 was with the feeling of being no longer looked upon 
 as connected in any way with this case. Yet our in- 
 terest in it was, if anything, increased, and when I saw 
 George casting furtive glances at a certain table be- 
 hind me, I leaned over and asked him the reason, 
 being sure that the people whose faces I saw reflected 
 in the mirror directly before us had something to do 
 with the great matter then engrossing us. 
 
 His answer conveyed the somewhat exciting in- 
 formation that the four persons seated in my rear 
 were the same four who had been reading at the 
 round table in the mezzanine at the time of Miss 
 Challoner's death. 
 
 Instantly they absorbed all my attention, though 
 I dared not give them a direct look, and continued to 
 observe them only in the glass. 
 
 " Is it one family? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes, and a very respectable one. Transients, of 
 course, but very well known in Denver. The lady 
 is not the mother of the boys, but their aunt. The 
 boys belong to the gentleman, who is a widower." 
 
 " Their word ought to be good." 
 
 George nodded. 
 
 " The boys look wide-awake enough if the father 
 does not. As for the aunt, she is sweetness itself. 
 
 27
 
 28 i INITIALS ONLY 
 
 Do they still insist that Miss Challoner was the only 
 person in the room with them at this time? " 
 
 " They did last night. I don't know how they will 
 meet this statement of the doctor's." 
 
 "George?" 
 
 He leaned nearer. 
 
 " Have you ever thought that she might have been 
 a suicide? That she stabbed herself? " 
 
 " No, for in that case a weapon would have been 
 found." 
 
 " And are you sure that none was? " 
 
 " Positive. Such a fact could not have been kept 
 quiet. If a weapon had been picked up there would 
 be no mystery, and no necessity for further police 
 investigation." 
 
 " And the detectives are still here ? " 
 
 " I just saw one." 
 
 "George?" 
 
 Again his head came nearer. 
 
 " Have they searched the lobby? I believe she 
 had a weapon." 
 
 "Laura!" 
 
 " I know it sounds foolish, but the alternative is 
 so improbable. A family like that cannot be leagued 
 together in a conspiracy to hide the truth concerning 
 a matter so serious. To be sure, they may all be 
 short-sighted, or so little given to observation that 
 they didn't see what passed before their eyes. The 
 boys look wide-awake enough, but who can tell? I 
 would sooner believe that " 
 
 I stopped short so suddenly that George looked 
 startled. My attention had been caught by some-
 
 SWEET LITTLE MISS CLARKE 29 
 
 thing new I saw in the mirror upon which my at- 
 tention was fixed. A man was looking in from the 
 corridor behind, at the four persons we were just 
 discussing. He was watching them intently, and I 
 thought I knew his face. 
 
 " What kind of a looking person was the man who 
 took you outside last night? " I inquired of George, 
 with my eyes still on this furtive watcher. 
 
 " A fellow to make you laugh. A perfect char- 
 acter, Laura ; hideously homely but agreeable enough. 
 I took quite a fancy to him. Why? " 
 
 " I am looking at him now." 
 
 ' Very likely. He's deep in this affair. Just an 
 everyday detective, but ambitious, I suppose, and 
 quite alive to the importance of being thorough." 
 
 " He is watching those people. No, he isn't. 
 How quickly he disappeared 1 " 
 
 " Yes, he's mercurial in all his movements. 
 Laura, we must get out of this. There happens 
 to be something else in the world for me to do than 
 to sit around and follow up murder clews." 
 
 But we began to doubt if others agreed with him, 
 when on passing out we were stopped in the lobby 
 by this same detective, who had something to say to 
 George, and drew him quickly aside. 
 
 "What does he want?" I asked, as soon as 
 George had returned to my side. 
 
 " He wants me to stand ready to obey any sum- 
 mons the police may send me." 
 
 "Then they still suspect Brotherson?" 
 
 " They must." 
 
 My head rose a trifle as I glanced up at George.
 
 3 o INITIALS ONLY 
 
 "Then we are not altogether out of it?" I em- 
 phasised, complacently. 
 
 He smiled which hardly seemed a propos. 
 Why does George sometimes smile when I am in 
 my most serious moods. 
 
 As we stepped out of the hotel, George gave my 
 arm a quiet pinch which served to direct my attention 
 to an elderly gentleman who was just alighting from 
 a taxicab at the kerb. He moved heavily and with 
 some appearance of pain, but from the crowd col- 
 lected on the sidewalk many of whom nudged each 
 other as he passed, he was evidently a person of 
 some importance, and as he disappeared within the 
 hotel entrance, I asked George who this kind-faced, 
 bright-eyed old gentleman could be. 
 
 He appeared to know, for he told me at once that 
 he was Detective Gryce; a man who had grown old 
 in solving just such baffling problems as these. 
 
 " He gave up work some time ago, I have been 
 told," my husband went on; " but evidently a great 
 case still has its allurement for him. The trail here 
 must be a very blind one for them to call him in. 
 I wish we had not left so soon. It would have been 
 quite an experience to see him at work." 
 
 " I doubt if you would have been given the op- 
 portunity. I noticed that we were slightly de trop 
 towards the last." 
 
 "I wouldn't have minded that; not on my own 
 account, that is. It might not have been pleasant 
 for you. However, the office is waiting. Come, 
 let me put you on the car." 
 
 That night I bided his coming with an impatience
 
 SWEET LITTLE MISS CLARKE 31 
 
 I could not control. He was late, of course, but 
 when he did appear, I almost forgot our usual 
 greeting in my hurry to ask him if he had seen the 
 evening papers. 
 
 " No," he grumbled, as he hung up his overcoat. 
 " Been pushed about all day. No time for any- 
 thing." 
 
 " Then let me tell you " 
 
 But he would have dinner first. 
 
 However, a little later we had a comfortable chat. 
 Mr. Gryce had made a discovery, and the papers 
 were full of it. It was one which gave me a small 
 triumph over George. The suggestion he had 
 laughed at was not so entirely foolish as he had been 
 pleased to consider it. But let me tell the story 
 of that day, without any further reference to myself. 
 
 The opinion had become quite general with those 
 best acquainted with the details of this affair, that 
 the mystery was one of those abnormal ones for which 
 no solution would ever be found, when the aged 
 detective showed himself in the building and was 
 taken to the room, where an Inspector of "Police 
 awaited him. Their greeting was cordial, and the 
 lines on the latter's face relaxed a little as he met 
 the still bright eye of the man upon whose instinct 
 and judgment so much reliance had always been 
 placed. 
 
 ' This is very good of you," he began, glancing 
 down at the aged detective's bundled up legs, and 
 gently pushing a chair towards him. " I know that 
 it was a great deal to ask, but we're at our wits' end, 
 and so I telephoned. It's the most inexplicable
 
 32 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 There! you have heard that phrase before. But 
 clews there are absolutely none. That is, we have 
 not been able to find any. Perhaps you can. At 
 least, that is what we hope. I've known you more 
 than once to succeed where others have failed." 
 
 The elderly man thus addressed, glanced down at 
 his legs, now propped up on a stool which someone 
 had brought him, and smiled, with the pathos of the 
 old who sees the interests of a lifetime slipping 
 gradually away. 
 
 " I am not what I was. I can no longer get down 
 on my hands and knees to pick up threads from the 
 nap of a rug, or spy out a spot of blood in the 
 crimson woof of a carpet." 
 
 " You shall have Sweetwater here to do the active 
 work for you. What we want of you is the directing 
 mind the infallible instinct. It's a case in a 
 thousand, Gryce. We've never had anything just 
 like it. You've never had anything at all like it. It 
 will make you young again." 
 
 The old man's eyes shot fire and unconsciously 
 one foot slipped to the floor. Then he bethought 
 himself and painfully lifted it back again. 
 
 " What are the points? What's the difficulty? " 
 he asked. " A woman has been shot " 
 
 " No, not shot, stabbed. We thought she had 
 been shot, for that was intelligible and involved no 
 impossibilities. But Drs. Heath and Webster, under 
 the eye of the Challoners' own physician, have made 
 an examination of the wound an official one, 
 thorough and quite final so far as they are concerned, 
 and they declare that no bullet is to be found in the
 
 SWEET LITTLE MISS CLARKE 33 
 
 body. As the wound extends no further than the 
 heart, this settles one great point, at least." 
 
 " Dr. Heath is a reliable man and one of our ablest 
 coroners." 
 
 " Yes. There can be no question as to the truth 
 of his report. You know the victim? Her name, 
 I mean, and the character she bore?" 
 
 " Yes; so much was told me on my way down." 
 
 " A fine girl unspoiled by riches and seeming in- 
 dependence. Happy, too, to all appearance, or we 
 should be more ready to consider the possibility of 
 suicide." 
 
 " Suicide by stabbing calls for a weapon. Yet 
 none has been found, I hear." 
 
 " None." 
 
 " Yet she was killed that way? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly, and by a long and very narrow 
 blade, larger than a needle but not so large as the 
 ordinary stiletto." 
 
 " Stabbed while by herself, or what you may call 
 by herself? She had no companion near her?" 
 
 " None, if we can believe the four members of 
 the Parrish family who were seated at the other end 
 of the room." 
 
 " And you do believe them? " 
 
 "Would a whole family lie and needlessly? 
 They never knew the woman father, maiden aunt 
 and two boys, clear-eyed, jolly young chaps whom 
 even the horror of this tragedy, perpetrated as it 
 were under their very nose, cannot make serious for 
 more than a passing moment." 
 
 -" It wouldn't seem so."
 
 ^ INITIALS ONLY 
 
 " Yet they swear up and down that nobody crossed 
 the room towards Miss Challoner." 
 
 " So they tell me." 
 
 " She fell just a few feet from the desk where she 
 had been writing. No word, no cry, just a col- 
 lapse and sudden fall. In olden days they would 
 have said, struck by a bolt from heaven. But it 
 was a bolt which drew blood; not much blood, I hear, 
 but sufficient to end life almost instantly. She never 
 looked up or spoke again. What do you make of 
 it, Gryce?" 
 
 " It's a tough one, and I'm not ready to venture an 
 opinion yet. I should like to see the desk you speak 
 of, and the spot where she fell." 
 
 A young fellow who had been hovering in the back- 
 ground at once stepped forward. He was the plain- 
 faced detective who had spoken to George. 
 
 " Will you take my arm, sir? " 
 
 Mr. Gryce's whole face brightened. This Sweet- 
 water, as they called him, was, I have since under- 
 stood, one of his proteges and more or less of a 
 favourite. 
 
 " Have you had a chance at this thing? " he asked. 
 "Been over the ground studied the affair care- 
 fully? " 
 
 " Yes, sir; they were good enough to allow it." 
 
 " Very well, then, you're in a position to pioneer 
 me. You've seen it all and won't be in a hurry." 
 
 " No; I'm at the end of my rope. I haven't an 
 idea, sir." 
 
 " Well, well, that's honest at all events." Then,
 
 SWEET LITTLE MISS CLARKE 35 
 
 as he slowly rose with the other's careful assistance, 
 ' There's no crime without its clew. The thing is 
 to recognise that clew when seen. But I'm in no 
 position to make promises. Old days don't return 
 for the asking." 
 
 Nevertheless, he looked ten years younger than 
 when he came in, or so thought those who knew him. 
 
 The mezzanine was guarded from all visitors save 
 such as had official sanction. Consequently, the two 
 remained quite uninterrupted while they moved 
 about the place in quiet consultation. Others had 
 preceded them; had examined the plain little desk 
 and found nothing; had paced off the distances; had 
 looked with longing and inquiring eyes at the elevator 
 cage and the open archway leading to the little stair- 
 case and the musicians' gallery. But this was noth- 
 ing to the old detective. The locale was what he 
 wanted, and he got it. Whether he got anything 
 else it would be impossible to say from his manner 
 as he finally sank into a chair by one of the open- 
 ings, and looked down on the lobby below. It was 
 full of people coming and going on all sorts of busi- 
 ness, and presently he drew back, and, leaning on 
 Sweetwater's arm, asked him a few questions. 
 
 ' Who were the first to rush in here after the Par- 
 rishes gave the alarm?" 
 
 " One or two of the musicians from the end of the 
 hall. They had just finished their programme and 
 were preparing to leave the gallery. Naturally they 
 reached her first." 
 
 " Good! their names? "
 
 36 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 " Mark Sowerby and Claus Hennerberg. Honest 
 Germans men who have played here for years." 
 
 " And who followed them ? Who came next on 
 the scene? " 
 
 " Some people from the lobby. They heard the 
 disturbance and rushed up pell-mell. But not one 
 of these touched her. Later her father came." 
 
 "Who did touch her? Anybody, before the fa- 
 ther came in? " 
 
 " Yes ; Miss Clarke, the middle-aged lady with the 
 Parrishes. She had run towards Miss Challoner as 
 soon as she heard her fall, and was sitting there with 
 the dead girl's head in her lap when the musicians 
 showed themselves." 
 
 " I suppose she has been carefully questioned? " 
 
 " Very, I should say." 
 
 " And she speaks of no weapon? " 
 
 " No. Neither she nor any one else at that mo- 
 ment suspected murder or even a violent death. All 
 thought it a natural one sudden, but the result of 
 some secret disease." 
 
 "Father and all? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " But the blood? Surely there must have been 
 some show of blood? " 
 
 " They say not. No one noticed any. Not till 
 the doctor came her doctor who was happily in 
 his office in this very building. He saw the drops, 
 and uttered the first suggestion of murder." 
 
 " How long after was this? Is there any one 
 who has ventured to make an estimate of the number 
 of minutes which elapsed from the time she fell,
 
 SWEET LITTLE MISS CLARKE 37 
 
 to the moment when the doctor first raised the cry 
 of murder? " 
 
 " Yes. Mr. Slater, the assistant manager, who 
 was in the lobby at the time, says that ten minutes 
 at least must have elapsed." 
 
 " Ten minutes and no blood! The weapon must 
 still have been there. Some weapon with a short 
 and inconspicuous handle. I think they said there 
 were flowers over and around the place where it 
 struck?" 
 
 " Yes, great big scarlet ones. Nobody noticed 
 nobody looked. A panic like that seems to paralyse 
 people." 
 
 " Ten minutes ! I must see every one who ap- 
 proached her during those ten minutes. Every one, 
 Sweetwater, and I must myself talk with Miss 
 Clarke." 
 
 " You will like her. You will believe every word 
 she says." 
 
 " No doubt. All the more reason why I must 
 see her. Sweetwater, someone drew that weapon 
 out. Effects still have their causes, notwithstanding 
 the new cult. The question is who? We must 
 leave no stone unturned to find that out." 
 
 " The stones have all been turned over once." 
 
 "By you?" 
 
 " Not altogether by me." 
 
 " Then they will bear being turned over again. I 
 want to be witness of the operation." 
 ' Where will you see Miss Clarke? " 
 ' Wherever she pleases only I can't walk far." 
 
 " I think I know the place. You shall have the
 
 3 8 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 .use of this elevator. It has not been running since 
 last night or it would be full of curious people all 
 the time, hustling to get a glimpse of this place. But 
 they'll put a man on for you." 
 
 " Very good ; manage it as you will. I'll wait here 
 till you're ready. Explain yourself to the lady. 
 Tell her I'm an old and rheumatic invalid who has 
 been used to asking his own questions. I'll not 
 trouble her much. But there is one point she must 
 make clear to me." 
 
 Sweetwater did not presume to ask what point, 
 but he hoped to be fully enlightened when the time 
 came. 
 
 And he was. Mr. Gryce had undertaken to edu- 
 cate him for this work, and never missed the oppor- 
 tunity of giving him a lesson. The three met in 
 a private sitting-room on an upper floor, the detec- 
 tives entering first and the lady coming in soon after. 
 
 As her quiet figure appeared in the doorway, 
 Sweetwater stole a glance at Mr. Gryce. He was not 
 looking her way, of course ; he never looked directly 
 at anybody; but he formed his impressions for all 
 that, and Sweetwater was anxious to make sure of 
 these impressions. There was no doubting them in 
 this instance. Miss Clarke was not a woman to 
 rouse an unfavourable opinion in any man's mind. 
 Of slight, almost frail build, she had that peculiar 
 animation which goes with a speaking eye and a 
 widely sympathetic nature. Without any substantial 
 claims to beauty, her expression was so womanly and 
 so sweet that she was invariably called lovely. 
 
 Mr. Gryce was engaged at the moment in shifting
 
 SWEET LITTLE MISS CLARKE 39 
 
 his cane from the right hand to the left, but his man- 
 ner was never more encouraging or his smile more 
 benevolent. 
 
 " Pardon me," he apologised, with one of his old- 
 fashioned bows, " I'm sorry to trouble you after all 
 the distress you must have been under this morning. 
 But there is something I wish especially to ask you 
 in regard to the dreadful occurrence in which you 
 played so kind a part. You were the first to reach 
 the prostrate woman, I believe." 
 
 " Yes. The boys jumped up and ran towards her, 
 but they were frightened by her looks and left it for 
 me to put my hands under her and try to lift her 
 up." 
 
 " Did you manage it? " 
 
 " I succeeded in getting her head into my lap, noth- 
 ing more." 
 
 "And sat so?" 
 
 " For some little time. That is, it seemed long, 
 though I believe it was not more than a minute be- 
 fore two men came running from the musicians' gal- 
 lery. One thinks so fast at such a time and feels 
 so much." 
 
 " You knew she was dead, then? " 
 
 " I felt her to be so." 
 
 "How felt?" 
 
 " I was sure I never questioned it." 
 
 " You have seen women in a faint? " 
 
 " Yes, many times." 
 
 'What made the difference? Why should you 
 believe Miss Challoner dead simply because she lay 
 still and apparently lifeless?"
 
 40 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 " I cannot tell you. Possibly, death tells its own 
 story. I only know how I felt." 
 
 " Perhaps there was another reason? Perhaps, 
 that, consciously or unconsciously, you laid your palm 
 upon her heart? " 
 
 Miss Clarke started, and her sweet face showed a 
 moment's perplexity. 
 
 " Did I ? " she queried, musingly. Then with a 
 sudden access of feeling, " I may have done so, in- 
 deed, I believe I did. My arms were around her; it 
 would not have been an unnatural action." 
 
 " No; a very natural one, I should say. Cannot 
 you tell me positively whether you did this or 
 not?" 
 
 " Yes, I did. I had forgotten it, but I remember 
 now." And the glance she cast him while not meet- 
 ing his eye showed that she understood the impor- 
 tance of the admission. " I know," she said, " what 
 you are going to ask me now. Did I feel anything 
 there but the flowers and the tulle? No, Mr. Gryce, 
 I did not. There was no poniard in the wound." 
 
 Mr. Gryce felt around, found a chair and sank into 
 it. 
 
 " You are a truthful woman," said he. " And," 
 he added more slowly, " composed enough in char- 
 acter I should judge not to have made any mistake 
 on this very vital point." 
 
 " I think so, Mr. Gryce. I was in a state of ex- 
 citement, of course ; but the woman was a stranger to 
 me, and my feelings were not unduly agitated." 
 
 " Sweetwater, we can let my suggestion go in re- 
 gard to those ten minutes I spoke of. The time is
 
 SWEET LITTLE MISS CLARKE 41 
 
 narrowed down to one, and in that one, Miss Clarke 
 was the only person to touch her." 
 
 ' The only one," echoed the lady, catching pep- 
 haps the slight rising sound of query in his voice. 
 
 " I will trouble you no further." So said the old 
 detective, thoughtfully. " Sweetwater, help me out 
 of this." His eye was dull and his manner betrayed 
 exhaustion. But vigour returned to him before he 
 had well reached the door, and he showed some of 
 his old spirit as he thanked Miss Clarke and turned 
 to take the elevator. 
 
 " But one possibility remains," he confided to 
 Sweetwater, as they stood waiting at the elevator 
 door. " Miss Challoner died from a stab. The 
 next minute she was in this lady's arms. No 
 weapon protruded from the wound, nor was any 
 found on or near her in the mezzanine. What fol- 
 lows ? She struck the blow herself, and the strength 
 of purpose which led her to do this, gave her the 
 additional force to pull the weapon out and fling it 
 from her. It did not fall upon the floor around her ; 
 therefore, it flew through one of those openings into 
 the lobby, and there it either will be, or has been 
 found." 
 
 It was this statement, otherwise worded, which 
 gave me my triumph over George.
 
 THE RED CLOAK 
 
 "WHAT results? Speak up, Sweetwater." 
 
 " None. Every man, woman and boy connected 
 with the hotel has been questioned; many of them 
 routed out of their beds for the purpose, but not one 
 of them picked up anything from the floor of the 
 lobby, or knows of any one who did." 
 
 " There now remain the guests." 
 
 " And after them (pardon me, Mr. Gryce) the 
 general public which rushed in rather promiscuously 
 last night." 
 
 "I know it; it's a task, but it must be carried 
 through. Put up bulletins, publish your wants in the 
 papers; do anything, only gain your end." 
 
 A bulletin was put up. 
 
 Some hours later, Sweetwater re-entered the room, 
 and, approaching Mr. Gryce with a smile, blurted 
 out: 
 
 " The bulletin is a great go. I think of course, 
 I cannot be sure that it's going to do the business. 
 I've watched every one who stopped to read it. 
 Many showed interest and many, emotion ; she seems 
 to have had a troop of friends. But embarrassment ! 
 only one showed that. I thought you would like 
 to know." 
 
 "Embarrassment? Humph! a man?" 
 
 42
 
 THE RED CLOAK 43 
 
 " No, a woman; a lady, sir; one of the transients. 
 I found out in a jiffy all they could tell me about 
 her." 
 
 " A woman ! We didn't expect that. Where is 
 she? Still in the lobby?" 
 
 " No, sir. She took the elevator while I was talk- 
 ing with the clerk." 
 
 ' There's nothing in it. You mistook her expres- 
 
 sion." 
 
 " I don't think so. I had noticed her when she 
 first came into the lobby. She was talking to her 
 daughter who was with her, and looked natural and 
 happy. But no sooner had she seen and read that 
 bulletin, than the blood shot up into her face and her 
 manner became furtive and hasty. There was no 
 mistaking the difference, sir. Almost before I could 
 point her out, she had seized her daughter by the 
 arm and hurried her towards the elevator. I wanted 
 to follow her, but you may prefer to make your own 
 inquiries. Her room is on the seventh floor, number 
 ,712, and her name is Watkins. Mrs. Horace Wat- 
 kins of Nashville." 
 
 Mr. Gryce nodded thoughtfully, but made no im- 
 mediate effort to rise. 
 
 " Is that all you know about her? " he asked. 
 
 ' Yes; this is the first time she has stopped at this 
 hotel. She came yesterday. Took a room in- 
 definitely. Seems all right; but she did blush, sir. I 
 never saw its beat in a young girl." 
 
 " Call the desk. Say that I'm to be told if Mrs. 
 Watkins of Nashville rings up during the next ten
 
 44 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 minutes. We'll give her that long to take some 
 action. If she fails to make any move, I'll make my 
 own approaches." 
 
 Sweetwater did as he was bid, then went back to 
 his place in the lobby. 
 
 But he returned almost instantly. 
 
 " Mrs. Watkins has just telephoned down that she 
 is going to to leave, sir." 
 
 " To leave? " 
 
 The old man struggled to his feet. " No. 712, do 
 you say? Seven stories," he sighed. But as he 
 turned with a hobble, he stopped. " There are diffi- 
 culties in the way of this interview," he remarked. 
 " A blush is not much to go upon. I'm afraid we 
 shall have to resort to the shadow business and that 
 is your work, not mine." 
 
 But here the door opened and a boy brought in a 
 line which had been left at the desk. It related to 
 the very matter then engaging them, and ran thus : 
 
 " I see that information is desired as to whether any per- 
 son was seen to stoop to the lobby floor last night at or 
 shortly after the critical moment of Miss Challoner's fall 
 in the half story above. I can give such information. I 
 was in the lobby at the time, and in the height of the con- 
 fusion following this alarming incident, I remember seeing 
 a lady, one of the new arrivals (there were several coming 
 in at the time) stoop quickly down and pick up some- 
 thing from the floor. I thought nothing of it at the time, 
 and so paid little attention to her appearance. I can only 
 recall the suddenness with which she stooped and the colour 
 of the cloak she wore. It was red, and the whole garment 
 was voluminous. If you wish further particulars, though
 
 THE RED CLOAK 45, 
 
 in truth, I have no more to give, you can find me in room 
 
 356. 
 
 " HENRY A. MCELROY." 
 
 " Humph ! This should simplify our task," was 
 Mr. Gryce's comment, as he handed the note over 
 to Sweetwater. " You can easily find out if the lady, 
 now on the point of departure, can be identified with 
 the one described by Mr. McElroy. If she can, I 
 am ready to meet her anywhere." 
 
 " Here goes then ! " cried Sweetwater, and quickly 
 left the room. 
 
 When he returned, it was not with his most hope- 
 ful air. 
 
 " The cloak doesn't help," he declared. " No one 
 remembers the cloak. But the time of Mrs. Wat- 
 kins' arrival was all right. She came in directly on 
 the heels of this catastrophe." 
 
 " She did ! Sweetwater, I will see her. Manage 
 it for me at once." 
 
 " The clerk says that it had better be upstairs : 
 She is a very sensitive woman. There might be a 
 scene, if she were intercepted on her way out." 
 
 " Very well." But the look which the old 
 detective threw at his bandaged legs was not without 
 its pathos. 
 
 And so it happened that just as Mrs. Watkins was 
 watching the wheeling out of her trunks, there ap- 
 peared in the doorway before her, an elderly gentle- 
 man, whose expression, always benevolent, save at 
 moments when benevolence would be quite out of 
 keeping with the situation, had for some reason, so
 
 46 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 marked an effect upon her, that she coloured under 
 his eye, and, indeed, showed such embarrassment, 
 that all doubt of the propriety of his intrusion 
 vanished from the old man's mind, and with the ease 
 of one only too well accustomed to such scenes, he 
 kindly remarked: 
 
 " Am I speaking to Mrs. Watkins of Nashville? " 
 
 " You are," she faltered, with another rapid 
 change of colour. "I I am just leaving. I hope 
 you will excuse me. I " 
 
 " I wish I could," he smiled, hobbling in and con- 
 fronting her quietly in her own room. " But cir- 
 cumstances make it quite imperative that I should 
 have a few words with you on a topic which need not 
 be disagreeable to you, and probably will not be. 
 My name is Gryce. This will probably convey noth- 
 ing to you, but I am not unknown to the management 
 below, and my years must certainly give you confi- 
 dence in the propriety of my errand. A beautiful 
 and charming young woman died here last night. 
 May I ask if you knew her? " 
 
 "I?" She was trembling violently now, but 
 whether with indignation or some other more subtle 
 emotion, it would be difficult to say. " No, I'm 
 from the South. I never saw the young lady. Why 
 
 do you ask? I do not recognise your right. I 
 j 
 
 Certainly her emotion must be that of simple in- 
 dignation. Mr. Gryce made one of his low bows, 
 and propping himself against the table he stood be- 
 fore, remarked civilly : 
 
 " I had rather not force my rights. The matter
 
 THE RED CLOAK 47 
 
 is so very ordinary. I did not suppose you knew 
 Miss Challoner, but one must begin somehow, and as 
 you came in at the very moment when the alarm 
 was raised in the lobby, I thought perhaps you could 
 tell me something which would aid me in my effort 
 to elicit the real facts of the case. You were cross- 
 ing the lobby at the time " 
 
 " Yes." She raised her head. u So were a dozen 
 others " 
 
 u Madam," the interruption was made in his 
 kindliest tones, but in a way which nevertheless sug- 
 gested authority. " Something was picked up from 
 the floor at that moment. If the dozen you mention 
 were witnesses to this act we do not know it. But we 
 do know that it did not pass unobserved by you. Am 
 I not correct? Didn't you see a certain person I 
 will mention no names stoop and pick up some- 
 thing from the lobby floor? " 
 
 " No." The word came out with startling 
 violence. " I was conscious of nothing but the con- 
 fusion." She was facing him with determination 
 and her eyes were fixed boldly on his face. But her 
 lips quivered, and her cheeks were white, too white 
 now for simple indignation. 
 
 ' Then I have made a big mistake," apologised 
 the ever-courteous detective. " Will you pardon 
 me? It would have settled a very serious question 
 if it could be found that the object thus picked up 
 was the weapon which killed Miss Challoner. That 
 is my excuse for the trouble I have given you." 
 
 He was not looking at her; he was looking at her 
 hand which rested on the table before which he him-
 
 48 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 self stood. Did the fingers tighten a little and dig 
 into the palm they concealed? He thought so, and 
 was very slow in turning limpingly about towards the 
 door. Meanwhile, would she speak? No. The 
 silence was so marked, he felt it an excuse for stealing 
 another glance in her direction. She was not looking 
 his way but at a door in the partition wall on her 
 right ; and the look was one very akin to anxious fear. 
 The next moment he understood it. The door burst 
 open, and a young girl bounded into the room, with 
 the merry cry : 
 
 " All ready, mother. I'm glad we are going to 
 the Clarendon. I hate hotels where people die al- 
 most before your eyes." 
 
 What the mother said at this outburst is im- 
 material. What the detective did is not. Keeping 
 on his way, he reached the door, but not to open it 
 wider; rather to close it softly but with unmistakable 
 decision. The cloak which enveloped the girl was 
 red, and full enough to be called voluminous. 
 
 " Who is this? " demanded the girl, her indignant 
 glances flashing from one to the other. 
 
 " I don't know," faltered the mother in very evi- 
 dent distress. " He says he has a right to ask us 
 questions and he has been asking questions about > 
 about " 
 
 " Not about me," laughed the girl, with a toss of 
 her head Mr. Gryce would have corrected in one of 
 his grandchildren. " He can have nothing to say 
 about me." And she began to move about the room 
 in an aimless, half-insolent way. 
 
 Mr. Gryce stared hard at the few remaining be-
 
 THE RED CLOAK 49 
 
 longings of the two women, lying in a heap on the 
 table, and half musingly, half deprecatingly, re- 
 marked : 
 
 " The person who stooped wore a long red cloak. 
 Probably you preceded your daughter, Mrs. Wat- 
 kins." 
 
 The lady thus brought to the point made a quick 
 gesture towards the girl who suddenly stood still, and, 
 with a rising colour in her cheeks, answered, with 
 some show of resolution on her own part: 
 
 " You say your name is Gryce and that you have a 
 right to address me thus pointedly on a subject 
 which you evidently regard as serious. That is not 
 exact enough for me. Who are you, sir? What is 
 your business? " 
 
 " I think you have guessed it. I am a detective 
 from Headquarters. What I want of you I have al- 
 ready stated. Perhaps this young lady can tell me 
 what you cannot. I shall be pleased if this is so." 
 
 "Caroline" Then the mother broke down. 
 " Show the gentleman what you picked up from the 
 lobby floor last night." 
 
 The girl laughed again, loudly and with evident 
 bravado, before she threw the cloak back and showed 
 what she had evidently been holding in her hand from 
 the first, a sharp-pointed, gold-handled paper-cutter. 
 
 " It was lying there and I picked it up. I don't 
 see any harm in that." 
 
 ' You probably meant none. You couldn't have 
 known the part it had just played in this tragic 
 drama," said the old detective looking carefully at 
 the cutter which he had taken in his hand, but not so
 
 5 o INITIALS ONLY 
 
 carefully that he failed to note that the look of dis- 
 tress was not lifted from the mother's face either by 
 her daughter's words or manner. 
 
 " You have washed this? " he asked. 
 
 "No. Why should I wash it? It was clean 
 enough. I was just going down to give it in at the 
 desk. I wasn't going to carry it away." And she 
 turned aside to the window and began to hum, as 
 though done with the whole matter. 
 
 The old detective rubbed his chin, glanced again at 
 the paper-cutter, then at the girl in the window, and 
 lastly at the mother, who had lifted her head again 
 and was facing him bravely. 
 
 " It is very important," he observed to the latter, 
 " that your daughter should be correct in her state- 
 ment as to the condition of this article when she 
 picked it up. Are you sure she did not wash it? " 
 
 " I don't think she did. But I'm sure she will tell 
 you the truth about that. Caroline, this is a police 
 matter. Any mistake about it may involve us in a 
 world of trouble and keep you from getting back 
 home in time for your coming-out party. Did you 
 did you wash this cutter when you got upstairs, 
 or or " she added, with a propitiatory glance 
 at Mr. Gryce " wipe it off at any time between 
 then and now? Don't answer hastily. Be sure. 
 No one can blame you for that act. Any girl, as 
 thoughtless as you, might do that." 
 
 "Mother, how can I tell what I did?" flashed 
 out the girl, wheeling round on her heel till she faced 
 them both. " I don't remember doing a thing to it. 
 I just brought it up. A thing found like that belongs
 
 THE RED CLOAK 51 
 
 to the finder. You needn't hold it out towards me 
 like that. I don't want it now ; I'm sick of it. Such 
 a lot of talk about a paltry thing which couldn't have 
 cost ten dollars." And she wheeled back. 
 
 " It isn't the value." Mr. Gryce could be very 
 patient. " It's the fact that we believe it to have 
 been answerable for Miss Challoner's death that 
 is, if there was any blood on it when you picked it 
 up." 
 
 " Blood! " The girl was facing them again, as- 
 tonishment struggling with disgust on her plain but 
 mobile features. " Blood! is that what you mean? 
 No wonder I hate it. Take it away," she cried. 
 " Oh, mother, I'll never pick up anything again which 
 doesn't belong to me ! Blood ! " she repeated in hor- 
 ror, flinging herself into her mother's arms. 
 
 Mr. Gryce thought he understood the situation. 
 Here was a little kleptomaniac whose weakness the 
 mother was struggling to hide. Light was pouring 
 in. He felt his body's weight less on that miserable 
 foot of his. 
 
 " Does that frighten you ? Are you so affected by 
 the thought of blood? " 
 
 " Don't ask me. And I put the thing under my 
 pillow ! I thought it was so so pretty." 
 
 " Mrs. Watkins," Mr. Gryce from that moment 
 ignored the daughter, " did you see it there? " 
 
 " Yes; but I didn't know where it came from. I 
 had not seen my daughter stoop. I didn't know 
 where she got it till I read that bulletin." 
 
 " Never mind that. The question agitating me 
 is whether any stain was left under that pillow. We
 
 52 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 want to be sure of the connection between this pos- 
 sible weapon and the death by stabbing which we all 
 deplore if there is a connection." 
 
 " I didn't see any stain, but you can look for your- 
 self. The bed has been made up, but there was no 
 change of linen. We expected to remain here; I see 
 no good to be gained by hiding any of the facts now." 
 
 " None whatever, Madam." 
 
 " Come, then. Caroline, sit down and stop cry- 
 ing. Mr. Gryce believes that your only fault was 
 in not taking this object at once to the desk." 
 
 " Yes, that's all," acquiesced the detective after a 
 short study of the shaking figure and distorted fea- 
 tures of the girl. " You had no idea, I'm sure, 
 where this weapon came from or for what it had 
 been used. That's evident." 
 
 Her shudder, as she seated herself, was very con- 
 vincing. She was too young to simulate so success- 
 fully emotions of this character. 
 
 " I'm glad of that," she responded, half fretfully, 
 half gratefully, as Mr. Gryce followed her mother 
 into the adjoining room. " I've had a bad enough 
 time of it without being blamed for what I didn't 
 know and didn't do." 
 
 Mr. Gryce laid little stress upon these words, but 
 much upon the lack of curiosity she showed in the 
 minute and careful examination he now made of her 
 room. There was no stain on the pillow-cover and 
 none on the bureau-spread where she might very 
 naturally have laid the cutter down on first coming 
 into her room. The blade was so polished that it 
 must have been rubbed off somewhere, either pur-
 
 THE RED CLOAK 53 
 
 posely or by accident. Where then, since not here? 
 He asked to see her gloves the ones she had worn 
 the previous night. 
 
 " They are the same she is wearing now," the anx- 
 ious mother assured him. ' Wait, and I will get 
 them for you." 
 
 " No need. Let her hold out her hands in token 
 of amity. I shall soon see." 
 
 They returned to where the girl still sat, wrapped 
 in her cloak, sobbing still, but not so violently. 
 
 " Caroline, you may take off your things," said 
 the mother, drawing the pins from her own hat. 
 " We shall not go to-day." 
 
 The child shot her mother one disappointed look, 
 then proceeded to follow suit. When her hat was 
 off, she began to take off her gloves. As soon as 
 they were on the table, the mother pushed them over 
 to Mr. Gryce. As he looked at them, the girl lifted 
 off her cloak. 
 
 "Will will he tell?" she whispered behind its 
 ample folds into her mother's ear. 
 
 The answer came quickly, but not in the mother's 
 tones. Mr. Gryce's ears had lost none of their an- 
 cient acuteness. 
 
 " I do not see that I should gain much by doing 
 so. The one discovery which would link this find of 
 yours indissolubly with Miss Challoner's death, I 
 have failed to make. If I am equally unsuccessful 
 below if I can establish no closer connection there 
 than here between this cutter and the weapon which 
 killed Miss Challoner, I shall have no cause to men- 
 tion the matter. It will be too extraneous to the
 
 54 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 case. Do you remember the exact spot where you 
 stooped, Miss Watkins? " 
 
 "No, no. Somewhere near those big chairs; I 
 didn't have to step out of my way ; I really didn't." 
 
 Mr. Gryce's answering smile was a study. It 
 seemed to convey a two-fold message, one for the 
 mother and one for the child, and both were com- 
 forting. But he went away, disappointed. The 
 clew which promised so much was, to all appearance, 
 a false one. 
 
 He could soon tell.
 
 VI 
 
 INTEGRITY 
 
 MR. GRYCE'S fears were only too well founded. 
 Though Mr. McElroy was kind enough to point out 
 the exact spot where he saw Miss Watkins stoop, 
 no trace of blood was found upon the rug which 
 had lain there, nor had anything of the kind been 
 washed up by the very careful man who scrubbed 
 the lobby floor in the early morning. This was dis- 
 appointing, as its presence would have settled the 
 whole question. When, these efforts all exhausted, 
 the two detectives faced each other again in the small 
 room given up to their use, Mr. Gryce showed his dis- 
 couragement. To be certain of a fact you cannot 
 prove has not the same alluring quality for the old 
 that it has for the young. Sweetwater watched him 
 in some concern, then with the persistence which 
 was one of his strong points, ventured finally to re- 
 mark: 
 
 " I have but one idea left on the subject." 
 
 " And what is that? " Old as he was, Mr. Gryce 
 was alert in a moment. 
 
 " The girl wore a red cloak. If I mistake not, 
 the lining was also red. A spot on it might not 
 show to the casual observer. Yet it would mean 
 much to us." 
 
 " Sweetwater! " 
 
 A faint blush rose to the old man's cheek. 
 
 55
 
 5 6 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 " Shall I request the privilege of looking that 
 -garment over? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The young fellow ducked and left the room. 
 When he returned, it was with a downcast air. 
 
 " Nothing doing," said he. 
 
 And then there was silence. 
 
 " We only need to find out now that this cutter 
 was not even Miss Challoner's property," remarked 
 Mr. Gryce, at last, with a gesture towards the object 
 named lying openly on the table before him. 
 
 " That should be easy. Shall I take it to their 
 rooms and show it to her maid? " 
 
 " If you can do so without disturbing the old gen- 
 tleman." 
 
 But here they were themselves disturbed. A 
 knock at the door was followed by the immediate 
 entrance of the very person just mentioned. Mr. 
 Challoner had come in search of the inspector, and 
 showed some surprise to find his place occupied by 
 an unknown old man. 
 
 But Mr. Gryce, who discerned tidings in the be- 
 reaved father's face, was all alacrity in an instant. 
 Greeting his visitor with a smile which few could see 
 without trusting the man, he explained the inspec- 
 tor's absence and introduced himself in his own ca- 
 pacity. 
 
 Mr. Challoner had heard of him. Nevertheless, 
 he did not seem inclined to speak. 
 
 Mr. Gryce motioned Sweetwater from the room. 
 With a woeful look the young detective withdrew,
 
 INTEGRITY 57 
 
 his last glance cast at the cutter still lying in full view 
 on the table. 
 
 Mr. Gryce, not unmindful himself of this object, 
 took it up, then laid it down again, with an air of 
 seeming abstraction. 
 
 The father's attention was caught. 
 
 "What is that?" he cried, advancing a step and 
 bestowing more than an ordinary glance at the ob- 
 ject thus brought casually, as it were, to his notice. 
 " I surely recognise this cutter. Does it belong here 
 or" 
 
 Mr. Gryce, observing the other's emotion, mo- 
 tioned him to a chair. As his visitor sank into it, he 
 remarked, with all the consideration exacted by the 
 situation: 
 
 " It is unknown property, Mr. Challoner. But 
 we have some reason to think it belonged to your 
 daughter. Are we correct in this surmise? " 
 
 " I have seen it, or one like it, often in her hand." 
 Here his eyes suddenly dilated and the hand 
 stretched forth to grasp it quickly drew back. 
 'Where where was it found?" he hoarsely de- 
 manded. " O God! am I to be crushed to the very 
 earth by sorrow ! " 
 
 Mr. Gryce hastened to give him such relief as was 
 consistent with the truth. 
 
 " It was picked up last night from the lobby 
 floor. There is seemingly nothing to connect it with 
 her death. Yet" 
 
 The pause was eloquent. Mr. Challoner gave the 
 detective an agonised look and turned white to the
 
 5 8 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 lips. Then gradually, as the silence continued, his 
 head fell forward, and he muttered almost unintel- 
 ligibly : 
 
 " I honestly believe her the victim of some heart- 
 less stranger. I do now; but but I cannot mis- 
 lead the police. At any cost I must retract a state- 
 ment I made under false impressions and with no 
 desire to deceive. I said that I knew all of the gentle- 
 men who admired her and aspired to her hand, and 
 that they were all reputable men and above commit- 
 ting a crime of this or any other kind. But it seems 
 that I did not know her secret heart as thoroughly as 
 I had supposed. Among her effects I have just come 
 upon a batch of letters love letters I am forced to 
 acknowledge signed by initials totally strange to 
 me. The letters are manly in tone most of them 
 but one " 
 
 " What about the one? " 
 
 " Shows that the writer was displeased. It may 
 mean nothing, but I could not let the matter go with- 
 out setting myself right with the authorities. If it 
 might be allowed to rest here if those letters can 
 remain sacred, it would save me the additional pang 
 of seeing her inmost concerns the secret and 
 holiest recesses of a woman's heart, laid open to the 
 public. For, from the tenor of most of these letters, 
 she she was not averse to the writer." 
 
 Mr. Gryce moved a little restlessly in his chair and 
 stared hard at the cutter so conveniently placed un- 
 der his eye. Then his manner softened and he re- 
 marked : 
 
 '' We will do what we can. But you must under-
 
 INTEGRITY 59 
 
 stand that the matter is not a simple one. That, in 
 fact, it contains mysteries which demand police in- 
 vestigation. We do not dare to trifle with any of 
 the facts. The inspector, and, if not he, the coroner, 
 will have to be told about these letters and will prob- 
 ably ask to see them." 
 
 ' They are the letters of a gentleman." 
 " With the one exception." 
 
 ' Yes, that is understood." Then in a sudden 
 heat and with an almost sublime trust in his daugh- 
 ter notwithstanding tRe duplicity he had just discov- 
 ered : " Nothing not the story told by these letters, 
 or the sight of that sturdy paper-cutter with its long 
 and very slender blade, will make me believe that she 
 willingly took her own life. You do not know, can- 
 not know, the rare delicacy of her nature. She was 
 a lady through and through. If she had meditated 
 death if the breach suggested by the one letter I 
 have mentioned, should have so preyed upon her 
 spirits as to lead her to break her old father's heart 
 and outrage the feelings of all who knew her, she 
 could not, being the woman she was, choose a public 
 place for such an act an hotel writing-room in 
 face of a lobby full of hurrying men. It was out of 
 nature. Every one who knows her will tell you so. 
 The deed was an accident incredible but still 
 an accident." 
 
 Mr. Gryce had respect for this outburst. Mak- 
 ing no attempt to answer it, he suggested, with some 
 hesitation, that Miss Challoner had been seen writing 
 a letter previous to taking those fatal steps from the 
 desk which ended so tragically. Was this letter to
 
 6o INITIALS ONLY 
 
 one of her lady friends, as reported, and was it as far 
 from suggesting the awful tragedy which followed, 
 as he had been told? 
 
 " It was a cheerful letter. Such a one as she often 
 wrote to her little protegees here and there. I judge 
 that this was written to some girl like that, for the 
 person addressed was not known to her maid, any 
 more than she was to me. It expressed an affec- 
 tionate interest, and it breathed encouragement 
 encouragement! and she meditating her own death at 
 the moment! Impossible! That letter should ex- 
 onerate her if nothing else does." 
 
 Mr. Gryce recalled the incongruities, the incon- 
 sistencies and even the surprising contradictions which 
 had often marked the conduct of men and women, 
 in his lengthy experience with the strange, the sudden, 
 and the tragic things of life, and slightly shook his 
 head. He pitied Mr. Challoner, and admired even 
 more his courage in face of the appalling grief which 
 had overwhelmed him, but he dared not encourage a 
 false hope. The girl had killed herself and with this 
 weapon. They might not be able to prove it abso- 
 lutely, but it was nevertheless true, and this broken 
 old man would some day be obliged to acknowledge 
 it. But the detective said nothing of this, and was 
 very patient with the further arguments the other 
 advanced to prove his point and the lofty character 
 of the girl to whom, misled by appearance, the police 
 seemed inclined to attribute the awful sin of self-de- 
 struction. 
 
 But when, this topic exhausted, Mr. Challoner 
 rose to leave the room, Mr. Gryce showed where his
 
 INTEGRITY 61 
 
 own thoughts still centred, by asking him the date 
 of the correspondence discovered between his daughter 
 and her unknown admirer. 
 
 " Some of the letters were dated last summer, 
 some this fall. The one you are most anxious to hear 
 about only a month back," he added, with uncon- 
 querable devotion to what he considered his duty. 
 
 Mr. Gryce would like to have carried his inquiries 
 further, but desisted. His heart was full of compas- 
 sion for this childless old man, doomed to have his 
 choicest memories disturbed by cruel doubts which 
 possibly would never be removed to his own com- 
 plete satisfaction. 
 
 But when he was gone, and Sweetwater had re- 
 turned, Mr. Gryce made it his first duty to communi- 
 cate to his superiors the hitherto unsuspected fact of 
 a secret romance in Miss Challoner's seemingly calm 
 and well-guarded life. She had loved and been 
 loved by one of whom her family knew nothing. 
 And the two had quarrelled, as certain letters lately 
 found could be made to show.
 
 VII 
 
 THE LETTERS 
 
 BEFORE a table strewn with papers, in the room we 
 have already mentioned as given over to the use of 
 the police, sat Dr. Heath in a mood too thoughtful to 
 notice the entrance of Mr. Gryce and Sweetwater 
 from the dining-room where they had been having 
 dinner. 
 
 However as the former's tread was somewhat lum- 
 bering, the coroner's attention was caught before 
 they had quite crossed the room, and Sweetwater, 
 with his quick eye, noted how his arm and hand im- 
 mediately fell so as to cover up a portion of the pa- 
 pers lying nearest to him. 
 
 ' Well, Gryce, this is a dark case," he observed, 
 as at his bidding the two detectives took their seats. 
 
 Mr. Gryce nodded; so did Sweetwater. 
 
 ' The darkest that has ever come to my knowl- 
 edge," pursued the coroner. 
 
 Mr. Gryce again nodded; but not so, Sweetwater. 
 For some reason this simple expression of opinion 
 seemed to have given him a mental start. 
 
 " She was not shot. She was not struck by any 
 other hand; yet she lies dead from a mortal wound 
 in the breast. Though there is no tangible proof 
 of her having inflicted this wound upon herself, the 
 jury will have no alternative, I fear, than to pro- 
 nounce the case one of suicide." 
 
 62
 
 THE LETTERS 63 
 
 " I'm sorry that I've been able to do so little," re- 
 marked Mr. Gryce. 
 
 The coroner darted him a quick look. 
 
 " You are not satisfied? You have some different 
 idea? " he asked. 
 
 The detective frowned at his hands crossed over 
 the top of his cane, then shaking his head, replied : 
 
 " The verdict you mention is the only natural one, 
 of course. I see that you have been talking with 
 Miss Challoner's former maid?" 
 
 " Yes, and she has settled an important point for 
 us. There was a possibility, of course, that the pa- 
 per-cutter which you brought to my notice had never 
 gone with her into the mezzanine. That she, or 
 some other person, had dropped it in passing through 
 the lobby. But this girl assures me that her mis- 
 tress did not enter the lobby that night. That she 
 accompanied her down in the elevator, and saw her 
 step off at the mezzanine. She can also swear that 
 the cutter was in a book she carried the book we 
 found lying on the desk. The girl remembers dis- 
 tinctly seeing its peculiarly chased handle projecting 
 from its pages. Could anything be more satisfac- 
 tory if I was going to say, if the young lady had 
 been of the impulsive type and the provocation 
 greater. But Miss Challoner's nature was calm, 
 and were it not for these letters " here his arm 
 shifted a little "I should not be so sure of my 
 jury's future verdict. Love " he went on, after a 
 moment of silent consideration of a letter he had 
 chosen from those before him, " disturbs the most 
 equable natures. When it enters as a factor, we can
 
 64 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 expect anything as you know. And Miss Chal- 
 loner evidently was much attached to her correspon- 
 dent, and naturally felt the reproach conveyed in 
 these lines." 
 
 And Dr. Heath read: 
 
 " Dear Miss Challoner: 
 
 " Only a man of small spirit could endure what I endured 
 from you the other day. Love such as mine would be re- 
 spectable in a clod-hopper, and I think that even you will 
 acknowledge that I stand somewhat higher than that. 
 Though I was silent under your disapprobation, you shall 
 yet have your answer. It will not lack point because of its 
 necessary delay." 
 
 "A threat!" 
 
 The words sprang from Sweetwater, and were 
 evidently involuntary. Dr. Heath paid no notice, 
 but Mr. Gryce, in shifting his hands on his cane top, 
 gave them a sidelong look which was not without a 
 bint of fresh interest in a case concerning which he 
 had believed himself to have said his last word. 
 
 " It is the only letter of them all which conveys 
 anything like a reproach," proceeded the coroner. 
 ' The rest are ardent enough and, I must acknowl- 
 edge that, so far as I have allowed myself to look 
 into them, sufficiently respectful. Her surprise 
 must consequently have been great at receiving these 
 lines, and her resentment equally so. If the two 
 met afterwards But I have not shown you the 
 signature. To the poor father it conveyed nothing 
 some facts have been kept from him but to 
 us " here he whirled the letter about so that
 
 THE LETTERS 65 
 
 Sweetwater, at least, could see the name, " it con- 
 veys a hope that we may yet understand Miss 
 Challoner." 
 
 " Brotherson ! " exclaimed the young detective in 
 loud surprise. " Brotherson I The man who " 
 
 " The man who left this building just before or 
 simultaneously with the alarm caused by Miss Chal- 
 loner's fall. It clears away some of the clouds be- 
 fogging us. She probably caught sight of him in the 
 lobby, and in the passion of the moment forgot her 
 usual instincts and drove the sharp-pointed weapon 
 into her heart." 
 
 " Brotherson ! " The word came softly now, and 
 with a thoughtful intonation. " He saw her die." 
 
 " Why do you say that? " 
 
 " Would he have washed his hands in the snow 
 if he had been in ignorance of the occurrence? He 
 was the real, if not active, cause of her death and he 
 knew it. Either he Excuse me, Dr. Heath and 
 Mr. Gryce, it is not for me to obtrude my opinion." 
 
 " Have you settled it beyond dispute that Brother- 
 son is really the man who was seen doing this? " 
 
 " No, sir. I have not had a minute for that job, 
 but I'm ready for the business any time you see fit 
 to spare me." 
 
 " Let it be to-morrow, or, if you can manage it, 
 to-night. We want the man even if he is not the 
 hero of that romantic episode. He wrote these let- 
 ters, and he must explain the last one. His initials, 
 as you see, are not ordinary ones, and you will find 
 them at the bottom of all these sheets. He was 
 brave enough or arrogant enough to sign the ques-
 
 66 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 tionable one with his full name. This may speak 
 well for him, and it may not. It is for you to decide 
 that. Where will you look for him, Sweetwater? 
 No one here knows his address." 
 
 " Not Miss Challoner's maid? " 
 
 "No; the name is a new one to her. But she 
 made it very evident that she was not surprised to 
 hear that her mistress was in secret correspondence 
 with a member of the male sex. Much can be hid- 
 den from servants, but not that." 
 
 "I'll find the man; I have a double reason for 
 doing that now; he shall not escape me." 
 
 Dr. Heath expressed his satisfaction, and gave 
 some orders. Meanwhile, Mr. Gryce had not ut- 
 tered a word.
 
 VIII 
 
 STRANGE DOINGS FOR GEORGE 
 
 THAT evening George sat so long over the news- 
 papers that in spite of my absorbing interest in the 
 topic engrossing me, I fell asleep in my cozy little 
 rocking chair. I was awakened by what seemed 
 like a kiss falling very softly on my forehead, though, 
 to be sure, it may have been only the flap of George's 
 coat sleeve as he stooped over me. 
 
 " Wake up, k little woman," I heard, " and trot 
 away to bed. I'm going out and may not be in till 
 daybreak." 
 
 ' You I going out ! at ten o'clock at night, tired as 
 you are as we both are ! What has happened Oh ! " 
 
 This broken exclamation escaped me as I per- 
 ceived in the- dim background by the sitting-room 
 door, the figure of a man who called up recent, but 
 very thrilling experiences. 
 
 " Mr. Sweetwater," explained George. " We are 
 going out together. It is necessary, or you may be 
 sure I should not leave you." 
 
 I was quite wide awake enough by now to under- 
 stand. " Oh, I know. You are going to hunt up 
 the man. How I wish " 
 
 But George did not wait for me to express my 
 wishes. He gave me a little good advice as to how 
 I had better employ my time in his absence, and 
 was off before I could find words to answer. 
 
 67
 
 68 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 This ends all I have to say about myself; but the 
 events of that night carefully related to me by 
 George are important enough for me to describe 
 them, with all the detail which is their rightful due. 
 I shall tell the story as I have already been led to 
 do in other portions of this narrative, as though I 
 were present and shared the adventure. 
 
 As soon as the two were in the street, the detective 
 turned towards George and said : 
 
 " Mr. Anderson, I have a great deal to ask of you. 
 The business before us is not a simple one, and I 
 fear that I shall have to subject you to more incon- 
 venience than is customary in matters like this. Mr. 
 Brotherson has vanished; that is, in his own proper 
 person, but I have an idea that I am on the track of 
 one who will lead us very directly to him if we man- 
 age the affair carefully. What I want of you, of 
 course, is mere identification. You saw the face of 
 the man who washed his hands in the snow, and 
 would know it again, you say. Do you think you 
 could be quite sure of yourself, if the man were dif- 
 ferently dressed and differently occupied? " 
 
 " I think so. There's his height and a certain 
 strong look in his face. I cannot describe it." 
 
 ' You don't need to. Come ! we're all right. 
 You don't mind making a night of it? " 
 
 " Not if it is necessary." 
 
 ' That we can't tell yet" And with a character- 
 istic shrug and smile, the detective led the way to a 
 taxicab which stood in waiting at the corner. 
 
 A quarter of an hour of rather fast riding brought 
 them into a tangle of streets on the East side. As
 
 STRANGE DOINGS FOR GEORGE 69 
 
 George noticed the swarming sidewalks and listened 
 to the noises incident to an over-populated quarter, 
 he could not forbear, despite the injunction he had 
 received, to express his surprise at the direction of 
 their search. 
 
 " Surely," said he, " the gentleman I have de- 
 scribed can have no friends here." Then, bethink- 
 ing himself, he added: " But if he has reasons to fear 
 the law, naturally he would seek to lose himself in a 
 place as different as possible from his usual haunts." 
 
 " Yes, that would be some men's way," was the 
 curt, almost indifferent, answer he received. Sweet- 
 water was looking this way and that from the window 
 beside him, and now, leaning out gave some direc- 
 tions to the driver which altered their course. 
 
 When they stopped, which was in a few minutes, 
 he said to George: 
 
 " We shall have to walk now for a block or two. 
 I'm anxious to attract no attention, nor is it desir- 
 able for you to do so. If you can manage to act as 
 if you were accustomed to the place and just leave 
 all the talking to me, we ought to get along first-rate. 
 Don't be astonished at anything you see, and trust 
 me for the rest; that's all." 
 
 They alighted, and he dismissed the taxicab. Some 
 clock in the neighbourhood struck the hour of ten. 
 
 "Good! we shall be in time," muttered the de- 
 tective, and led the way down the street and round 
 a corner or so, till they came to a block darker than 
 the rest, and much less noisy. 
 
 It had a sinister look, and George, who is brave 
 enough under all ordinary circumstances, was glad
 
 7 o INITIALS ONLY 
 
 that his companion wore a badge and carried a whis- 
 tle. He was also relieved when he caught sight of 
 the burly form of a policeman in the shadow of one 
 of the doorways. Yet the houses he saw before him 
 were not so very different from those they had al- 
 ready passed. His uneasiness could not have sprung 
 from them. They had even an air of positive re- 
 spectability, as though inhabited by industrious work- 
 men. Then, what was it which made the close com- 
 panionship of a member of the police so uncommonly 
 welcome? Was it a certain aspect of solitariness 
 which clung to the block, or was it the sudden ap- 
 pearance here and there of strangely gliding figures, 
 which no sooner loomed up against the snowy per- 
 spective, than they disappeared again in some unseen 
 doorway? 
 
 ' There's a meeting on to-night, of the Associated 
 Brotherhood of the Awl, the Plane and the Trowel 
 (whatever that means) , and it is the speaker we want 
 to see ; the man who is to address them promptly at 
 ten o'clock. Do you object to meetings? " 
 
 " Is this a secret one? " 
 
 " It wasn't advertised." 
 
 " Are we carpenters or masons that we can count 
 on admittance? " 
 
 " I am a carpenter. Don't you think you can be a 
 mason for the occasion? " 
 
 "I doubt it, but " 
 
 " Hush ! I must speak to this man." 
 
 George stood back, and a few words passed be- 
 tween Sweetwater and a shadowy figure which, 
 seemed to have sprung up out of the sidewalk.
 
 STRANGE DOINGS FOR GEORGE 71 
 
 " Balked at the outset," were the encouraging 
 words with which the detective rejoined George. 
 " It seems that a pass-word is necessary, and my 
 friend has been unable to get it. Will the speaker 
 pass out this way?" he inquired of the shadowy 
 figure still lingering in their rear. 
 
 " He didn't go in by it; yet I believe he's safe 
 enough inside," was the muttered answer. 
 
 Sweetwater had no relish for disappointments of 
 this character, but it was not long before he straight- 
 ened up and allowed himself to exchange a few more 
 words with this mysterious person. These appeared 
 to be of a more encouraging nature than the last, for 
 it was not long before the detective returned with re- 
 newed alacrity to George, and, wheeling him about, 
 began to retrace his steps to the corner. 
 
 " Are we going back? Are you going to give up 
 the job? " George asked. 
 
 "No; we're going to take him from the rear. 
 There's a break in the fence Oh, we'll do very 
 well. Trust me." 
 
 George laughed. He was growing excited, but 
 not altogether agreeably so. He says that he has 
 seen moments of more pleasant anticipation. Evi- 
 dently, my good husband is not cut out for detective 
 work. 
 
 Where they went under this officer's guidance, he 
 cannot tell. The tortuous tangle of alleys through 
 which he now felt himself led was dark as the nether 
 regions to his unaccustomed eyes. There was snow 
 under his feet and now and then he brushed against 
 some obtruding object, or stumbled against a low
 
 7 2 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 fence; but beyond these slight miscalculations on his 
 own part, he was a mere automaton in the hands of 
 his eager guide, and only became his own man again 
 when they suddenly stepped into an open yard and 
 he could discern plainly before him the dark walls 
 of a building pointed out by Sweetwater as their 
 probable destination. Yet even here they encoun- 
 tered some impediment which prohibited a close ap- 
 proach. A wall or shed cut off their view of the 
 building's lower storey; and though somewhat startled 
 at being left unceremoniously alone after just a 
 whispered word of encouragement from the ever 
 ready detective, George could quite understand the' 
 necessity which that person must feel for a quiet re- 
 connoitring of the surroundings before the two of 
 them ventured further forward in their possibly 
 hazardous undertaking. Yet the experience was 
 none too pleasing to George, and he was very glad to 
 hear Sweetwater's whisper again at his ear, and to 
 feel himself rescued from the pool of slush in which 
 he had been left to stand. 
 
 ' The approach is not all that can be desired," re- 
 marked the detective as they entered what appeared 
 to be a low shed. " The broken board has been put 
 back and securely nailed in place, and if I am not 
 very much mistaken there is a fellow stationed in the 
 yard who will want the pass-word too. Looks shady 
 to me. I'll have something to tell the chief when I 
 get back." 
 
 " But we ! What are we going to do if we can- 
 not get in front or rear ? " 
 
 ' We're going to wait right here in the hopes of
 
 STRANGE DOINGS FOR GEORGE 73 
 
 catching a glimpse of our man as he comes out," re- 
 turned the detective, drawing George towards a low 
 window overlooking the yard he had described as 
 sentinelled. " He will have to pass directly under 
 this window on his way to the alley," Sweetwater 
 went on to explain, " and if I can only raise it but 
 the noise would give us away. I can't do that." 
 " Perhaps it swings on hinges," suggested George. 
 " It looks like that sort of a window." 
 
 "If it should well! it does. We're in great 
 luck, sir. But before I pull it open, remember that 
 from the moment I unlatch it, everything said or 
 done here can be heard in the adjoining yard. So no 
 whispers and no unnecessary movements. When you 
 hear him coming, as sooner or later you certainly 
 will, fall carefully to your knees and lean out just 
 far enough to catch a glimpse of him before he steps 
 down from the porch. If he stops to light his cigar 
 or to pass a few words with some of the men he will 
 leave behind, you may get a plain enough view of his 
 face or figure to identify him. The light is burning 
 low in that rear hall, but it will do. If it does not, 
 if you can't see him or if you do, don't hang out of 
 the window more than a second. Duck after your 
 first look. I don't want to be caught at this job 
 with no better opportunity for escape than we have 
 here. Can you remember all that? " 
 
 George pinched his arm encouragingly, and Sweet- 
 water, with an amused grunt, softly unlatched the 
 window and pulled it wide open. 
 
 A fine sleet flew in, imperceptible save for the sen- 
 sation of damp it gave, and the slight haze it dif-
 
 74 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 fused through the air. Enlarged by this haze, the 
 building they were set to watch rose in magnified 
 proportions at their left. The yard between, piled 
 high in the centre with snow-heaps or other heaps 
 covered with snow, could not have been more than 
 forty feet square. The window from which they 
 peered, was half-way down this yard, so that a com- 
 paratively short distance separated them from the 
 porch where George had been told to look for the 
 man he was expected to identify. All was dark there 
 at present, but he could hear from time to time some 
 sounds of restless movement, as the guard posted in- 
 side shifted in his narrow quarters, or struck his be- 
 numbed feet softly together. 
 
 But what came to them from above was more in- 
 teresting than anything to be heard or seen below. 
 A man's voice, raised to a wonderful pitch by the 
 passion of oratory, had burst the barriers of the 
 closed hall in that towering third storey and was car- 
 rying its tale to other ears than those within. Had 
 it been summer and the windows open, both George 
 and Sweetwater might have heard every word; for 
 the tones were exceptionally rich and penetrating, 
 and the speaker intent only on the impression he was 
 endeavouring to make upon his audience. That he 
 had not mistaken his power in this direction was 
 evinced by the applause which rose from time to time 
 from innumerable hands and feet. But this uproar 
 would be speedily silenced, and the mellow voice ring 
 out again, clear and commanding. What could the 
 subject be to rouse such enthusiasm in the Associated 
 Brotherhood of the Awl, the Plane and the Trowel?
 
 STRANGE DOINGS FOR GEORGE 75 
 
 There was a moment when our listening friends ex- 
 pected to be enlightened. A shutter was thrown 
 back in one of those upper windows, and the window 
 hurriedly raised, during which words took the place 
 of sounds and they heard enough to whet their ap- 
 petite for more. But only that. The shutter was 
 speedily restored to place, and the window again 
 closed. A wise precaution, or so thought George if 
 they wished to keep their doubtful proceedings secret. 
 
 A tirade against the rich and a loud call to battle 
 could be gleaned from the few sentences they had 
 heard. But its virulence and pointed attack was 
 not that of the second-rate demagogue or business 
 agent, but of a man whose intellect and culture rang 
 in every tone, and informed each sentence. 
 
 Sweetwater, in whom satisfaction was fast taking 
 the place of impatience and regret, pushed the win- 
 dow to before asking George this question : 
 
 " Did you hear the voice of the man whose action 
 attracted your attention outside the Clermont? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Did you note just now the large shadow dan- 
 cing on the ceiling over the speaker's head? " 
 
 " Yes, but I could judge nothing from that." 
 
 " Well, he's a rum one. I shan't open this win- 
 dow again till he gives signs of reaching the end of 
 his speech. It's too cold." 
 
 But almost immediately he gave a start and, 
 pressing George's arm, appeared to listen, not to the 
 speech which was no longer audible, but to something 
 much nearer a step or movement in the adjoin- 
 ing yard. At least, so George interpreted the quick
 
 7 6 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 turn which this impetuous detective made, and the 
 pains he took to direct George's attention to the walk 
 running under the window beneath which they 
 crouched. Someone was stealing down upon the 
 house at their left, from the alley beyond. A big 
 man, whose shoulder brushed the window as he went 
 by. George felt his hand seized again and pressed 
 as this happened, and before he had recovered from 
 this excitement, experienced another quick pressure 
 and still another as one, two, three additional figures 
 went slipping by. Then his hand was suddenly 
 dropped, for a cry had shot up from the door where 
 the sentinel stood guard, followed by a sudden loud 
 slam, and the noise of a shooting bolt, which, pro- 
 claiming as it did that the invaders were not friends 
 but enemies to the cause which was being vaunted 
 above, so excited Sweetwater that he pulled the win- 
 dow wide open and took a bold look out. George 
 followed his example and this was what they saw : 
 
 Three men were standing flat against the fence 
 leading from the shed directly to the porch. The 
 fourth was crouching within the latter, and in an- 
 other moment they heard his fist descend upon the 
 door inside in a way to rouse the echoes. Mean- 
 time, the voice in the audience hall above had ceased, 
 and there could be heard instead the scramble of 
 hurrying feet and the noise of overturning 
 benches. Then a window flew up and a voice called 
 down: 
 
 ; ' Who's that? What do you want down there? " 
 
 But before an answer could be shouted back, this 
 
 man was drawn fiercely inside, and the scramble was
 
 77 
 
 renewed, amid which George heard Sweetwater's 
 whisper at his ear: 
 
 " It's the police. The chief has got ahead of me. 
 Was that the man we're after the one who 
 shouted down? " 
 
 " No. Neither was he the speaker. The voices 
 are very different." 
 
 " We want the speaker. If the boys get him, 
 we're all right; but if they don't wait, I must 
 make the matter sure." 
 
 And with a bound he vaulted through the win- 
 dow, whistling in a peculiar way. George, thus left 
 quite alone, had the pleasure of seeing his sole pro- 
 tector mix with the boys, as he called them, and ul- 
 timately crowd in with them through the door which 
 had finally been opened for their admittance. Then 
 came a wait, and then the quiet re-appearance of the 
 detective alone and in no very amiable mood. 
 
 "Well?" inquired George, somewhat breath- 
 lessly. " Do you want me? They don't seem to 
 be coming out." 
 
 " No; they've gone the other way. It was a red 
 hot anarchist meeting, and no mistake. They have 
 arrested one of the speakers, but the other escaped. 
 How, we have not yet found out; but I think there's 
 a way out somewhere by which he got the start of 
 us. He was the man I wanted you to see. Bad 
 luck, Mr. Anderson, but I'm not at the end of my 
 resources. If you'll have patience with me and ac- 
 company me a little further, I promise you that I'll 
 only risk one more failure. Will you be so good, 
 sir?"
 
 IX 
 
 THE INCIDENT OF THE PARTLY LIFTED SHADE 
 
 THE fellow had a way with him, hard to resist. 
 Cold as George was and exhausted by an excitement 
 of a kind to which he was wholly unaccustomed, he 
 found himself acceding to the detective's request; 
 and after a quick lunch and a huge cup of coffee in a 
 restaurant which I wish I had time to describe, the two 
 took a car which eventually brought them into one 
 of the oldest quarters of the Borough of Brooklyn. 
 
 The sleet which had stung their faces in the streets 
 of New York had been left behind them somewhere 
 on the bridge, but the chill was not gone from the 
 air, and George felt greatly relieved when Sweetwater 
 paused in the middle of a long block before a lofty 
 tenement house of mean appearance, and signified 
 that here they were to stop, and that from now on, 
 mum was to be their watchword. 
 
 George was relieved I say, but he was also more as- 
 tonished than ever. What kind of haunts were these 
 for the cultured gentleman who spent his evenings at 
 the Clermont? It was easy enough in these days of 
 extravagant sympathies, to understand such a man 
 addressing the uneasy spirits of lower New York 
 he had been called an enthusiast, and an enthusiast 
 is very often a social agitator but to trace him 
 afterwards to a place like this was certainly a sur- 
 
 78
 
 THE PARTLY LIFTED. SHADE 79 
 
 prise. A tenement such a tenement as this 
 meant home home for himself or for those he 
 counted his friends, and such a supposition seemed 
 inconceivable to my poor husband, with the memory 
 of the gorgeous parlours of the Clermont in his 
 mind. Indeed, he hinted something of the kind to 
 his affable but strangely reticent companion, but all 
 the answer he got was a peculiar smile whose hu- 
 morous twist he could barely discern in the semi- 
 darkness of the open doorway into which they had 
 just plunged. 
 
 " An adventure ! certainly an adventure ! " flashed 
 through poor George's mind, as he peered, in great 
 curiosity down the long hall before him, into a dis- 
 mal rear, opening into a still more dismal court. It 
 was truly a novel experience for a business man 
 whose philanthropy was carried on entirely by 
 proxy that is, by his wife. Should he be expected 
 to penetrate into those dark, ill-smelling recesses, or 
 would he be led up the long flights of naked stairs, 
 so feebly illuminated that they gave the impression of 
 extending indefinitely into dimmer and dimmer 
 heights of decay and desolation? 
 
 Sweetwater seemed to decide for the rear, for 
 leaving George, he stepped down the hall into the 
 court beyond, where George could see him casting 
 inquiring glances up at the walls above him. An- 
 other tenement, similar to the one whose rear end 
 he was contemplating, towered behind but he paid 
 no attention to that. He was satisfied with the look 
 he had given and came quickly back, joining George
 
 80 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 at the foot of the staircase, up which he silently led 
 the way. 
 
 It was a rude, none-to-well-cared-for building, but 
 it seemed respectable enough and very quiet, consid- 
 ering the mass of people it accommodated. There 
 were marks of poverty everywhere, but no squalor. 
 One flight two flights three and then 
 George's guide stopped, and, looking back at him, 
 made a gesture. It appeared to be one of caution, 
 but when the two came together at the top of the 
 staircase, Sweetwater spoke quite naturally as he 
 pointed out a door in their rear : 
 
 " That's the room. We'll keep a sharp watch 
 and when any man, no matter what his dress or ap- 
 pearance comes up these stairs and turns that way, 
 give him a sharp look. You understand? " 
 
 "Yes; but" 
 
 " Oh, he hasn't come in yet. I took pains to find 
 that out. You saw me go into the court and look 
 up. That was to see if his window was lighted. 
 Well, it wasn't." 
 
 George felt non-plussed. 
 
 " But surely," said he, " the gentleman named 
 Brotherson doesn't live here." 
 
 " The inventor does." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 " And but I will explain later." 
 
 The suppressed excitement contained in these 
 words made George stare. Indeed, he had been 
 wondering for some time at the manner of the de- 
 tective which showed a curious mixture of several 
 opposing emotions. Now, the fellow was actually
 
 THE PARTLY LIFTED SHADE 81 
 
 in a tremble of hope or impatience; and, not con- 
 tent with listening, he peered every few minutes down 
 the well of the staircase, and when he was not doing 
 that, tramped from end to end of the narrow pas- 
 sage-way separating the head of the stairs from the 
 door he had pointed out, like one to whom minutes 
 were hours. All this time he seemed to forget 
 George who certainly had as much reason as himself 
 for finding the time long. But when, after some 
 half hour of this tedium and suspense, there rose 
 from below the faint clatter of ascending footsteps, 
 he remembered his meek companion and beckoning 
 him to one side, began a studied conversation with 
 him, showing him a note-book in which he had writ- 
 ten such phrases as these : 
 
 Don't look up till he is fairly in range with the light. 
 
 There's nothing to fear; he doesn't know either of us. 
 
 If it is a face you have seen before; if it is the one we 
 are expecting to see, pull your necktie straight. It's a little 
 on one side. 
 
 These rather startling injunctions were read by 
 George, with no very perceptible diminution of the 
 uneasiness which it was only natural for him to feel 
 at the oddity of his position. But only the demand 
 last made produced any impression on him. The 
 man they were waiting for was no further up than 
 the second floor, but instinctively George's hand had 
 flown to his necktie, and he was only stopped from 
 its premature re-arrangement by a warning look from 
 Sweetwater.
 
 82 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 " Not unless you know him," whispered the de- 
 tective; and immediately launched out into an easy 
 talk about some totally different business which 
 George neither understood, nor was expected to, I 
 dare say. 
 
 Suddenly the steps below paused, and George 
 heard Sweetwater draw in his breath in irrepressible 
 dismay. But they were immediately resumed, and 
 presently the head and shoulders of a workingman 
 of uncommon proportions appeared in sight on the 
 stairway. 
 
 George cast him a keen look, and his hand rose 
 doubtfully to his neck and then fell back again. The 
 approaching man was tall, very well-proportioned 
 and easy of carriage; but the face such of it as 
 could be seen between his cap and the high collar he 
 had pulled up about his ears, conveyed no exact im- 
 pression to George's mind, and he did not dare to 
 give the signal Sweetwater expected from him. Yet 
 as the man went by with a dark and sidelong glance 
 at them both, he felt his hand rise again, though he 
 did not complete the action, much to his own disgust 
 and to the evident disappointment of the watchful 
 detective. 
 
 'You're not sure?" he now heard, oddly inter- 
 polated in the stream of half-whispered talk with 
 which the other endeavoured to carry off the situa- 
 tion. 
 
 George shook his head. He could not rid himself 
 of the old impression he had formed of the man in 
 the snow. 
 
 " Mr. Dunn, a word with you," suddenly spoke
 
 THE PARTLY LIFTED SHADE 83 
 
 up Sweetwater, to the man who had just passed 
 them. " That's your name, isn't it? " 
 
 " Yes, that is my name," was the quiet response, 
 in a voice which was at once rich and resonant; a 
 voice which George knew the voice of the im- 
 passioned speaker he had heard resounding through 
 the sleet as he cowered within hearing in the shed be- 
 hind the Avenue A tenement. " Who are you who 
 wish to speak to me at so late an hour? " 
 
 He was returning to them from the door he had 
 unlocked and left slightly ajar. 
 
 " Well, we are You know what," smiled the 
 ready detective, advancing half-way to greet him. 
 " We're not members of the Associated Brotherhood, 
 but possibly have hopes of being so. At all events, 
 we should like to talk the matter over, if, as you 
 say, it's not too late." 
 
 " I have nothing to do with the club " 
 
 " But you spoke before it." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then you can give us some sort of an idea how 
 we are to apply for membership." 
 
 Mr. Dunn met the concentrated gaze of his two 
 evidently unwelcome visitors with a frankness which 
 dashed George's confidence in himself, but made lit- 
 tle visible impression upon his daring companion. 
 
 " I should rather see you at another time," said 
 he. " But " his hesitation was inappreciable save 
 to the nicest ear " if you will allow me to be brief, 
 I will tell you what I know which is very little." 
 
 Sweetwater was greatly taken aback. All he had 
 looked for, as he was careful to tell my husband later,
 
 84 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 was a sufficiently prolonged conversation to enable 
 George to mark and study the workings of the face he 
 was not yet sure of. Nor did the detective feel quite 
 easy at the readiness of his reception; nor any too 
 well pleased to accept the invitation which this man 
 now gave them to enter his room. 
 
 But he suffered no betrayal of his misgivings to 
 escape him, though he was careful to intimate to 
 George, as they waited in the doorway for the other 
 to light up, that he should not be displeased at his 
 refusal to accompany him further in this adventure, 
 and even advised him to remain in the hall till he re- 
 ceived his summons to enter. 
 
 But George had not come as far as this to back out 
 now, and as soon as he saw Sweetwater advance into 
 the now well-lighted interior, he advanced too and 
 began to look around him. 
 
 The room, like many others in these old-fashioned 
 tenements, had a jog just where the door was, so 
 that on entering they had to take several steps be- 
 fore they could get a full glimpse of its four walls. 
 When they did, both showed surprise. Comfort, if 
 not elegance, confronted them, which impression, 
 however, was immediately lost in the evidences of 
 work, manual, as well as intellectual, which were 
 everywhere scattered about. 
 
 The man who lived here was not only a student, as 
 was evinced by a long wall full of books, but he was 
 an art-lover, a musician, an inventor and an athlete. 
 So much could be learned from the most cursory 
 glance. A more careful one picked up other facts 
 fully as startling and impressive. The books were
 
 THE PARTLY LIFTED SHADE 85 
 
 choice; the invention to all appearance a practical 
 one; the art of a high order and the music, such as 
 was in view, of a character of which the nicest taste 
 need not be ashamed. 
 
 George began to feel quite conscious of the intru- 
 sion of which they had been guilty, and was amazed 
 at the ease with which the detective carried himself 
 in the presence of such manifestations of culture and 
 good, hard work. He was trying to recall the exact 
 appearance of the figure he had seen stooping in the 
 snowy street two nights before, when he found him- 
 self staring at the occupant of the room, who had 
 taken up his stand before them and was regarding 
 them while they were regarding the room. 
 
 He had thrown aside his hat and rid himself of 
 his overcoat, and the fearlessness of his aspect 
 seemed to daunt the hitherto dauntless Sweetwater, 
 who, for the first time in his life, perhaps, hunted 
 in vain for words with which to start conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 Had he made an awful mistake? Was this Mr. 
 Dunn what he seemed, an unknown and careful 
 genius, battling with great odds in his honest strug- 
 gle to give the world something of value in return 
 for what it had given him? The quick, almost dep- 
 recatory glance he darted at George betrayed his 
 dismay; a dismay which George had begun to share, 
 notwithstanding his growing belief that the man's 
 face was not wholly unknown to him even if he could 
 not recognise it as the one he had seen outside the 
 Clermont. 
 
 " You seem to have forgotten your errand," came
 
 86 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 in quiet, if not good-natured, sarcasm from their 
 patiently waiting host. 
 
 " It's the room," muttered Sweetwater, with an 
 attempt at his old-time ease which was not as fully 
 successful as usual. " What an all-fired genius you 
 must be. I never saw the like. And in a tenement 
 house too! You ought to be in one of those big 
 new studio buildings in New York where artists be 
 and everything you see is beautiful. You'd appre- 
 ciate it, you would." 
 
 The detective started, George started, at the 
 gleam which answered him from a very uncommon 
 eye. It was a temporary flash, however, and quickly 
 veiled, and the tone in which this Dunn now spoke 
 was anything but an encouraging one. 
 
 " I thought you were desirous of joining a social- 
 istic fraternity," said he; "a true aspirant for such 
 honours don't care for beautiful things unless all can 
 have them. I prefer my tenement. How is it with 
 you, friends? " 
 
 Sweetwater found some sort of a reply, though 
 the thing which this man now did must have startled 
 him, as it certainly did George. They were so 
 grouped that a table quite full of anomalous objects 
 stood at the back of their host, and consequently 
 quite beyond their own reach. As Sweetwater be- 
 gan to speak, he whom he had addressed by the name 
 of Dunn, drew a pistol from his breast pocket and 
 laid it down barrel towards them on this table top. 
 Then he looked up courteously enough, and listened 
 till Sweetwater was done. A very handsome man, 
 but one not to be trifled with in the slightest degree.
 
 THE PARTLY LIFTED SHADE 87 
 
 Both recognised this fact, and George, for one, began 
 to edge towards the door. 
 
 " Now I feel easier," remarked the giant, swelling 
 out his chest. He was unusually tall, as well as un- 
 usually muscular. " I never like to carry arms ; 
 but sometimes it is unavoidable. Damn it, what 
 hands ! " He was looking at his own, which cer- 
 tainly showed soil. "Will you pardon me?" he 
 pleasantly apologised, stepping towards a wash- 
 stand and plunging his hands into the basin. " I 
 cannot think with dirt on me like that. Humph, 
 hey! did you speak? " 
 
 He turned quickly on George who had certainly 
 uttered an ejaculation, but receiving no reply, went 
 on with his task, completing it with a care and a 
 disregard of their presence which showed him up in 
 still another light. 
 
 But even his hardihood showed shock, when, upon 
 turning round with a brisk, " Now I'm ready to 
 talk," he encountered again the clear eye of Sweet- 
 water. For, in the person of this none too welcome 
 intruder, he saw a very different man from the one 
 upon whom he had just turned his back with so little 
 ceremony; and there appeared to be no good reason 
 for the change. He had not noted in his preoccu- 
 pation, how George, at sight of his stooping figure, 
 had made a sudden significant movement, and if he 
 had, the pulling of a necktie straight, would have 
 meant nothing to him. But to Sweetwater it meant 
 every thing, and it was in the tone of one fully at ease 
 with himself that he now dryly remarked: 
 
 41 Mr. Brotherson, if you feel quite clean, and if
 
 88 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 you have sufficiently warmed yourself, I would sug- 
 gest that we start out at once, unless you prefer to 
 have me share this room with you till the morning." 
 
 There was silence. Mr. Dunn thus addressed at- 
 tempted no answer ; not for a full minute. The two 
 men were measuring each other George felt that 
 he did not count at all and they were quite too 
 much occupied with this task to heed the passage 
 of time. To George, who knew little, if anything, 
 of what this silent struggle meant to either, it seemed 
 that the detective stood no show before this Samson 
 of physical strength and intellectual power, backed 
 by a pistol just within reach of his hand. But as 
 George continued to look and saw the figure of the 
 smaller man gradually dilate, while that of the 
 larger, the more potent and the better guarded, gave 
 unmistakable signs of secret wavering, he slowly 
 changed his mind and, ranging himself with the 
 detective, waited for the word or words which should 
 explain this situation and render intelligible the 
 triumph gradually becoming visible in the young de- 
 tective's eyes. 
 
 But he was not destined to have his curiosity satis- 
 fied so far. He might witness and hear, but it was 
 long before he understood. 
 
 " Brotherson ? " repeated their host, after the 
 silence had lasted to the breaking-point. " Why do 
 you call me that? " 
 
 " Because it is your name." 
 
 ' You called me Dunn a minute ago." 
 
 " That is true." 
 ' Why Dunn if Brotherson is my name? "
 
 THE PARTLY LIFTED SHADE 89 
 
 " Because you spoke under the name of Dunn at 
 the meeting to-night, and if I don't mistake, that is 
 the name by which you are known here." 
 
 " And you? By what name are you known? " 
 
 "It is late to ask, isn't it? But I'm willing to 
 speak it now, and I might not have been so a little 
 earlier in our conversation. I am Detective Sweet- 
 water of the New York Department of Police, and 
 my errand here is a very simple one. Some let- 
 ters signed by you have been found among the papers 
 of the lady whose mysterious death at the hotel Cler- 
 mont is just now occupying the attention of the New 
 York authorities. If you have any information to 
 give which will in any way explain that death, your 
 presence will be welcome at Coroner Heath's office 
 in New York. If you have not, your presence will 
 still be welcome. At all events, I was told to bring 
 you. You will be on hand to accompany me in the 
 morning, I am quite sure, pardoning the unconven- 
 tional means I have taken to make sure of my man? " 
 
 The humour with which this was said seemed to 
 rob it of anything like attack, and Mr. Brotherson, 
 as we shall hereafter call him, smiled with an odd 
 acceptance of the same, as he responded: 
 
 " I will go before the police certainly. I haven't 
 much to tell, but what I have is at their service. It 
 will not help you, but I have no secrets. What are 
 you doing? " 
 
 He bounded towards Sweetwater, who had simply 
 stepped to the window, lifted the shade and looked 
 across at the opposing tenement. 
 
 " I wanted to see if it was still snowing," ex-
 
 90 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 plained the detective, with a smile, which seemed to 
 strike the other like a blow. " If it was a liberty, 
 please pardon it." 
 
 Mr. Brotherson drew back. The cold air of self- 
 possession which he now assumed, presented such a 
 contrast to the unwarranted heat of the moment be- 
 fore that George wondered greatly over it, and later, 
 when he recapitulated to me the whole story of this 
 night, it was this incident of the lifted shade, to- 
 gether with the emotion it had caused, which he ac- 
 knowledged as being for him the most inexplicable 
 event of the evening and the one he was most anxious 
 to hear explained. 
 
 As this ends our connection with this affair, I will 
 bid you my personal farewell. I have often wished 
 that circumstances had made it possible for me to ac- 
 company you through the remaining intricacies of this 
 remarkable case. 
 
 But you will not lack a suitable guide.
 
 BOOK II 
 AS SEEN BY DETECTIVE SWEETWATER
 
 X 
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 
 
 AT an early hour the next morning, Sweetwater 
 stood before the coroner's desk, urging a plea he 
 feared to hear refused. He wished to be present at 
 the interview soon to be held with Mr. Brotherson, 
 and he had no good reason to advance why such a 
 privilege should be allotted him. 
 
 " It's not curiosity," said he. " There's a ques- 
 tion I hope to see settled. I can't communicate it 
 you would laugh at me ; but it's an important one, a 
 very important one, and I beg that you will let me 
 sit in one of the corners and hear what he says. I 
 won't bother and I'll be very still, so still that 
 he'll hardly notice me. Do grant me this favour, 
 sir." 
 
 The coroner, who had had some little experience 
 with this man, surveyed him with a smile less for- 
 bidding than the poor fellow expected. 
 
 " You seem to lay great store by it," said he; " if 
 you want to sort those papers over there, you may." 
 
 " Thank you. I don't understand the job, but I 
 promise you not to increase the confusion. If I do; 
 if I rattle the leaves too loudly, it will mean, ' Press 
 him further on this exact point,' but I doubt if I 
 rattle them, sir. No such luck." 
 
 The last three words were uttered sotto voce, but 
 the coroner heard him, and followed his ungainly 
 
 93
 
 94 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 figure with a glance of some curiosity, as he settled 
 himself at the desk on the other side of the room. 
 
 " Is the man " he began, but at this moment 
 the man entered, and Dr. Heath forgot the young 
 detective, in his interest in the new arrival. 
 
 Neither dressed with the elegance known to the 
 habitues of the Clermont, nor yet in the workman's 
 outfit in which he had thought best to appear before 
 the Associated Brotherhood, the newcomer advanced, 
 with an aspect of open respect which could not fail 
 to make a favourable impression upon the critical eye 
 of the official awaiting him. So favourable, indeed, 
 was this impression that that gentleman half rose, 
 infusing a little more consideration into his greeting 
 than he was accustomed to show to his prospective 
 witnesses. Such a fearless eye he had seldom en- 
 countered, nor was it often his pleasure to confront 
 so conspicuous a specimen of physical and intellectual 
 manhood. 
 
 " Mr. Brotherson, I believe," said he, as he mo- 
 tioned his visitor to sit. 
 
 " That is my name, sir." 
 
 "Orlando Brotherson?" 
 
 4 The same, sir." 
 
 " I'm glad we have made no mistake," smiled the 
 doctor. u Mr. Brotherson, I have sent for you 
 under the supposition that you were a friend of the 
 unhappy lady lately dead at the Hotel Clermont." 
 
 "Miss Challoner?" 
 
 " Certainly; Miss Challoner." 
 
 " I knew the lady. But " here the speaker's 
 eye took on a look as questioning as that of his inter-
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 95 
 
 locator " but in a way so devoid of all publicity 
 that I cannot but feel surprised that the fact should 
 be known." 
 
 At this, the listening Sweetwater hoped that Dr. 
 Heath would ignore the suggestion thus conveyed and 
 decline the explanation it apparently demanded. 
 But the impression made by the gentleman's good 
 looks had been too strong for this coroner's proverb- 
 ial caution, and, handing over the slip of a note 
 which had been found among Miss Challoner's effects 
 by her father, he quietly asked: 
 
 " Do you recognise the signature? " 
 
 " Yes, it is mine." 
 
 ' Then you acknowledge yourself the author of 
 these lines? " 
 
 " Most certainly. Have I not said that this is 
 my signature? " 
 
 " Do you remember the words of this note, Mr. 
 Brotherson?" 
 
 " Hardly. I recollect its tenor, but not the exact 
 words." 
 
 " Read them." 
 
 " Excuse me, I had rather not. I am aware that 
 they were bitter and should be the cause of great 
 regret. I was angry when I wrote them." 
 
 ' That is evident. But the cause of your anger 
 is not so clear, Mr. Brotherson. Miss Challoner 
 was a woman of lofty character, or such was the uni- 
 versal opinion of her friends. What could she have 
 done to a gentleman like yourself to draw forth such 
 a tirade? " 
 
 "You ask that?"
 
 96 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 " I am obliged to. There is mystery surround- 
 ing her death; the kind of mystery which demands 
 perfect frankness on the part of all who were near 
 her on that evening, or whose relations to her were in 
 any way peculiar. You acknowledge that your 
 friendship was of such a guarded nature that it sur- 
 prised you greatly to hear it recognised. Yet you 
 could write her a letter of this nature. Why? " 
 
 " Because " the word came glibly; but the next 
 one was long in following. " Because," he repeated, 
 letting the fire of some strong feeling disturb for a 
 moment his dignified reserve, " I offered myself to 
 Miss Challoner, and she dismissed me with great dis- 
 dain." 
 
 " Ah ! and so you thought a threat was due her? " 
 
 "A threat?" 
 
 ' These words contain a threat, do they not? " 
 ' They may. I was hardly master of myself at 
 the time. I may have expressed myself in an un- 
 fortunate manner." 
 
 " Read the words, Mr. Brotherson. I really must 
 insist that you do so." 
 
 There was no hesitancy now. Rising, he leaned 
 over the table and read the few words the other had 
 spread out for his perusal. Then he slowly rose 
 to his full height, as he answered, with some slight 
 display of compunction: 
 
 " I remember it perfectly now. It is not a letter 
 to be proud of. I hope " 
 
 " Pray finish, Mr. Brotherson." 
 ' That you are not seeking to establish a connec- 
 tion between this letter and her violent death? "
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 97 
 
 " Letters of this sort are often very mischievous, 
 Mr. Brotherson. The harshness with which this is 
 written might easily rouse emotions of a most un- 
 happy nature in the breast of a woman as sensitive as 
 Miss Challoner." 
 
 " Pardon me, Dr. Heath; I cannot flatter myself 
 so far. You overrate my influence with the lady you 
 name." 
 
 ' You believe, then, that she was sincere in her re- 
 jection of your addresses? " 
 
 A start, too slight to be noted by any one but the 
 watchful Sweetwater, showed that this question had 
 gone home. But the self-poise and mental control 
 of this man were perfect, and in an instant he was 
 facing the coroner again, with a dignity which gave 
 no clew to the disturbance into which his thoughts 
 had just been thrown. Nor was this disturbance ap- 
 parent in his tones when he made his reply : 
 
 " I have never allowed myself to think otherwise. 
 I have seen no reason why I should. The suggestion 
 you would convey by such a question is hardly wel- 
 come, now. I pray you to be careful in your judg- 
 ment of such a woman's impulses. They often 
 spring from sources not to be sounded even by her 
 dearest friends." 
 
 Just ; but how cold ! Dr. Heath, eyeing him with 
 admiration rather than sympathy, hesitated how to 
 proceed; while Sweetwater, peering up from his 
 papers, sought in vain for some evidence of the be- 
 reaved lover in the impressive but wholly dispassion- 
 ate figure of him who had just spoken. Had pride 
 got the better of his heart? or had that organ always
 
 9 8 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 been subordinate to the will in this man of instincts 
 so varying, that at one time he impressed you simply 
 as a typical gentleman of leisure; at another, as no 
 more than a fiery agitator with powers absorbed by, 
 if not limited to the one cause he advocated; and 
 again and this seemed the most contradictory of 
 all just the ardent inventor, living in a tenement, 
 with Science for his goddess and work always under 
 his hand? As the young detective weighed these pos- 
 sibilities and marvelled over the contradictions they 
 offered, he forgot the papers now lying quiet under 
 his hand. He was too interested to remember his 
 own part something which could not often be 
 said of Sweetwater. 
 
 Meantime, the coroner had collected his thoughts. 
 With an apology for the extremely personal nature 
 of his inquiry, he asked Mr. Brotherson if he would 
 object to giving him some further details of his ac- 
 quaintanceship with Miss Challoner; where he first 
 met her and under what circumstances their friend- 
 ship had developed. 
 
 " Not at all," was the ready reply. " I have noth- 
 ing to conceal in the matter. I only wish that her 
 father were present that he might listen to the recital 
 of my acquaintanceship with his daughter. He 
 might possibly understand her better and regard with 
 more leniency the presumption into which I was led 
 by my ignorance of the pride inherent in great 
 families." 
 
 ' Your wish can very easily be gratified," returned 
 the official, pressing an electric button on his desk; 
 " Mr. Challoner is in the adjoining room." Then,
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 99 
 
 as the door communicating with the room he had 
 mentioned swung ajar and stood so, Dr. Heath 
 added, without apparent consciousness of the dra- 
 matic character of this episode, " You will not need to 
 raise your voice beyond its natural pitch. He can 
 hear perfectly from where he sits." 
 
 " Thank you. I am glad to speak in his pres- 
 ence," came in undisturbed self-possession from this 
 not easily surprised witness. " I shall relate the 
 facts exactly as they occurred, adding nothing and 
 concealing nothing. If I mistook my position, or 
 Miss Challoner's position, it is not for me to apolo- 
 gise. I never hid my business from her, nor the 
 moderate extent of my fortune. If she knew me 
 at all, she knew me for what I am; a man of the 
 people who glories in work and who has risen by it 
 to a position somewhat unique in this city. I feel no 
 lack of equality even with such a woman as Miss 
 Challoncr." 
 
 A most unnecessary preamble, no doubt, and of 
 doubtful efficacy in smoothing his way to a correct 
 understanding with the deeply bereaved father. 
 But he looked so handsome as he thus asserted him- 
 self and made so much of his inches and the noble 
 poise of his head though cold of eye and always 
 cold of manner that those who saw, as well as 
 heard him, forgave this display of egotism in con- 
 sideration of its honesty and the dignity it imparted 
 to his person. 
 
 " I first met Miss Challoner in the Berkshires," he 
 began, after a moment of quiet listening for any pos- 
 sible sound from the other room. " I had been on
 
 ioo INITIALS ONLY 
 
 the tramp, and had stopped at one of the great 
 hotels for a seven days' rest. I will acknowledge 
 that I chose this spot at the instigation of a relative 
 who knew my tastes and how perfectly they might 
 be gratified there. That I should mingle with the 
 guests may not have been in his thought, any more 
 than it was in mine at the beginning of my stay. 
 The panorama of beauty spread out before me on 
 every side was sufficient in itself for my enjoyment, 
 and might have continued so to the end if my atten- 
 tion had not been very forcibly drawn on one memo** 
 able morning to a young lady Miss Challoner 
 by the very earnest look she gave me as I was 
 crossing the office from one verandah to another. I 
 must insist on this look, even if it shock the delicacy 
 of my listeners, for without the interest it awakened 
 in me, I might not have noticed the blush with which 
 she turned aside to join her friends on the verandah. 
 It was an overwhelming blush which could not have 
 sprung from any slight embarrassment, and, though 
 I hate the pretensions of those egotists who see in 
 a woman's smile more than it by right conveys, I 
 could not help being moved by this display of feeling 
 in one so gifted with every grace and attribute of the 
 perfect woman. With less caution than I usually 
 display, I approached the desk where she had been 
 standing and, meeting the eyes of the clerk, asked 
 the young lady's name. He gave it, and waited for 
 me to express the surprise he expected it to evoke. 
 But I felt none and showed none. Other feelings 
 had seized me. I had heard of this gracious woman 
 from many sources, in my life among the suffering
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 101 
 
 masses of New York, and now that I had seen her 
 and found her to be not only my ideal of personal 
 loveliness but seemingly approachable and not un- 
 interested in myself, I allowed my fancy to soar and 
 my heart to become touched. A fact which the clerk 
 now confided to me naturally deepened the impres- 
 sion. Miss Challoner had seen my name in the 
 guest-book and asked to have me pointed out to her. 
 Perhaps she had heard my name spoken in the same 
 quarter where I had heard hers. We have never 
 exchanged confidences on the subject, and I cannot 
 say. I can only give you my reason for the interest 
 I felt in Miss Challoner and why I forgot, in the 
 glamour of this episode, the aims and purposes of a 
 not unambitious life and the distance which the 
 world and the so-called aristocratic class put between 
 a woman of her wealth and standing and a simple 
 worker like myself. 
 
 " I must be pardoned. She had smiled upon me 
 once, and she smiled again. Days before we were 
 formally presented, I caught her softened look turned 
 my way, as we passed each other in hall or corridor. 
 We were friends, or so it appeared to me, before ever 
 a word passed between us, and when fortune 
 favoured us and we were duly introduced, our minds 
 met in a strange sympathy which made this one inter- 
 view a memorable one to me. Unhappily, as I then 
 considered it, this was my last day at the hotel, and 
 our conversation, interrupted frequently by passing 
 acquaintances, was never resumed. I exchanged a 
 few words with her by way of good-bye but nothing 
 more. I came to New York, and she remained in
 
 102 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 Lenox. A month after and she too came to New 
 York." 
 
 "This good-bye do you remember it? The 
 exact language, I mean? " 
 
 "I do; it made a great impression on me. 'I 
 shall hope for our further acquaintance,' she said. 
 ' We have one very strong interest in common/ 
 And if ever a human face spoke eloquently, it was 
 hers at that moment. The interest, as I understood 
 it, was our mutual sympathy for our toiling, half- 
 starved, down-trodden brothers and sisters in the 
 lower streets of this city ; but the eloquence that I 
 probably mistook. I thought it sprang from 
 personal interest, and it gave me courage to pursue 
 the intention which had taken the place of every 
 other feeling and ambition by which I had hitherto 
 been moved. Here was a woman in a thousand; 
 one who could make a man of me indeed. If she 
 could ignore the social gulf between us, I felt free to 
 take the leap. Cowardice had never been a fault of 
 mine. But I was no fool even then. I realised that 
 I must first let her see the manner of man I was 
 and what life meant to me and must mean to her if 
 the union I contemplated should become an actual 
 fact. I wrote letters to her, but I did not give her 
 my address or even request a reply. I was not ready 
 for any word from her. I am not like other men 
 and I could wait. And I did, for weeks, then I 
 suddenly appeared at her hotel." 
 
 The change of voice the bitterness which he in- 
 fused into this final sentence made every one look up. 
 Hitherto he had spoken calmly, almost monotonously,
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 103 
 
 as if no present heart-beat responded to this tale of 
 vanished love ; but with the words, " Then I suddenly 
 appeared at her hotel," he showed himself human 
 again, and betrayed a passion which though curbed 
 was of the fiery quality, befitting his extraordinary 
 attributes of mind and person. 
 
 "This was when?" put in Dr. Heath, anxious 
 to bridge the pause which must have been very pain- 
 ful to the listening father. 
 
 " The week after Thanksgiving. I did not see 
 her the first day, and only casually the second. But 
 she knew I was in the building, and when I came 
 upon her one evening seated at the very desk in the 
 mezzanine which we all have such bitter cause to 
 remember, I could not forbear expressing myself in 
 a way she could not misunderstand. The result was 
 of a kind to drive a man like myself to an extremity 
 of self-condemnation and rage. She rose up as if 
 insulted, and flung me one sentence and one sentence 
 only before she hailed the elevator and left my pres- 
 ence. A cur could not have been dismissed with less 
 ceremony." 
 
 ' That is not like my daughter. What was the 
 sentence you allude to? Let me hear the very 
 words." Mr. Challoner had come forward and now 
 stood awaiting his reply, a dignified but pathetic 
 figure, which all must view with respect. 
 
 " I hate the memory of them, but since you de- 
 mand it, I will repeat them just as they fell from her 
 lips," was Mr. Brotherson's bitter retort. " She 
 said, ' You of all men should recognise the unseemli- 
 ness of these proposals. Had your letters given me
 
 io 4 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 any hint of the feelings you have just expressed, you 
 would never have had this opportunity of approach- 
 ing me.' That was all; but her indignation was 
 scathing. Ladies who have supped exclusively off 
 silver, show a fine scorn for the common ware of the 
 cottager." 
 
 Mr. Challoner bowed. " There is some mistake," 
 said he. " My daughter might be averse to your 
 addresses, but she would never show indignation to 
 any aspirant for her hand, simply on account of ex- 
 traneous conditions. She had wide sympathies 
 wider than I often approved. Something in your 
 conduct or the confidence you showed shocked her 
 nicer sense; not your lack of the luxuries she often 
 misprised. This much I feel obliged to say, out of 
 justice to her character, which was uniformly con- 
 siderate." 
 
 ' You have seen her with men of her own world 
 and yours," was the harsh response. " She had an- 
 other side to her nature for the man of a different 
 sphere. And it killed my love that you can see 
 and led to my sending her the injudicious letter with 
 which you have confronted me. The hurt bull ut- 
 ters one bellow before he dies. I bellowed, and 
 bellowed loudly, but I did not die. I'm my own 
 man still and mean to remain so." 
 
 The assertive boldness some would call it 
 bravado with which he thus finished the story of 
 his relations with the dead heiress, seemed to be 
 more than Mr. Challoner could stand. With a look 
 of extreme pain and perplexity he vanished from the 
 doorway, and it fell to Dr. Heath to inquire :
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 105 
 
 " Is this letter a letter of threat you will re- 
 member the only communication which passed be- 
 tween you and Miss Challoner after this unfortunate 
 passage of arms at the Clermont? " 
 
 ' Yes. I had no wish to address her again. I 
 had exhausted in this one outburst whatever humilia- 
 tion I felt." 
 
 "And she? Did she give no sign, make you 
 no answer? " 
 
 " None whatever." Then, as if he found it im- 
 possible to hide this hurt to his pride, " She did not 
 even seem to consider me worthy the honour of an 
 added rebuke. Such arrogance is, no doubt, com- 
 mendable in a Challoner." 
 
 This time his bitterness did not pass unrebuked by 
 the coroner: " Remember the grey hairs of the only 
 Challoner who can hear you, and respect his grief." 
 
 Mr. Brotherson bowed. 
 
 " I have finished," said he. " I shall have noth- 
 ing more to say on the subject." And he drew him- 
 self up in expectation of the dismissal he evidently 
 thought pending. 
 
 But the coroner was not done with him by any 
 means. He had a theory in regard to this lament- 
 able suicide which he hoped to establish by this man's 
 testimony, and, in pursuit of this plan, he not only 
 motioned to Mr. Brotherson to reseat himself, but 
 began at once to open a fresh line of examination by 
 saying: 
 
 " You will pardon me, if I press this matter. I 
 have been given to understand that notwithstanding 
 your break with Miss Challoner, you have kept up
 
 io6 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 your visits to the Clermont and were even on the 
 spot at the time of her death." 
 
 " On the spot? " 
 
 " In the hotel, I mean." 
 
 "There you are right; I was in the hotel." 
 
 " At the time of her death ? " 
 
 " Very near the time. I remember hearing 
 some disturbance in the lobby behind me, just as I 
 was passing out at the Broadway entrance." 
 
 " You did, and did not return? " 
 
 " Why should I return? I am not a man of much 
 curiosity. There was no reason why I should con- 
 nect a sudden alarm in the lobby of the Clermont 
 with any cause of special interest to myself." 
 
 This was so true and the look which accompanied 
 the words was so frank that the coroner hesitated 
 a moment before he said: 
 
 "Certainly not, unless well, to be direct, un- 
 less you had just seen Miss Challoner and knew her 
 state of mind and what was likely to follow your 
 abrupt departure." 
 
 " I had no interview with Miss Challoner." 
 
 " But you saw her? Saw her that evening and 
 just before the accident?" 
 
 Sweetwater's papers rattled ; it was the only sound 
 to be heard in that moment of silence. Then 
 
 ' What do you mean by those words? " inquired 
 Mr. Brotherson, with studied composure. " I have 
 said that I had no interview with Miss Challoner. 
 Why do you ask me then, if I saw her? " 
 
 " Because I believe that you did. From a dis-
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 107 
 
 tance possibly, but yet directly and with no possi- 
 bility of mistake." 
 
 " Do you put that as a question? " 
 
 "I do. Did you see her figure or face that 
 night?" 
 
 11 1 did." 
 
 Nothing not even the rattling of Sweetwater's 
 papers disturbed the silence which followed this 
 admission. 
 
 " From where? " Dr. Heath asked at last. 
 
 " From a point far enough away to make any com- 
 munication between us impossible. I do not think 
 you will require me to recall the exact spot." 
 
 " If it were one which made it possible for her to 
 see you as clearly as you could see her, I think it would 
 be very advisable for you to say so." 
 
 " It was such a spot." 
 
 " Then I think I can locate it for you, or do you 
 prefer to locate it yourself? " 
 
 " I will locate it myself. I had hoped not to be 
 called upon to mention what I cannot but consider 
 a most unfortunate coincidence. As a gentleman you 
 will understand my reticence and also why it is a 
 matter of regret to me that with an acumen worthy 
 of your position, you should have discovered a fact 
 which, while it cannot explain Miss Challoner's 
 death, will drag our little affair before the public, 
 and possibly give it a prominence in some minds 
 which I am sure does not belong to it. I met Miss 
 Challoner's eye for one instant from the top of the 
 little staircase running up to the mezzanine. I had
 
 io8 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 yielded thus far to an impulse I had frequently corn- 
 batted, to seek by another interview to retrieve the 
 bad effect which must have been made upon her by 
 my angry note. I knew that she frequently wrote 
 letters in the mezzanine at this hour, and got as far 
 as the top of the staircase in my effort to join her. 
 But I got no further. When I saw her on her feet, 
 with her face turned my way, I remembered the scorn 
 with which she had received my former heart-felt pro- 
 posals and, without taking another step forward, I 
 turned away from her and fled down the steps and 
 so out of the building by the main entrance. She saw 
 me, for her hand flew up with a startled gesture, but 
 I cannot think that my presence on the same floor 
 with her could have caused her to strike the blow 
 which terminated her life. Why should I? No 
 woman sacrifices her life out of mere regret for the 
 disdain she has shown a man she has taken no pains 
 to understand." 
 
 His tone and his attitude seemed to invite the 
 concurrence of Dr. Heath in this statement. But 
 the richness of the one and the grace of the other 
 showed the handsome speaker off to such advantage 
 that the coroner was rather inclined to consider how 
 a woman, even of Miss Challoner's fine taste and 
 careful breeding, might see in such a situation much 
 for regret, if not for active despair and the suicidal 
 act. He gave no evidence of his thought, however, 
 but followed up the one admission made by Mr. 
 Brotherson which he and others must naturally view 
 as of the first importance.
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 109 
 
 " You saw Miss Challoner lift her hand, you say. 
 Which hand, and what was in it? Anything? " 
 
 " She lifted her right hand, but it would be impos- 
 sible for me to tell you whether there was anything 
 in it or not. I simply saw the movement before I 
 turned away. It looked like one of alarm to me. I 
 felt that she had some reason for this. She could 
 not know that it was in repentance I came rather than 
 in fulfilment of my threat." 
 
 A sigh from the adjoining room. Mr. Brother- 
 son rose, as he heard it, and in doing so met the clear 
 eye of Sweetwater fixed upon his own. Its language 
 was, no doubt, peculiar and it seemed to fascinate 
 him for a moment, for he started as if to approach 
 the detective, but forsook this intention almost im- 
 mediately, and addressing the coroner, gravely re- 
 marked: 
 
 " Her death following so quickly upon this abor- 
 tive attempt of mine at an interview startled me by 
 its coincidence as much as it does you. If in the 
 weakness of her woman's nature, it was more than this 
 if the scorn she had previously shown me was a 
 cloak she instinctively assumed to hide what she was 
 not ready to disclose, my remorse will be as great as 
 any one here could wish. But the proof of all this 
 will have to be very convincing before my present 
 convictions will yield to it. Some other and more 
 poignant source will have to be found for that in- 
 stant's impulsive act than is supplied by this story 
 of my unfortunate attachment." 
 
 Dr. Heath was convinced, but he was willing to
 
 no INITIALS ONLY 
 
 concede something to the secret demand made upon 
 him by Sweetwater, who was bundling up his papers 
 with much clatter. 
 
 Looking up with a smile which had elements in it 
 he was hardly conscious of perhaps himself, he asked 
 in an off-hand way : 
 
 " Then why did you take such pains to wash your 
 hands of the affair the moment you had left the 
 hotel?" 
 
 " I do not understand." 
 
 " You passed around the corner into street, 
 
 did you not? " 
 
 " Very likely. I could go that way as well as an- 
 other." 
 
 " And stopped at the first lamp-post? " 
 
 " Oh, I see. Someone saw that childish action of 
 mine." 
 
 " What did you mean by it? " 
 
 " Just what you have suggested. I did go through 
 the pantomime of washing my hands of an affair I 
 considered definitely ended. I had resisted an ir- 
 repressible impulse to see and talk with Miss Chal- 
 loner again, and was pleased with my firmness. Un- 
 aware of the tragic blow which had just fallen, I was 
 full of self-congratulations at my escape from the 
 charm which had lured me back to this hotel again 
 and again in spite of my better judgment, and I 
 wished to symbolise my relief by an act of which I 
 was, in another moment, ashamed. Strange that 
 there should have been a witness to it. (Here he 
 stole a look at Sweetwater.) Stranger still, that 
 circumstances by the most extraordinary of coinci-
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION in 
 
 dences, should have given so unforeseen a point to 
 it." 
 
 " You are right, Mr. Brotherson. The whole oc- 
 currence is startling and most strange. But life is 
 made up of the unexpected, as none know better than 
 we physicians, whether our practice be of a public or 
 private character." 
 
 As Mr. Brotherson left the room, the curiosity to 
 which he had yielded once before, led him to cast a 
 glance of penetrating inquiry behind him full at 
 Sweetwater, and if either felt embarrassment, it was 
 not the hunted but the hunter. 
 
 But the feeling did not last. 
 
 " I've simply met the strongest man I've ever en- 
 countered," was Sweetwater's encouraging comment 
 to himself. " All the more glory if I can find a 
 joint in his armour or a hidden passage to his cold, 
 secretive heart."
 
 XI 
 
 ALIKE IN ESSENTIALS 
 
 " MR. Gryce, I am either a fool or the luckiest fel- 
 low going. You must decide which." 
 
 The aged detective, thus addressed, laid down his 
 evening paper and endeavoured to make out the dim 
 form he could just faintly discern standing between 
 him and the library door. 
 
 " Sweetwater, is that you ? " 
 
 " No one else. Swestwater, the fool, or Sweet- 
 water, much too wise fcr his own good. I don't 
 know which. Perhaps you can find out and tell me." 
 
 A grunt from the region of the library table, then 
 the sarcastic remark: 
 
 " I'm just in the mood to settle that question. 
 This last failure to my account ought to make me an 
 excellent judge of another's folly. I've meddled 
 with the old business for the last time, Sweetwater. 
 You'll have to go it rlone from now on. The De- 
 partment has no more work for Ebenezar Gryce, or 
 rather Ebenezar Gryce will make no more fool at- 
 tempts to please them. Strange that a man don't 
 know when his time has come to quit. I remember 
 how I once scored Yeardsley for hanging on after he 
 had lost his grip ; and here am I doing the same thing. 
 But what's the matter with you ? Speak out, my boy. 
 Something new in the wind? " 
 
 ' No, Mr. Gryce; nothing new. It's the same old
 
 ALIKE IN ESSENTIALS 113 
 
 business. But, if what I suspect is true, this same 
 old business offers opportunities for some very inter- 
 esting and unusual effort. You're not satisfied with 
 the coroner's verdict in the Challoner case? " 
 
 " No. I'm satisfied with nothing that leaves all 
 ends dangling. Suicide was not proved. It seemed 
 the only presumption possible, but it was not proved. 
 There was no blood-stain on that cutter-point." 
 
 " Nor any evidence that it had ever been there." 
 
 " No. I'm not proud of the chain which lacks 
 a link where it should be strongest." 
 
 " We shall never supply that link." 
 
 " I quite agree with you." 
 
 " That chain we must throw away." 
 
 " And forge another? " 
 
 Sweetwater approached and sat down. 
 
 ' Yes; I believe we can do it; yet I have only one 
 indisputable fact for a starter. That is why I want 
 you to tell me whether I'm growing daft or simply 
 adventurous. Mr. Gryce, I don't trust Brotherson. 
 He has pulled the wool over Dr. Heath's eyes and 
 almost over those of Mr. Challoner. But he can't 
 pull it over mine. Though he should tell a story ten 
 times more plausible than the one with which he has 
 satisfied the coroner's jury, I would still listen to him 
 with more misgiving than confidence. Yet I have 
 caught him in no misstatement, and his eye is steadier 
 than my own. Perhaps it is simply a deeply rooted 
 antipathy on my part, or the rage one feels at finding 
 he has placed his finger on the wrong man. Again 
 it may be " 
 
 "What, Sweetwater?"
 
 n 4 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 " A well-founded distrust. Mr. Gryce, I'm going 
 to ask you a question." 
 
 " Ask away. Ask fifty if you want to." 
 
 "No; the one may involve fifty, but it is big 
 enough in itself to hold our attention for a while. 
 Did you ever hear of a case before, that in some of its 
 details was similar to this? " 
 
 " No, it stands alone. That's why it is so puz- 
 zling." 
 
 " You forget. The wealth, beauty and social con- 
 sequence of the present victim has blinded you to the 
 strong resemblance which her case bears to one you 
 know, in which the sufferer had none of the worldly 
 advantages of Miss Challoner. I allude to " 
 
 " Wait ! the washerwoman in Hicks Street ! 
 Sweetwater, what have you got up your sleeve ? You 
 do mean that Brooklyn washerwoman, don't you? " 
 
 ' The same. The Department may have forgot- 
 ten it, but I haven't. Mr. Gryce, there's a startling 
 similarity in the two cases if you study the essential 
 features only. Startling, I assure you." 
 
 ' Yes, you are right there. But what if there is? 
 We were no more successful in solving that case than 
 we have been in solving this. Yet you look and act 
 like a hound which has struck a hot scent." 
 
 The young man smoothed his features with an 
 embarrassed laugh. 
 
 " I shall never learn," said he, " not to give tongue 
 till the hunt is fairly started. If you will excuse me, 
 we'll first make sure of the similarity I have men- 
 tioned. Then I'll explain myself. I have some 
 notes here, made at the time it was decided to drop
 
 ALIKE IN ESSENTIALS 115 
 
 the Hicks Street case as a wholly inexplicable one. 
 As you know, I never can bear to say 4 die,' and I 
 sometimes keep such notes as a possible help in case 
 any such unfinished matter should come up again. 
 Shall I read them?" 
 
 " Do. Twenty years ago it would not have been 
 necessary. I should have remembered every detail 
 of an affair so puzzling. But my memory is no 
 longer entirely reliable. So fire away, my boy, 
 though I hardly see your purpose or what real bear- 
 ing the affair in Hicks Street has upon the Clermont 
 one. A poor washerwoman and the wealthy Miss 
 Challoner ! True, they were not unlike in their end." 
 
 " The connection will come later," smiled the young 
 detective, with that strange softening of his features 
 which made one at times forget his extreme plainness. 
 " I'm sure you will not consider the time lost if I 
 ask you to consider the comparison I am about to 
 make, if only as a curiosity in criminal annals." 
 
 And he read : 
 
 " ' On the afternoon of December Fourth, 1910, 
 the strong and persistent screaming of a young child 
 in one of the rooms of a rear tenement in Hicks Street, 
 Brooklyn, drew the attention of some of the inmates 
 and led them, after several ineffectual efforts to gain 
 an entrance, to the breaking in of the door which had 
 been fastened on the inside by an old-fashioned door- 
 button. 
 
 4 The tenant whom all knew for an honest, hard- 
 working woman, had not infrequently fastened her 
 door in this manner, in order to safeguard her child 
 who was abnormally active and had a way of rattling
 
 n6 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 the door open when it was not thus secured. But 
 she had never refused to open before, and the child's 
 cries were pitiful. 
 
 " ' This was no longer a matter of wonder, when, 
 the door having been wrenched from its hinges, they 
 all rushed in. Across a tub of steaming clothes 
 lifted upon a bench in the open window, they saw 
 the body of this good woman, lying inert and seem- 
 ingly dead; the frightened child tugging at her skirts. 
 She was of a robust make, fleshy and fair, and had 
 always been considered a model of health and energy, 
 but at the sight of her helpless figure, thus stricken 
 while at work, the one cry was ' A stroke ! ' till she 
 had been lifted off and laid upon the floor. Then 
 some discoloration in the water at the bottom of the 
 tub led to a closer examination of her body, and the 
 discovery of a bullet-hole in her breast directly over 
 the heart. 
 
 ' As she had been standing with face towards the 
 window, all crowded that way to see where the shot 
 had come from. As they were on the fourth storey 
 it could not have come from the court upon which the 
 room looked. It could only have come from the 
 front tenement, towering up before them some twenty 
 feet away. A single window of the innumerable ones 
 confronting them stood open, and this was the one 
 directly opposite. 
 
 ' Nobody was to be seen there or in the room be- 
 yond, but during the excitement, one man ran off to 
 call the police and another to hunt up the janitor and 
 ask who occupied this room. 
 
 1 His reply threw them all into confusion. The
 
 ALIKE IN ESSENTIALS 117 
 
 tenant of that room was the best, the quietest and 
 most respectable man in either building. 
 
 " ' Then he must be simply careless and the s4pt an 
 accidental one. A rush was made for the stairs and 
 soon the whole building was in an uproar. But when 
 this especial room was reached, it was found locked 
 and on the door a paper pinned up, on which these 
 words were written : Gone to New York. Will be 
 back at 6:30! Words that recalled a circumstance 
 to the janitor. He had seen the gentleman go out an 
 hour before. This terminated all inquiry in this di- 
 rection, though some few of the excited throng were 
 for battering down this door just as they had the other 
 one. But they were overruled by the janitor, who 
 saw no use in such wholesale destruction, and pres- 
 ently the arrival of the police restored order and lim- 
 ited the inquiry to the rear building, where it un- 
 doubtedly belonged.' 
 
 " Mr. Gryce," (here Sweetwater laid by his notes 
 that he might address the old gentleman more di- 
 rectly), " I was with the boys when they made their 
 first official investigation. This is why you can rely 
 upon the facts as here given. I followed the investi- 
 gation closely and missed nothing which could in any 
 way throw light on the case. It was a mysterious 
 one from the first, and lost nothing by further inquiry 
 into the details. 
 
 " The first fact to startle us as we made our way 
 up through the crowd which blocked halls and stair- 
 cases was this : A doctor had been found and, 
 though he had been forbidden to make more than a 
 cursory examination of the body till the coroner came,
 
 n8 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 he had not hesitated to declare after his first look, 
 that the wound had not been made by a bullet but 
 by some sharp and slender weapon thrust home by a 
 powerful hand. (You mark that, Mr. Gryce.) As 
 this seemed impossible in face of the fact that the 
 door had been found buttoned on the inside, we did 
 not give much credit to his opinion and began our 
 work under the obvious theory of an accidental dis- 
 charge of some gun from one of the windows across 
 the court. But the doctor was nearer right than we 
 supposed. When the coroner came to look into the 
 matter, he discovered that the wound was not only too 
 small to have been made by the ordinary bullet, but 
 that there was no bullet to be found in the woman's 
 body or anywhere else. Her heart had been reached 
 by a thrust and not by a shot from a gun. Mr. 
 Gryce, have you not heard a startling repetition of 
 this report in a case nearer at hand? 
 
 " But to go back. This discovery, so important 
 if true, was as yet that is, at the time of our enter- 
 ing the room, limited to the off-hand declaration of 
 an irresponsible physician, but the possibility it in- 
 volved was of so astonishing a nature that it in- 
 fluenced us unconsciously in our investigation and led 
 us almost immediately into a consideration of the diffi- 
 culties attending an entrance into, as well as an escape 
 from, a room situated as this was. 
 
 " Up three flights from the court, with no com- 
 munication with the adjoining rooms save through a 
 door guarded on both sides by heavy pieces of furni- 
 ture no one person could handle, the hall door but- 
 toned on the inside, and the fire-escape some fifteen
 
 ALIKE IN ESSENTIALS 119 
 
 feet to the left, this room of death appeared to be as 
 removed from the approach of a murderous outsider 
 as the spot in the writing-room of the Clermont where 
 Miss Challoner fell. 
 
 ** Otherwise, the place presented the greatest con- 
 trast possible to that scene of splendour and comfort. 
 I had not entered the Clermont at that time, and no 
 such comparison could have struck my mind. But 
 I have thought of it since, and you, with your ex- 
 perience, will not find it difficult to picture the room 
 where this poor woman lived and worked. Bare 
 walls, with just a newspaper illustration pinned up 
 here and there, a bed tragically occupied at this 
 moment a kitchen stove on which a boiler, half- 
 filled with steaming clothes still bubbled and foamed, 
 an old bureau, a large pine wardrobe against 
 an inner door which we later found to have been 
 locked for months, and the key lost, some chairs 
 and most pronounced of all, because of its position 
 directly before the window, a pine bench supporting a 
 wash-tub of the old sort. 
 
 " As it was here the woman fell, this tub naturally 
 received the closest examination. A board projected 
 from its further side, whither it had evidently been 
 pushed by the weight of her falling body; and from 
 its top hung a wet cloth, marking with its lugubrious 
 drip on the boards beneath the first heavy moments of 
 silence which is the natural accompaniment of so seri- 
 ous a survey. On the floor to the right lay a half- 
 used cake of soap just as it had slipped from her hand. 
 The window was closed, for the temperature was at 
 the freezing-point, but it had been found up, and it
 
 120 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 was put up now to show the height at which it had 
 then stood. As we all took our look at the house 
 wall opposite, a sound of shouting came up from be- 
 low. A dozen children were sliding on barrel staves 
 down a slope of heaped-up snow. They had been 
 engaged in this sport all the afternoon and were our 
 witnesses later that no one had made a hazardous 
 escape by means of the ladder of the fire-escape, run- 
 ning, as I have said, at an almost unattainable dis- 
 tance towards the left. 
 
 " Of her own child, whose cries had roused the 
 neighbours, nothing was to be seen. The woman in 
 the extreme rear had carried it off to her room; but 
 when we came to see it later, no doubt was felt by 
 any of us that this child was too young to talk con- 
 nectedly, nor did I ever hear that it ever said any- 
 thing which could in any way guide investigation. 
 
 " And that is as fjir as we ever got. The 
 coroner's jury brought in a verdict of death by means 
 of a stab from some unknown weapon in the hand 
 of a person also unknown, but no weapon was ever 
 found, nor was it ever settled how the attack could 
 have been made or the murderer escape under the 
 conditions described. The woman was poor, her 
 friends few, and the case seemingly inexplicable. So 
 -ifter creating some excitement by its peculiarities, 
 it fell of its own weight. But I remembered it, and 
 in many a spare hour have tried to see my way 
 through the no-thoroughfare it presented. But 
 quite in vain. To-day, the road is as blind as ever, 
 but " here Sweetwater's face sharpened and his 
 eyes burned as he leaned closer and closer to the
 
 ALIKE IN ESSENTIALS 
 
 older detective " but this second case, so unlike the 
 first in non-essentials but so exactly like it in just 
 those points which make the mystery, has dropped a 
 thread from its tangled skein into my hand, which 
 may yet lead us to the heart of both. Can you guess 
 have you guessed what this thread is? But 
 how could you without the one clew I have not given 
 you? Mr. Gryce, the tenement where this occurred 
 is the same I visited the other night in search of Mr. 
 Brotherson. And the man characterised at that time 
 by the janitor as the best, the quietest and most re- 
 spectable tenant in the whole building, and the one 
 you remember whose window opened directly oppo- 
 site the spot where this woman lay dead, was Mr. 
 Dunn himself, or, in other words, our late redoubt- 
 able witness, Mr. Orlando Brotherson."
 
 XII 
 
 MR. GRYCE FINDS AN ANTIDOTE FOR OLD AGE 
 
 " I THOUGHT I should make you sit up. I really cal- 
 culated upon doing so, sir. Yes, I have established 
 the plain fact that this Brotherson was near to, if not 
 in the exact line of the scene of crime in each of these 
 extraordinary and baffling cases. A very odd coinci- 
 dence, is it not?" was the dry conclusion of our 
 eager young detective. . . . 
 
 " Odd enough if you are correct in your statement. 
 But I thought it was conceded that the man Brother- 
 son was not personally near, was not even in the 
 building at the time of the woman's death in Hicks 
 Street; that he was out and had been out for hours, 
 according to the janitor." 
 
 " And so the janitor thought, but he didn't quite 
 know his man. I'm not sure that I do. But I mean 
 to make his acquaintance and make it thoroughly be- 
 fore I let him go. The hero well, I will say the 
 possible hero of two such adventures deserves 
 some attention from one so interested in the abnormal 
 as myself." 
 
 " Sweetwater, how came you to discover that 
 Mr. Dunn of this ramshackle tenement in Hicks 
 Street was identical with the elegantly equipped ad- 
 mirer of Miss Challoner?" 
 
 " Just this way. The night before Miss Chal- 
 loner's death I was brooding very deeply over the
 
 AN ANTIDOTE FOR OLD AGE 123 
 
 Hicks Street case. It had so possessed me that I 
 had taken this street in on my way from Flatbush ; as 
 if staring at the house and its swarming courtyard 
 was going to settle any such question as that I I 
 walked by the place and I looked up at the windows. 
 No inspiration. Then I sauntered back and entered 
 the house with the fool intention of crossing the 
 courtyard and wandering into the rear building 
 where the crime had occurred. But my attention 
 was diverted and my mind changed by seeing a man 
 coming down the stairs before me, of so fine a figure 
 that I involuntarily stopped to look at him. Had he 
 moved a little less carelessly, had he worn his work- 
 man's clothes a little less naturally, I should have 
 thought him some college bred man out on a slum- 
 ming expedition. But he was entirely too much at 
 home where he was, and too unconscious of his jeans 
 for any such conclusion on my part, and when he had 
 passed out I had enough curiosity to ask who he was. 
 " My interest, you may believe, was in no wise 
 abated when I learned that he was that highly re- 
 spectable tenant whose window had been open at the 
 time when half the inmates of the two buildings had 
 rushed up to his door, only to find a paper on it dis- 
 playing these words: Gone to New York; will be 
 back at 6:30. Had he returned at that hour? I 
 don't think anybody had ever asked ; and what reason 
 had I for such interference now? But an idea once 
 planted in my brain sticks tight, and I kept thinking 
 of this man all the way to the Bridge. Instinctively 
 and quite against my will, I found myself connecting 
 him with some previous remembrance in which I
 
 i2 4 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 seemed to see his tall form and strong features under 
 the stress of some great excitement. But there my 
 memory stopped, till suddenly as I was entering the 
 subway, it all came back to me. I had met him the 
 day I went with the boys to investigate the case in 
 Hicks Street. He was coming down the staircase of 
 the rear tenement then, very much as I had just seen 
 him coming down the one in front. Only the Dunn 
 of to-day seemed to have all his wits about him, 
 while the huge fellow who brushed so rudely by me 
 on that occasion had the peculiar look of a man strug- 
 gling with horror or some other grave agitation. 
 This was not surprising, of course, under the circum- 
 stances. I had met more than one man and woman 
 in those halls who had worn the same look; but none 
 of them had put up a sign on his door that he had 
 left for New York and would not be back till 6 130, 
 and then changed his mind so suddenly that he was 
 back in the tenement at three, sharing the curiosity 
 and the terrors of its horrified inmates. 
 
 " But the discovery, while possibly suggestive, was 
 not of so pressing a nature as to demand instant 
 action; and more immediate duties coming up, I let 
 the matter slip from my mind, to be brought up again 
 the next day, you may well believe, when all the cir- 
 cumstances of the death at the Clermont came to light 
 and I found myself confronted by a problem very 
 nearly the counterpart of the one then occupying 
 me. 
 
 " But I did not see any real connection between 
 the two cases, until, in my hunt for Mr. Brotherson, 
 I came upon the following facts : that he was not al-
 
 AN ANTIDOTE FOR OLD AGE 125 
 
 ways the gentleman he appeared: that the apartment 
 in which he was supposed to live was not his own but 
 a friend's; and that he was only there by spells. 
 When he was there, he dressed like a prince and it 
 was while so clothed he ate his meals in the cafe of 
 the Hotel Clermont. 
 
 " But there were times when he had been seen to 
 leave this apartment in a very different garb, and 
 while there was no one to insinuate that he was da Jt 
 in paying his debts or was given to dissipation or any 
 overt vice, it was generally conceded by such as 
 casually knew him, that there was a mysterious side 
 to his life which no one understood. His friend < 
 a seemingly candid and open-minded gentleman 
 explained these contradictions by saying that Mr. 
 Brotherson was a humanitarian and spent much of 
 his time in the slums. That while so engaged he 
 naturally dressed to suit the occasion, and if he was 
 to be criticised at all, it was for his zeal which often 
 led him to extremes and kept him to his task for days, 
 during which time none of his up-town friends saw 
 him. Then this enthusiastic gentleman called him 
 the great intellectual light of the day, and well, if 
 ever I want a character I shall take pains to insinuate 
 myself into the good graces of this Mr. Conway. 
 
 " Of Brotherson himself I saw nothing. He had 
 come to Mr. Conway's apartment the night before 
 the night of Miss Challoner's death, you understand 
 but had remained only long enough to change his 
 clothes. Where he went afterwards is unknown to 
 Mr. Conway, nor can he tell us when to look for his 
 return. When he does show up, my message will be
 
 126 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 given him, etc., etc. I have no fault to find with Mr. 
 Conway. 
 
 " But I had an idea in regard to this elusive 
 Brotherson. I had heard enough about him to be 
 mighty sure that together with his other accomplish- 
 ments he possessed the golden tongue and easy 
 speech of an orator. Also, that his tendencies were 
 revolutionary and that for all his fine clothes and 
 hankering after table luxuries and the like, he 
 cherished a spite against wealth which made his words 
 under certain moods cut like a knife. But there was 
 
 another man, known to us of the Precinct, who 
 
 had very nearly these same gifts, and this man was 
 going to speak at a secret meeting that very evening. 
 This we had been told by a disgruntled member of 
 the Associated Brotherhood. Suspecting Brotherson, 
 I had this prospective speaker described, and thought 
 I recognised my man. But I wanted to be positive 
 in my identification, so I took Anderson with me, and 
 but I'll cut that short. We didn't sec the orator 
 and that ' go ' went for nothing ; but I had another 
 string to my bow in the shape of the workman Dunn 
 who also answered to the description which had been 
 given me ; so I lugged poor Anderson over into Hicks 
 Street. 
 
 " It was late for the visit I proposed, but not too 
 late, if Dunn was also the orator who, surprised by a 
 raid I had not been let into, would be making for his 
 home, if only to establish an alibi. The subway was 
 near, and I calculated on his using it, but we took a 
 taxicab and so arrived in Hicks Street some few 
 minutes before him. The result you know. Ander-
 
 AN ANTIDOTE FOR OLD AGE 127 
 
 son recognised the man as the one whom he saw 
 washing his hands in the snow outside of the Cler- 
 mont, and the man, seeing himself discovered, owned 
 himself to be Brotherson and made no difficulty about 
 accompanying us the next day to the coroner's office. 
 ' You have heard how be bore himself; what his 
 explanations were and how completely they fitted in 
 with the preconceived notions of the Inspector and 
 the District Attorney. In consequence, Miss Chal- 
 loner's death is looked upon as a suicide the impul- 
 sive act of a woman who sees the man she may have 
 scouted but whom she secretly loves, turn away from 
 her in all probability forever. A weapon was in her 
 hand she impulsively used it, and another deplor- 
 able suicide was added to the melancholy list. Had 
 I put in my oar at the conference held in the coroner's 
 office; had I recalled to Dr. Heath the curious case 
 of Mrs. Spotts, and then identified Brotherson as 
 the man whose window fronted hers from the oppo- 
 site tenement, a diversion might have been created 
 and the outcome been different. But I feared the 
 experiment. I'm not sufficiently in with the Chief as 
 yet, nor yet with the Inspector. They might not have 
 called me a fool you may; but that's different 
 and they might have listened, but it would doubtless 
 have been with an air I could not have held up 
 against, with that fellow's eyes fixed mockingly on 
 mine. For he and I are pitted for a struggle, and I 
 do not want to give him the advantage of even a 
 momentary triumph. He's the most complete master 
 of himself of any man I ever met, and it will take the 
 united brain and resolution of the whole force to
 
 128 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 bring him to book if he ever is brought to book, 
 which I doubt. What do you think about it? " 
 
 " That you have given me an antidote against old 
 age," was the ringing and unexpected reply, as the 
 thoughtful, half-puzzled aspect of the old man 
 yielded impulsively to a burst of his early enthusiasm. 
 " If we can get a good grip on the thread you speak 
 of, and can work ourselves along by it, though it be 
 by no more than an inch at a time, we shall yet make 
 our way through this labyrinth of undoubted crime 
 and earn for ourselves a triumph which will make 
 some of these raw and inexperienced young fellows 
 about us stare. Sweetwater, coincidences are possible. 
 We run upon them every day. But coincidence in 
 crime! that should make work for a detective, and 
 we are not afraid of work. There's my hand for 
 my end of the business." 
 
 "And here's mine." 
 
 Next minute the two heads were closer than ever 
 together, and the business had begun.
 
 
 XIII 
 
 TIME, CIRCUMSTANCE, AND A VILLAIN'S HEART 
 
 u OUR first difficulty is this. We must prove motive. 
 Now, I do not think it will be so very hard to show 
 that this Brotherson cherished feelings of revenge to- 
 wards Miss Challoner. But I have to acknowledge 
 right here and now that the most skilful and vigour- 
 ous pumping of the janitor and such other tenants 
 of the Hicks Street tenement as I have dared to ap- 
 proach, fails to show that he has ever held any com- 
 munication with Mrs. Spotts, or even knew of her 
 existence until her remarkable death attracted his at- 
 tention. I have spent all the afternoon over this, 
 and with no result. A complete break in the chain 
 at the very start." 
 
 " Humph ! we will set that down, then, as so much 
 against us." 
 
 " The next, and this is a bitter pill too, is the al- 
 most insurmountable difficulty already recognised of 
 determining how a man, without approaching his vic- 
 tim, could manage to inflict a mortal stab in her breast. 
 No cloak of complete invisibility has yet been found, 
 even by the cleverest criminals." 
 
 " True. The problem is such as a nightmare of- 
 fers. For years my dreams have been haunted by a 
 gnome who proposes just such puzzles." 
 
 " But there's an answer to everything, and I'm sure 
 there's an answer to this. Remember his business. 
 
 129
 
 1 30 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 He's an inventor, with startling ideas. So much I've 
 seen for myself. You may stretch probabilities a lit- 
 tle in his case; and with this conceded, we may add 
 by way of off-set to the difficulties you mention, coinci- 
 dences of time and circumstance, and his villainous 
 heart. Oh, I know that I am prejudiced; but wait 
 and see ! Miss Challoner was well rid of him even 
 at the cost of her life." 
 
 " She loved him. Even her father believes that 
 now. Some lately discovered letters have come to 
 light to prove that she was by no means so heart free 
 as he supposed. One of her friends, it seems, has 
 also confided to him that once, while she and Miss 
 Challoner were sitting together, she caught Miss Chal- 
 loner in the act of scribbling capitals over a sheet of 
 paper. They were all B.s with the exception of here 
 and there a neatly turned O, and when her friend 
 twitted her with her fondness for these two letters, 
 and suggested a pleasing monogram, Miss Challoner 
 answered, ' O. B. (transferring the letters, as you 
 see) are the initials of the finest man in the world.' ' 
 
 " Gosh ! has he heard this story? " 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 ' The gentleman in question." 
 
 "Mr. Brotherson?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I don't think so. It was told me in confidence." 
 
 1 Told you, Mr. Gryce? Pardon my curiosity." 
 
 " By Mr. Challoner." 
 
 "Oh! by Mr. Challoner." 
 
 " He is greatly distressed at having the disgraceful 
 suggestion of suicide attached to his daughter's
 
 TIME AND CIRCUMSTANCE 131 
 
 name. Notwithstanding the circumstances, not- 
 withstanding his full recognition of her secret pre- 
 dilection for a man of whom he had never heard till 
 the night of her death, he cannot believe that she 
 struck the blow she did, intentionally. He sent for 
 me in order to inquire if anything could be done to re- 
 instate her in public opinion. He dared not insist 
 that another had wielded the weapon which laid her 
 low so suddenly, but he asked if, in my experience, it 
 had never been known that a woman, hyper-sensitive 
 to some strong man's magnetic influence, should so 
 follow his thought as to commit an act which never 
 could have arisen in her own mind, uninfluenced. 
 He evidently does not like Brotherson either." 
 
 "And what what did you say?" asked 
 Sweetwater, with a halting utterance and his face 
 full of thought. 
 
 " I simply quoted the latest authority on hyno- 
 tism, that no person even in hypnotic sleep could be 
 influenced by another to do what was antagonistic to 
 his natural instincts." 
 
 " Latest authority. That doesn't mean a final 
 one. Supposing that it was hypnotism ! But that 
 wouldn't account for Mrs. Spotts' death. Her 
 wound certainly was not a self-inflicted one." 
 
 " How can you be sure? " 
 
 ' There was no weapon found in the room, or in 
 the court. The snow was searched and the children 
 too. No weapon, Mr. Gryce, not even a paper-cut- 
 ter. Besides but how did Mr. Challoner take 
 what you said? Was he satisfied with this assur- 
 ance?"
 
 
 i 3 2 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 " He had to be. I didn't dare to hold out any 
 hope based on so unsubstantial a theory. But the 
 interview had this effect upon me. If the possi- 
 bility remains of fixing guilt elsewhere than on Miss 
 Challoner's inconsiderate impulse, I am ready to de- 
 vote any amount of time and strength to the work. 
 To see this grieving father relieved from the worst 
 part of his burden is worth some effort and now you 
 know why I have listened so eagerly to you. Sweet- 
 water, I will go with you to the Superintendent. We 
 may not gain his attention and again we may. If we 
 don't but we won't cross that bridge prematurely. 
 When will you be ready for this business? " 
 " I must be at Headquarters to-morrow." 
 " Good, then let it be to-morrow. A taxicab, 
 Sweetwater. The subway for the young. I can 
 no longer manage the stairs."
 
 XIV 
 
 A CONCESSION 
 
 " IT is true ; there seems to be something extraordi- 
 nary in the coincidence." 
 
 Thus Mr. Brotherson, in the presence of the In- 
 spector. 
 
 " But that is all there is to it," he easily proceeded. 
 " I knew Miss Challoner and I have already said 
 how much and how little I had to do with her death. 
 The other woman I did not know at all; I did not 
 even know her name. A prosecution based on 
 grounds so flimsy as those you advance would savour 
 of persecution, would it not? " 
 
 The Inspector, surprised by this unexpected attack, 
 regarded the speaker with an interest rather aug- 
 mented than diminished by his boldness. The smile 
 with which he had uttered these concluding words yet 
 lingered on his lips, lighting up features of a mould 
 too suggestive of command to be associated readily 
 with guilt. That the impression thus produced was 
 favourable, was evident from the tone of the In- 
 spector's reply: 
 
 " We have said nothing about prosecution, Mr. 
 Brotherson. We hope to avoid any such extreme 
 measures, and that we may the more readily do so, 
 we have given you this opportunity to make such ex- 
 planations as the situation, which you yourself have 
 characterised as remarkable, seems to call for." 
 
 133
 
 i 34 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 " I am ready. But what am I called upon to ex- 
 plain? I really cannot see, sir. Knowing nothing 
 more about either case than you do, I fear that I 
 shall not add much to your enlightenment." 
 
 " You can tell us why with your seeming culture 
 and obvious means, you choose to spend so much 
 time in a second-rate tenement like the one in Hicks 
 Street." 
 
 Again that chill smile preceding the quiet answer : 
 
 " Have you seen my room there ? It is piled to the 
 ceiling with books. When I was a poor man, I chose 
 the abode suited to my purse and my passion for first- 
 rate reading. As I grew better off, my time became 
 daily more valuable. I have never seen the hour 
 when I felt like moving that precious collection. Be- 
 sides, I am a man of the people. I like the working 
 class, and am willing to be thought one of them. I 
 can find time to talk to a hard-pushed mechanic as 
 easily as to such members of the moneyed class as 
 I encounter on stray evenings at the Hotel Clermont. 
 I have led I may say that I am leading a 
 double life; but of neither am I ashamed, nor have 
 I cause to be. Love drove me to ape the gentleman 
 in the halls of the Clermont; a broad human interest 
 in the work of the world, to live as a fellow among 
 the mechanics of Hicks Street." 
 
 " But why make use of one name as a gentleman of 
 leisure and quite a different one as the honest work- 
 man?" 
 
 " Ah, there you touch upon my real secret. I have 
 a reason for keeping my identity quiet till my inven- 
 tion is completed."
 
 A CONCESSION 135) 
 
 " A reason connected with your anarchistic tenden- 
 cies?" 
 
 " Possibly." But the word was uttered in a way 
 to carry little conviction. " I am not much of an 
 anarchist," he now took the trouble to declare, with 
 a careless lift of his shoulders. " I like fair play, but 
 I shall never give you much trouble by my manner 
 of insuring it. I have too much at stake. My in- 
 vention is dearer to me than the overthrow of pres- 
 ent institutions. Nothing must stand in the way of 
 its success, not even the satisfaction of inspiring ter- 
 ror in minds shut to every other species of argument. 
 I have uttered my last speech ; you can rely on me for 
 that." 
 
 " We are glad to hear it, Mr. Dunn. Physical 
 overthrow carries more than the immediate sufferer 
 with it." 
 
 If this were meant as an irritant, it did not act suc- 
 cessfully. The social agitator, the political dema- 
 gogue, the orator whose honeyed tones had rung 
 with biting invective in the ears of the United 
 Brotherhood of the Awl, the Plane and the Trowel, 
 simply bowed and calmly waited for the next 
 attack. 
 
 Perhaps it was of a nature to surprise even him. 
 
 " We have no wish," continued the Inspector, " to 
 probe too closely into concerns seemingly quite re- 
 moved from the main issue. You say that you arc 
 ready, nay more, are even eager to answer all ques- 
 tions. You will probably be anxious then to explain 
 away a discrepancy between your word and your con- 
 duct, which has come to our attention. You were
 
 136 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 known to have expressed the intention of spending 
 the afternoon of Mrs. Spotts' death in New York 
 and were supposed to have done so, yet you were cer- 
 tainly seen in the crowd which invaded that rear 
 building at the first alarm. Are you conscious of 
 possessing a double, or did you fail to cross the river 
 as you expected to? " 
 
 " I am glad this has come up." The tone was one 
 of self-congratulation which would have shaken 
 Sweetwater sorely had he been admitted to this un- 
 official examination. " I have never confided to any 
 one the 3tory of my doings on that unhappy after- 
 noon, because I knew of no one who would take any 
 interest in them. But this is what occurred. I did 
 mean to go to New York and I even started on my 
 walk to the Bridge at the hour mentioned. But I 
 got into a small crowd on the corner of Fulton 
 Street, in which a poor devil who had robbed a 
 vendor's cart of a few oranges, was being hustled 
 about There was no policeman within sight, and so 
 I busied myself there for a minute paying for the 
 oranges and dragging the poor wretch away into an 
 alley, where I could have the pleasure of seeing him 
 eat them. When I came out of the alley the small 
 crowd had vanished, but a big one was collecting up 
 the street very near my home. I always think of my 
 books when I see anything suggesting fire, and natu- 
 rally I returned, and equally naturally, when I heard 
 what had happened, followed the crowd into the 
 court and so up to the poor woman's doorway. But 
 my curiosity satisfied, I returned at once to the street 
 and went to New York as I had planned."
 
 A CONCESSION 137 
 
 " Do you mind telling us where you went in New 
 York?" 
 
 " Not at all. I went shopping. I wanted a cer- 
 tain very fine wire, for an experiment I had on hand, 
 and I found it in a little shop in Fourth Avenue. If 
 I remember rightly, the name over the door was Grip- 
 pus. Its oddity struck me." 
 
 There was nothing left to the Inspector but to 
 dismiss him. He had answered all questions will- 
 ingly, and with a countenance inexpressive of guile. 
 He even indulged in a parting shot on his own ac- 
 count, as full of frank acceptance of the situation 
 as it was fearless in i.ts attack. As he halted in the 
 doorway before turning his back upon the room, he 
 smiled for the third time as he quietly said: 
 
 " I have ceased visiting my friend's apartment in 
 upper New York. If you ever want me again, you 
 will find me amongst my books. If my invention 
 halts and other interests stale, you have furnished me 
 this day with a problem which cannot fail to give 
 continual occupation to my energies. If I succeed 
 in solving it first, I shall be happy to share my knowl- 
 edge with you. Till then, trust the laws of nature. 
 No man when once on the outside of a door can 
 button it on the inside, nor could any one without the 
 gift of complete invisibility, make a leap of over fif- 
 teen feet from the sill of a fourth story window on 
 to an adjacent fire escape, without attracting the at- 
 tention of some of the many children playing down 
 below." 
 
 He was half-way out the door, but his name quickly 
 spoken by the Inspector drew him back.
 
 i 3 8 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 " Anything more? " he asked. 
 
 The Inspector smiled. 
 
 " You are a man of considerable analytic power, as 
 I take it, Mr. Brotherson. You must have decided 
 long ago how this woman died." 
 
 " Is that a question, Inspector? " 
 
 " You may take it as such." 
 
 " Then I will allow myself to say that there is but 
 one common-sense view to take of the matter. Miss 
 Challoner's death was due to suicide; so was that of 
 the washerwoman. But there I stop. As for the 
 means the motive such mysteries may be within 
 your province but they are totally outside mine ! 
 God help us all! The world is full of misery. 
 Again I wish you good-day." 
 
 The air seemed to have lost its vitality and the 
 sun its sparkle when he was gone. 
 
 " Now, what do you think, Gryce? " 
 The old man rose and came out of his corner. 
 'This: that I'm up against the hardest proposi- 
 tion of my lifetime. Nothing in the man's appear- 
 ance or manner evinces guilt, yet I believe him guilty. 
 I must. Not to, is to strain probability to the point 
 of breakage. But how to reach him is a problem 
 and one of no ordinary nature. Years ago, when I 
 was but little older than Sweetwater, I had just such a 
 conviction concerning a certain man against whom I 
 had even less to vork on than we have here. A mur- 
 der had been committed by an envenomed spring con- 
 tained in a toy puzzle. I worked upon the conscience 
 of the suspect in that case, by bringing constantly
 
 A CONCESSION 139 
 
 before his eyes a facsimile of that spring. It 
 met him in the folded napkin which he opened at his 
 restaurant dinner. He stumbled upon it in the street, 
 and found it lying amongst his papers at home. I 
 gave him no relief and finally he succumbed. He had 
 been almost driven mad by remorse. But this man 
 has no conscience. If he is not innocent as the day, 
 he's as hard as unquarried marble. He might be 
 confronted with reminders of his crime at every turn 
 without weakening or showing by loss of appetite 
 or interrupted sleep any effect upon his nerves. 
 That's my opinion of the gentleman. He is either 
 that, or a man of uncommon force and self- 
 restraint." 
 
 " I'm inclined to believe him the latter." 
 
 " And so give the whole matter the go-by? " 
 
 11 Possibly." 
 
 " It will be a terrible disappointment to Sweet- 
 water." 
 
 " That's nothing." 
 
 " And to me." 
 
 " That's different. I'm disposed to consider you, 
 Gryce after all these years." 
 
 " Thank you ; I have done the state some service." 
 
 "What do you want? You say the mine is un- 
 workable." 
 
 " Yes, in a day, or in a week, possibly in a month. 
 But persistence and a protean adaptability to meet 
 his moods might accomplish something. I don't say 
 will, I only say might. If Sweetwater had the job, 
 with unlimited time in which to carry out any plan 
 he may have, or even for a change of plans to suit
 
 1 40 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 a changed idea, success might be his, and both time, 
 effort and outlay justified." 
 
 "The outlay? I am thinking of the outlay." 
 
 " Mr. Challoner will see to that. I have his word 
 that no reasonable amount will daunt him." 
 
 " But this Brotherson is suspicious. He has an 
 inventor's secret to hide, if none other. We can't 
 saddle him with a guy of Sweetwater's appearance 
 and abnormal loquaciousness." 
 
 " Not readily, I own. But time will bring counsel. 
 Are you willing to help the boy, to help me and pos- 
 sibly yourself by this venture in the dark? The De- 
 partment shan't lose money by it; that's all I can 
 promise." 
 
 " But it's a big one. Gryce, you shall have your 
 way. You'll be the only loser if you fail; and you 
 will fail; take my word for it." 
 
 " I wish I could speak as confidently to the con- 
 trary, but I can't. I can give you my hand though, 
 Inspector, and Sweetwater's thanks. I can meet the 
 boy now. An hour ago I didn't know how I was to 
 do it."
 
 XV 
 
 THAT'S THE QUESTION 
 
 " How many times has he seen you? " 
 
 " Twice." 
 
 " So that he knows your face and figure? " 
 
 " I'm afraid so. He cannot help remembering the 
 man who faced him in his own room." 
 
 " That's unfortunate." 
 
 " Damned unfortunate; but one must expect some 
 sort of a handicap in a game like this. Before I'm 
 done with him, he'll look me full in the face and 
 wonder if he's ever seen me before. I wasn't always 
 a detective. I was a carpenter once, as you know, and 
 I'll take to the tools again. As soon as I'm handy 
 with them I'll hunt up lodgings in Hicks Street. He 
 may suspect me at first, but he won't long; I'll be 
 such a confounded good workman. I only wish I 
 hadn't such pronounced features. They've stood aw- 
 fully in my way, Mr. Gryce. I don't like to talk 
 about my appearance, but I'm so confounded plain 
 that people remember me. Why couldn't I have had 
 one of those putty faces which don't mean anything? 
 It would have been a deuced sight more convenient.'* 
 ' You've done very well as it is." 
 
 " But I want to do better. I want to deceive him 
 to his face. He's clever, this same Brotherson, and 
 there's glory to be got in making a fool of him. Do 
 you think it could be done with a beard? I've never 
 
 141
 
 i 4 2 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 worn a beard. While I'm settling back into my old 
 trade, I can let the hair. grow." 
 
 " Do. It'll make you look as weak as water. 
 It'll be blonde, of course." 
 
 " And silky and straggling. Charming addition 
 to my beauty. But it'll take half an inch off my nose, 
 and it'll cover my mouth, which means a lot in my 
 case. Then my complexion! It must be changed 
 naturally. I'll consult a doctor about that. No sort 
 of make-believe will go with this man. If my eyes 
 look weak, they must really be so. If I walk slowly 
 and speak huskily, it must be because I cannot help 
 it. I can bear the slight inconvenience of temporary 
 ill-health in a cause like this; and if necessary the 
 cough will be real, and the headache positive." 
 
 " Sweetwater 1 We'd better give the task to an- 
 other man to someone Brotherson has never seen 
 and won't be suspicious of? " 
 
 " He'll be suspicious of everybody who tries to 
 make friends with him now; only a little more so with 
 me; that's all. But I've got to meet that, and I'll do 
 it by being, temporarily, of course, exactly the man 
 I seem. My health will not be good for the next 
 few weeks, I'm sure of that. But I'll be a model 
 workman, neat and conscientious with just a suspicion 
 of dash where dash is needed. He knows the real 
 thing when he sees it, and there's not a fellow living 
 more alive to shams. I won't be a sham. I'll be it. 
 You'll see." 
 
 " But the doubt. Can you do all this in doubt of 
 the issue? " 
 
 " No ; I must have confidence in the end, and I
 
 THAT'S THE QUESTION 143 
 
 must believe in his guilt. Nothing else will carry me 
 through. I must believe in his guilt." 
 
 " Yes, that's essential." 
 
 " And I do. I never was surer of anything than 
 I am of that. But I'll have the deuce of a time to get 
 evidence enough for a grand jury. That's plainly to 
 be seen, and that's why I'm so dead set on the busi- 
 ness. It's such an even toss-up." 
 
 " I don't call it even. He's got the start of you 
 every way. You can't go to his tenement ; the janitor 
 there would recognise you even if he didn't." 
 
 " Now I will give you a piece of good news. 
 They're to have a new janitor next week. I learned 
 that yesterday. The present one is too easy. He'll 
 be out long before I'm ready to show myself there; 
 and so will the woman who took care of the poor 
 washerwoman's little child. I'd not have risked her 
 curiosity. Luck isn't all against us. How does Mr. 
 Challoner feel about it?" 
 
 " Not very confident; but willing to give you any 
 amount of rope. Sweetwater, he let me have a batch 
 of letters written by his daughter which he found in 
 a secret drawer. They are not to be read, or even 
 opened, unless a great necessity arises. They were 
 written for Brotherson's eye or so the father says : 
 but she never sent them; too exuberant perhaps. 
 If you ever want them I cannot give them to you 
 to-night, and wouldn't if I could, don't go to Mr. 
 Challoner you must never be seen at his hotel 
 and don't come to me, but to the little house in West 
 Twenty-ninth Street, where they will be kept for 
 you, tied up in a package with your name on it. By
 
 i 4 4 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 the way, what name are you going to work un- 
 der? " 
 
 " My mother's Zugg." 
 
 " Good ! I'll remember. You can always write 
 or even telephone to Twenty-ninth Street. I'm in 
 constant communication with them there, and it's 
 quite safe." 
 
 " Thanks. You're sure the Superintendent is with 
 me?" 
 
 ' Yes, but not the Inspector. He sees nothing but 
 the victim of a strange coincidence in Orlando 
 Brotherson." 
 
 " Again the scales hang even. But they won't re- 
 main so. One side is bound to rise. Which? 
 That's the question, Mr. Gryce."
 
 XVI 
 
 OPPOSED 
 
 THERE was a new tenant in the Hicks Street tene- 
 ment. He arrived late one afternoon and was 
 shown two rooms, one in the rear building and an- 
 other in the front one. Both were on the fourth 
 floor. He demurred at the former, thought it 
 gloomy but finally consented to try it. The other, 
 he said, was too expensive. The janitor new to 
 the business was not much taken with him and 
 showed it, which seemed to offend the newcomer, 
 who was evidently an irritable fellow owing to ill 
 health. 
 
 However, they came to terms as I have said, and 
 the man went away, promising to send in his be- 
 longings the next day. He smiled as he said this 
 and the janitor who had rarely seen such a change 
 take place in a human face, looked uncomfortable 
 for a moment and seemed disposed to make some 
 remark about the room they were leaving. But, 
 thinking better of it, locked the door and led the way 
 downstairs. As the prospective tenant followed, he 
 may have noticed, probably did, that the door they 
 had just left was a new one the only new thing 
 to be seen in the whole shabby place. 
 
 The next night that door was locked on the inside. 
 The young man had taken possession. As he put 
 away the remnants of a meal he had cooked for him- 
 
 MS
 
 i 4 6 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 self, he cast a look at his surroundings, and imper- 
 ceptibly sighed. Then he brightened again, and sit- 
 ting down on his solitary chair, he turned his eyes 
 on the window which, uncurtained and without shade, 
 stared open-mouthed, as it were, at the opposite wall 
 rising high across the court. 
 
 In that wall, one window only seemed to interest 
 him and that was on a level with his own. The 
 shade of this window was up, but there was no light 
 back of it and so nothing of the interior could be 
 seen. But his eye remained fixed upon it, while his 
 hand, stretched out towards the lamp burning near 
 him, held itself in readiness to lower the light at a 
 minute's notice. 
 
 Did he see only the opposite wall and that unil- 
 lumined window? Was there no memory of the 
 time when, in a previous contemplation of those dis- 
 mal panes, he beheld stretching between them and 
 himself, a long, low bench with a plain wooden tub 
 upon it, from which a dripping cloth beat out upon 
 the boards beneath a dismal note, monotonous as the 
 ticking of a clock? 
 
 One might judge that such memories were indeed 
 his, from the rapid glance he cast behind him at the 
 place where the bed had stood in those days. It was 
 placed differently now. 
 
 But if he saw, and if he heard these suggestions 
 from the past, he was not less alive to the exactions 
 of the present, for, as his glance flew back across the 
 court, his finger suddenly moved and the flame it 
 controlled sputtered and went out. At the same 
 instant, the window opposite sprang into view as
 
 OPPOSED 147 
 
 the lamp was lit within, and for several minutes the 
 whole interior remained visible the books, the 
 work-table, the cluttered furniture, and, most inter- 
 esting of all, its owner and occupant. It was upon 
 the latter that the newcomer fixed his attention, and 
 with an absorption equal to that he saw expressed in 
 the countenance opposite. 
 
 But his was the absorption of watchfulness; that 
 of the other of introspection. Mr. Brotherson 
 (we will no longer call him Dunn even here where he 
 is known by no other name) had entered the room 
 clad in his heavy overcoat and, not having taken it 
 off before lighting his lamp, still stood with it on, 
 gazing eagerly down at the model occupying the 
 place of honour on the large centre table. He was 
 not touching it, not at this moment but that his 
 thoughts were with it, that his whole mind was con- 
 centrated on it, was evident to the watcher across 
 the court; and, as this watcher took in this fact and 
 noticed the loving care with which the enthusiastic 
 inventor finally put out his finger to re-arrange a 
 thread or twirl a wheel, his disappointment found ut- 
 terance in a sigh which echoed sadly through the dull 
 and cheerless room. Had he expected this stern and 
 self-contained man to show an open indifference to 
 work and the hopes of a lifetime? If so, this was 
 the first of the many surprises awaiting him. 
 
 He was gifted, however, with the patience of an 
 automaton and continued to watch his fellow tenant 
 as long as the latter's shade remained up. When it 
 fell, he rose and took a few steps up and down, but not 
 with the celerity and precision which usually accom-
 
 i 4 8 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 panied his movements. Doubt disturbed his mind 
 and impeded his activity. He had caught a fair 
 glimpse of Brotherson's face as he approached the 
 window, and though it continued to show abstrac- 
 tion, it equally displayed serenity and a complete sat- 
 isfaction with the present if not with the future. 
 Had he mistaken his man after all? Was his in- 
 stinct, for the first time in his active career, wholly at 
 fault? 
 
 He had succeeded in getting a glimpse of his 
 quarry in the privacy of his own room, at home with 
 his thoughts and unconscious of any espionage, and 
 how had he found him? Cheerful, and natural in 
 all his movements. 
 
 But the evening was young. Retrospect comes 
 with later and more lonely hours. There will be 
 opportunities yet for studying this impassive coun- 
 tenance under much more telling and productive cir- 
 cumstances than these. He would await these op- 
 portunities with cheerful anticipation. Meanwhile, 
 he would keep up the routine watch he had planned 
 for this night. Something might yet occur. At all 
 events he would have exhausted the situation from 
 this standpoint. 
 
 And so it came to pass that at an hour when all 
 the other hard-working people in the building were 
 asleep, or at least striving to sleep, these two men still 
 sat at their work, one in the light, the other in the 
 darkness, facing each other, consciously to the one, 
 unconsciously to the other, across the hollow well of 
 the now silent court. Eleven o'clock! Twelve! 
 No change on Brotherson's part or in Brotherson's
 
 OPPOSED 149 
 
 room; but a decided one in the place where Sweet- 
 water sat. Objects which had been totally indis- 
 tinguishable even to his penetrating eye could now be 
 seen in ever brightening outline. The moon had 
 reached the open space above the court, and he was 
 getting the full benefit of it. But it was a benefit 
 he would have been glad to dispense with. Dark- 
 ness was like a shield to him. He did not feel quite 
 sure that he wanted this shield removed. With no 
 curtain to the window and no shade, and all this bril- 
 liance pouring into the room, he feared the disclosure 
 of his presence there, or, if not that, some effect on 
 his own mind of those memories he was more anx- 
 ious to see mirrored in another's discomfiture than 
 in his own. 
 
 Was it to escape any lack of concentration which 
 these same memories might bring, that he rose and 
 stepped to the window? Or was it under one of 
 those involuntary impulses which move us in spite of 
 ourselves to do the very thing our judgment disap- 
 proves ? 
 
 No sooner had he approached the sill than Mr. 
 Brotherson's shade flew way up and he, too, looked 
 out. Their glances met, and for an instant the hardy 
 detective experienced that involuntary stagnation of 
 the blood which follows an inner shock. He felt 
 that he had been recognised. The moonlight lay full 
 upon his face, and the other had seen and known him. 
 Else, why the constrained attitude and sudden rigidity 
 observable in this confronting figure, with its partially 
 lifted hand? A man like Brotherson makes no pause 
 in any action however trivial, without a reason.
 
 1 5 o INITIALS ONLY 
 
 Either he had been transfixed by this glimpse of his 
 enemy on watch, or daring thought ! had seen 
 enough of sepulchral suggestion in the wan face look- 
 ing forth from this fatal window to shake him from 
 his composure and let loose the grinning devil of re- 
 morse from its iron prison-house? If so, the move- 
 ment was a memorable one, and the hazard quite 
 worth while. He had gained no ! he had gained 
 nothing. He had been the fool of his own wishes. 
 No one, let alone Brotherson, could have mistaken his 
 face for that of a woman. He had forgotten his 
 newly-grown beard. Some other cause must be 
 found for the other's attitude. It savoured of shock, 
 if not fear. If it were fear, then had he roused an 
 emotion which might rebound upon himself in sharp 
 reprisal. Death had been known to strike people 
 standing where he stood; mysterious death of a spe- 
 cies quite unrecognisable. What warranty had he 
 that it would not strike him, and now ? None. 
 
 Yet it was Brotherson who moved first. With a 
 shrug of the shoulder plainly visible to the man op- 
 posite, he turned away from the window and with- 
 out lowering the shade, began gathering up his pa- 
 pers for the night, and later banking up his stove 
 with ashes. 
 
 Sweetwater, with a breath of decided relief, 
 stepped back and threw himself on the bed. It had 
 really been a trial for him to stand there under the 
 other's eye, though his mind refused to formulate his 
 fear, or to give him any satisfaction when he asked 
 himself what there was in the situation suggestive of 
 death to the woman or harm to himself.
 
 OPPOSED 151 
 
 Nor did morning light bring counsel, as is usual 
 in similar cases. He felt the mystery more in the 
 hubbub and restless turmoil of the day than in the 
 night's silence and inactivity. He was glad when the 
 stroke of six gave him an excuse to leave the room, 
 and gladder yet when in doing so, he ran upon an 
 old woman from a neighbouring room, who no sooner 
 saw him than she leered at him and eagerly re- 
 marked : 
 
 "Not much sleep, eh? We didn't think you'd 
 like it. Did you see anything? " 
 
 Now this gave him the one excuse he wanted. 
 
 "See anything?" he repeated, apparently with 
 all imaginable innocence. " What do you mean by 
 that?" 
 
 " Don't you know what happened in that room ? " 
 
 " Don't tell me ! " he shouted out " I don't want 
 to hear any nonsense. I haven't time. I've got to 
 be at the shop at seven and I don't feel very well. 
 What did happen?" he mumbled in drawing off, 
 just loud enough for the woman to hear. " Some- 
 thing unpleasant I'm sure." Then he ran down- 
 stairs. 
 
 At half past six he found the janitor. He was, 
 to all appearance, in a state of great excitement and 
 he spoke very fast. 
 
 " I won't stay another night in that room," he 
 loudly declared, breaking in where the family were 
 eating breakfast by lamplight. " I don't want to 
 make any trouble and I don't want to give 
 my reasons; but that room don't suit me. I'd 
 rather take the dark one you talked about yesterday.
 
 i 5 2 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 There's the money. Have my things moved to-day, 
 will ye?" 
 
 " But your moving out after one night's stay will 
 give that room a bad name," stammered the janitor, 
 rising awkwardly. " There'll be talk and I won't 
 be able to let that room all winter." 
 
 " Nonsense ! Every man hasn't the nerves I have. 
 You'll let it in a week. But let or not let, I'm go- 
 ing front into the little dark room. I'll get the boss 
 to let me off at half past four. So that's settled." 
 
 He waited for no reply and got none ; but when he 
 appeared promptly at a quarter to five, he found his 
 few belongings moved into a middle room on the 
 fourth floor of the front building, which, oddly per- 
 haps, chanced to be next door to the one he had held 
 under watch the night before. 
 
 The first page of his adventure in the Hicks Street 
 tenement had been turned, and he was ready to start 
 upon another.
 
 XVII 
 
 IN WHICH A BOOK PLAYS A LEADING PART 
 
 WHEN Mr. Brotherson came in that night, he no- 
 ticed that the door of the room adjoining his own 
 stood open. He did not hesitate. Making imme- 
 diately for it, he took a glance inside, then spoke up 
 with a ringing intonation : 
 
 " Halloo! coming to live in this hole? " 
 
 The occupant a young man, evidently a work- 
 man and somewhat sickly if one could judge from 
 his complexion turned around from some tinker- 
 ing he was engaged in and met the intruder fairly, 
 face to face. If his jaw fell, it seemed to be from 
 admiration. No other emotion would have so 
 lighted his eye as he took in the others proportions 
 and commanding features. No dress Brotherson 
 was never seen in any other than the homeliest garb 
 in these days could make him look common or 
 akin to his surroundings. Whether seen near or far, 
 his presence always caused surprise, and surprise was 
 what the young man showed, as he answered briskly : 
 
 " Yes, this is to be my castle. Are you the owner 
 of the buildings? If so " 
 
 " I am not the owner. I live next door. Haven't 
 I seen you before, young man ? " 
 
 Never was there a more penetrating eye than Or- 
 lando Brotherson's. As he asked this question it 
 took some effort on the part of the other to hold his
 
 I 5 4 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 own and laugh with perfect naturalness as he replied : 
 
 " If you ever go up Henry Street it's likely enough 
 that you've seen me not once, but many times. I'm 
 the fellow who works at the bench next the window in 
 Schuper's repairing shop. Everybody knows me." 
 
 Audacity often carries the day when subtler 
 means would fail. Brotherson stared at the youth, 
 then ventured another question : 
 
 " A carpenter, eh? " 
 
 ' Yes, and I'm an Ai man at my job. Excuse my 
 brag. It's my one card of introduction." 
 
 " I've seen you. I've seen you somewhere else 
 than in Schuper's shop. Do you remember me? " 
 
 " No, sir ; I'm sorry to be imperlite but I don't 
 remember you at all. Won't you sit down? It's 
 not very cheerful, but I'm so glad to get out of the 
 room I was in last night that this looks all right to 
 me. Back there, other building," he whispered. " I 
 didn't know, and took the room which had a window 
 in it; but " The stop was significant; so was his 
 smile which had a touch of sickliness in it, as well 
 as humour. 
 
 But Brotherson was not to be caught. 
 
 ' You slept in the building last night ? In the 
 other half, I mean? " 
 
 " Yes, I slept." 
 
 The strong lip of the older man curled disdain- 
 fully. 
 
 " I saw you," said he. " You were standing in 
 the window overlooking the court. You were not 
 sleeping then. I suppose you know that a woman 
 died in that room? "
 
 155 
 
 ' Yes; they told me so this morning." 
 
 " Was that the first you'd heard of it? " 
 
 " Sure ! " The word almost jumped at the ques- 
 tioner. " Do you suppose I'd have taken the room 
 if" 
 
 But here the intruder, with a disdainful grunt, 
 turned and went out, disgust in every feature, 
 plain, unmistakable, downright disgust, and nothing 
 more! 
 
 This was what gave Sweetwater his second bad 
 night; this and a certain discovery he made. He 
 had counted on hearing what went on in the neigh- 
 bouring room through the partition running back of 
 his own closet. But he could hear nothing, unless it 
 was the shutting down of a window, a loud sneeze, 
 or the rattling of coals as they were put on the fire. 
 And these possessed no significance. What he 
 wanted was to catch the secret sigh, the muttered 
 word, the involuntary movement. He was too far 
 removed from this man still. 
 
 How should he manage to get nearer him 
 at the door of his mind of his heart? Sweetwa- 
 ter stared all night from his miserable cot into the 
 darkness of that separating closet, and with no re- 
 sult. His task looked hopeless; no wonder that he 
 could get no rest. 
 
 Next morning he felt ill, but he rose all the same, 
 and tried to get his own breakfast. He had but 
 partially succeeded and was sitting on the edge of his 
 bed in wretched discomfort, when the very man he 
 was thinking of appeared at his door. 
 
 " I've come to see how you are," said Brotherson.
 
 156 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 " I noticed that you did not look well last night. 
 Won't you come in and share my pot of coffee? " 
 
 "I I can't eat," mumbled Sweetwater, for 
 once in his life thrown completely off his balance. 
 " You're very kind, but I'll manage all right. I'd 
 rather. I'm not quite dressed, you see, and I must 
 get to the shop." Then he thought "What an 
 opportunity I'm losing. Have I any right to turn 
 tail because he plays his game from the outset with 
 trumps? No, I've a small trump somewhere about 
 me to lay on this trick. It isn't an ace, but it'll show 
 I'm not chicane." And smiling, though not with his 
 usual cheerfulness, Sweetwater added, " Is the coffee 
 all made? I might take a drop of that. But you 
 mustn't ask me to eat I just couldn't." 
 
 ' Yes, the coffee is made and it isn't bad either. 
 You'd better put on your coat; the hall's draughty." 
 And waiting till Sweetwater did so, he led the way 
 back to his own room. Brotherson's manner ex- 
 pressed perfect ease, Sweetwater's not. He knew 
 himself changed in looks, in bearing, in feeling, even ; 
 but was he changed enough to deceive this man on 
 the very spot where they had confronted each other 
 a few days before in a keen moral struggle? The 
 looking-glass he passed on his way to the table where 
 the simple breakfast was spread out, showed him a 
 figure so unlike the alert, business-like chap he had 
 been that night, that he felt his old assurance revive 
 in time to ease a situation which had no counterpart 
 in his experience. 
 
 " I'm going out myself to-day, so we'll have to 
 hurry a bit," was Brotherson's first remark as they
 
 A BOOK PLAYS A LEADING PART 157 
 
 seated themselves at table. " Do you like your cof- 
 fee plain or with milk in it? " 
 
 " Plain. Gosh ! what pictures 1 Where do you 
 get 'em? You must have a lot of coin." Sweetwa- 
 ter was staring at the row of photographs, mostly of 
 a very high order, tacked along the wall separating 
 the two rooms. They were unframed, but they were 
 mostly copies of great pictures, and the effect was 
 rather imposing in contrast to the shabby furniture 
 and the otherwise homely fittings. 
 
 " Yes, I've enough for that kind of thing," was his 
 host's reply. But the tone was reserved, and Sweet- 
 water did not presume again along this line. In- 
 stead, he looked well at the books piled upon the 
 shelves under these photographs, and wondered 
 aloud at their number and at the man who could 
 waste such a lot of time in reading them. But he 
 made no more direct remarks. Was he cowed by 
 the penetrating eye he encountered whenever he 
 yielded to the fascination exerted by Mr. Brother- 
 son's personality and looked his way? He hated to 
 think so, yet something held him in check and made 
 him listen, open-mouthed, when the other chose to 
 speak. 
 
 Yet there was one cheerful moment. It was when 
 he noticed the careless way in which those books were 
 arranged upon their shelves. An idea had come to 
 him. He hid his relief in his cup, as he drained the 
 last drops of the coffee which really tasted better 
 than he had expected. 
 
 When he returned from work that afternoon it 
 was with an auger under his coat and a conviction
 
 i 5 8 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 which led him to empty out the contents of a small 
 phial which he took down from a shelf. He had 
 told Mr. Gryce that he was eager for the business 
 because of its difficulties, but that was when he was 
 feeling fine and up to any game which might come 
 his way. Now he felt weak and easily discouraged. 
 This would not do. He must regain his health at 
 all hazards, so he poured out the mixture which had 
 given him such a sickly air. This done and a rude 
 supper eaten, he took up his auger. He had heard 
 Mr. Brotherson's step go by. But next minute he 
 laid it down again in great haste and flung a news- 
 paper over it. Mr. Brotherson was coming back, 
 had stopped at his door, had knocked and must be 
 let in. 
 
 ' You're better this evening," he heard in those 
 kindly tones which so confused and irritated him. 
 
 " Yes," was the surly admission. " But it's 
 stifling here. If I have to live long in this hole I'll 
 dry up from want of air. It's near the shop or I 
 wouldn't stay out the week." Twice this day he had 
 seen Brotherson's tall figure stop before the window 
 of this shop and look in at him at his bench. But he 
 said nothing about that. 
 
 ' Yes," agreed the other, " it's no way to live. 
 But you're alone. Upstairs there's a whole family 
 huddled into a room just like this. Two of the kids 
 sleep in the closet. It's things like that which have 
 made me the friend of the poor, and the mortal en- 
 emy of men and women who spread themselves over 
 a dozen big rooms and think themselves ill-used if
 
 A BOOK PLAYS A LEADING PART 159 
 
 the gas burns poorly or a fireplace smokes. I'm off 
 for the evening; anything I can do for you? " 
 
 " Show me how I can win my way into such rooms 
 as you've just talked about. Nothing less will make 
 me look up. I'd like to sleep in one to-night. In 
 the best bedroom, sir. I'm ambitious; I am." 
 
 A poor joke, though they both laughed. Then 
 Mr. Brotherson passed on, and Sweetwater listened 
 till he was sure that his too attentive neighbour had 
 really gone down the three flights between him and 
 the street. Then he took up his auger again and 
 shut himself up in his closet. 
 
 There was nothing peculiar about this closet. It 
 was just an ordinary one with drawers and shelves 
 on one side, and an open space on the other for the 
 hanging up of clothes. Very few clothes hung there 
 at present ; but it was in this portion of the closet that 
 he stopped and began to try the wall of Brotherson's 
 room, with the butt end of the tool he carried. 
 
 The sound seemed to satisfy him, for very soon 
 he was boring a hole at a point exactly level with his 
 car; but not without frequent pauses and much 
 attention given to the possible return of those de- 
 parted foot-steps. He remembered that Mr. Broth- 
 erson had a way of coming back on unexpected er- 
 rands after giving out his intention of being absent 
 for hours. 
 
 Sweetwater did not want to be caught in any such 
 trap as that; so he carefully followed every sound 
 that reached him from the noisy halls. But he did 
 not forsake his post; he did not have to. Mr.
 
 160 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 Brotherson had been sincere in his good-bye, and the 
 auger finished its job and was withdrawn without 
 any interruption from the man whose premises had 
 been thus audaciously invaded. 
 
 " Neat as well as useful," was the gay comment 
 with which Sweetwater surveyed his work, then laid 
 his ear to the hole. Whereas previously he could 
 barely hear the rattling of coals from the coal-scuttle, 
 he was now able to catch the sound of an ash falling 
 into the ash-pit. 
 
 His next move was to test the depth of the parti- 
 tion by inserting his finger in the hole he had made. 
 He found it stopped by some obstacle before it had 
 reached half its length, and anxious to satisfy him- 
 self of the nature of this obstacle, he gently moved 
 the tip of his finger to and fro over what was cer- 
 tainly the edge of a book. 
 
 This proved that his calculations had been correct 
 and that the opening so accessible on his side, was 
 completely veiled on the other by the books he had 
 seen packed on the shelves. As these shelves had 
 no other backing than the wall, he had feared strik- 
 ing a spot not covered by a book. But he had not 
 undertaken so risky a piece of work without first 
 noting how nearly the tops of the books approached 
 the line of the shelf above them, and the consequent 
 unlikelihood of his striking the space between, at the 
 height he planned the hole. He had even been care- 
 ful to assure himself that all the volumes at this ex- 
 act point stood far enough forward to afford room 
 behind them for the chips and plaster he must neces- 
 sarily push through with his auger, and also im-
 
 A BOOK PLAYS A LEADING PART 161 
 
 portant consideration for the free passage of the 
 sounds by which he hoped to profit. 
 
 As he listened for a moment longer, and then 
 stooped to gather up the debris which had fallen on 
 his own side of the partition, he muttered, in his old 
 self-congratulatory way : 
 
 " If the devil don't interfere in some way best 
 known to himself, this opportunity I have made for 
 myself of listening to this arrogant fellow's very 
 heartbeats should give me some clew to his secret. 
 As soon as I can stand it, I'll spend my evenings at 
 this hole." 
 
 But it was days before he could trust himself so 
 far. Meanwhile their acquaintance ripened, though 
 with no very satisfactory results. The detective 
 found himself led into telling stories of his early 
 home-life to keep pace with the man who always had 
 something of moment and solid interest to impart. 
 This was undesirable, for instead of calling out a 
 corresponding confidence from Brotherson, it only 
 seemed to make his conversation more coldly imper- 
 sonal. 
 
 In consequence, Sweetwater suddenly found him- 
 self quite well and one evening, when he was sure 
 that his neighbour was at home, he slid softly into 
 his closet and laid his ear to the opening he had 
 made there. The result was unexpected. Mr. 
 Brotherson was pacing the floor, and talking softly 
 to himself. 
 
 At first, the cadence and full music of the tones 
 conveyed nothing to our far from literary detective. 
 The victim of his secret machinations was expressing
 
 1 62 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 himself in words, words; that was the point which 
 counted with him. But as he listened longer and 
 gradually took in the sense of these words, his heart 
 went down lower and lower till it reached his boots. 
 His inscrutable and ever disappointing neighbour 
 was not indulging in self-communings of any kind. 
 He was reciting poetry, and what was worse, poetry 
 which he only half remembered and was trying to re- 
 call; an incredible occupation for a man weighted 
 with a criminal secret. 
 
 Sweetwater was disgusted, and was withdrawing 
 in high indignation from his vantage-point when 
 something occurred of a startling enough nature to 
 hold him where he was in almost breathless expecta- 
 tion. 
 
 The hole which in the darkness of the closet was 
 always faintly visible, even when the light was not 
 very strong in the adjoining room, had suddenly be- 
 come a bright and shining loop-hole, with a sugges- 
 tion of movement in the space beyond. The book 
 which had hid this hole on Brotherson's side had 
 been taken down the one book in all those hun- 
 dreds whose removal threatened Sweetwater's 
 schemes, if not himself. 
 
 For an instant the thwarted detective listened for 
 the angry shout or the smothered oath which would 
 naturally follow the discovery by Brotherson of this 
 attempted interference with his privacy. 
 
 But all was still on his side of the wall. A rust- 
 ling of leaves could be heard, as the inventor searched 
 for the poem he wanted, but nothing more. In 
 withdrawing the book, he had failed to notice the
 
 A BOOK PLAYS A LEADING PART 163 
 
 hole in the plaster back of it. But he could hardly 
 fail to see it when he came to put the book back. 
 Meantime, suspense for Sweetwater. 
 
 It was several minutes before he heard Mr. Broth- 
 erson's voice again, then it was in triumphant repeti- 
 tion of the lines which had escaped his memory. 
 They were great words surely and Sweetwater never 
 forgot them, but the impression which they made 
 upon his mind, an impression so forcible that he was 
 able to repeat them, months afterward to Mr. 
 Gryce, did not prevent him from noting the tone in 
 which they were uttered, nor the thud which followed 
 as the book was thrown down upon the floor. 
 
 " Fool ! " The word rang out in bitter irony 
 from his irate neighbour's lips. ;< What does he 
 know of woman ! Woman ! Let him court a rich 
 one and see but that's all over and done with. 
 No more harping on that string, and no more read- 
 ing of poetry. I'll never, " The rest was lost in 
 his throat and was quite unintelligible to the anxious 
 listener. 
 
 Self-revealing words, which an instant before 
 would have aroused Sweetwater's deepest interest I 
 But they had suddenly lost all force for the unhappy 
 listener. The sight of that hole still shining brightly 
 before his eyes had distracted his thoughts and 
 roused his liveliest apprehensions. If that book 
 should be allowed to lie where it had fallen, then he 
 was in for a period of uncertainty he shrank from 
 contemplating. Any moment his neighbour might 
 look up and catch sight of this hole bored in the 
 backing of the shelves before him. Could the man
 
 1 64 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 who had been guilty of submitting him to this outrage 
 stand the strain of waiting indefinitely for the mo- 
 ment of discovery? He doubted it, if the suspense 
 lasted too long. 
 
 Shifting his position, he placed his eye where his 
 ear had been. He could see. very little. The space 
 before him, limited as it was to the width of the one 
 volume withdrawn, precluded his seeing aught but 
 what lay directly before him. Happily, it was in 
 this narrow line of vision that Mr. Brotherson stood. 
 He had resumed work upon his model and was so 
 placed that while his face was not visible, his hands 
 were, and as Sweetwater watched these hands and 
 noticed the delicacy of their manipulation, he was 
 enough of a workman to realise that work so fine 
 called for an undivided attention. He need not fear 
 the gaze shifting, while those hands moved as warily 
 as they did now. 
 
 Relieved for the moment, he left his post and, sit- 
 ting down on the edge of his cot, gave himself up to 
 thought. 
 
 He deserved this mischance. Had he profited 
 properly by Mr. Gryce's teachings, he would not 
 have been caught like this ; he would have calculated 
 not upon the nine hundred and ninety-nine chances 
 of that book being left alone, but upon the thou- 
 sandth one of its being the very one to be singled out 
 and removed. Had he done this, had he taken 
 pains to so roughen and discolour the opening he had 
 made, that it would look like an ancient rat hole in- 
 stead of showing a clean bore, he would have some 
 answer to give Brotherson when he came to question
 
 A BOOK PLAYS A LEADING PART 165 
 
 him in regard to it. But now the whole thing seemed 
 up ! He had shown himself a fool and by good 
 rights ought to acknowledge his defeat and return to 
 Headquarters. But he had too much spirit for that. 
 He would rather yes, he would rather face the 
 pistol he had once seen in his enemy's hand. Yet it 
 was hard to sit here waiting, waiting 
 
 Suddenly he started upright. He would go meet 
 his fate be present in the room itself when the 
 discovery was made which threatened to upset all 
 his pLas. He was not ashamed of his calling, and 
 Brotherson would think twice before attacking him 
 when once convinced that he had the Department 
 behind him. 
 
 " Excuse me, comrade," were the words with 
 which he endeavoured to account for his presence at 
 Brotherson's door. " My lamp smells so, and I've 
 made such a mess of my work to-day that I've just 
 stepped in for a chat. If I'm not wanted, say so. I 
 don't want to bother you, but you do look pleasant 
 here. I hope the thing I'm turning over in my head 
 every man has his schemes for making a fortune, 
 you know will be a success some day. I'd like a 
 big room like this, and a lot of books, and and 
 pictures." 
 
 Craning his neck, he took a peep at the shelves, 
 with an air of open admiration which effectually 
 concealed his real purpose. What he wanted was 
 to catch one glimpse of that empty space from his 
 present standpoint, and he was both astonished and 
 relieved to note how narrow and inconspicuous it 
 looked. Certainly, he had less to fear than he sup-
 
 1 66 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 posed, and when, upon Mr. Brotherson's invitation, 
 he stepped into the room, it was with a dash of his 
 former audacity, which gave him, unfortunately, 
 perhaps, a quick, strong and unexpected likeness to 
 his old self. 
 
 But if Brotherson noticed this, nothing in his man- 
 ner gave proof of the fact. Though usually averse 
 to visitors, especially when employed as at present 
 on his precious model, he quite warmed towards his 
 unexpected guest, and even led the way to where it 
 stood uncovered on the table. 
 
 " You find me at work," he remarked. " I don't 
 suppose you understand any but your own? " 
 
 " If you mean to ask if I understand what you're 
 trying to do there, I'm free to say that I don't. I 
 couldn't tell now, off-hand, whether it's an air-ship 
 you're planning, a hydraulic machine or or " 
 He stopped, with a laugh and turned towards the 
 book-shelves. " Now here's what / like. These 
 books just take my eye." 
 
 " Look at them, then. I like to see a man inter- 
 ested in books. Only, I thought if you knew how 
 to handle wire, I would get you to hold this end 
 while I work with the other." 
 
 " I guess I know enough for that," was Sweetwa- 
 ter's gay rejoinder. But when he felt that communi- 
 cating wire in his hand and experienced for the first 
 time the full influence of the other's eye, it took all 
 his hardihood to hide the hypnotic thrill it gave him. 
 Though he smiled and chatted, he could not help ask- 
 ing himself between whiles, what had killed the poor 
 washerwoman across the court, and what had killed
 
 A BOOK PLAYS A LEADING PART 167 
 
 Miss Challoner. Something visible or something in- 
 visible? Something which gave warning of attack, or 
 something which struck in silence. He found him- 
 self gazing long and earnestly at this man's hand, 
 and wondering if death lay under it. It was a strong 
 hand, a deft, clean-cut member, formed to respond to 
 the slightest hint from the powerful brain controlling 
 it. But was this its whole story. Had he said all 
 when he had said this? 
 
 Fascinated by the question, Sweetwater died a 
 hundred deaths in his awakened fancy, as he fol- 
 lowed the sharp short instructions which fell with 
 cool precision from the other's lips. A hundred 
 deaths, I say, but with no betrayal of his folly. The 
 anxiety he showed was that of one eager to please, 
 which may explain why on the conclusion of his task, 
 Mr. Brotherson gave him one of his infrequent 
 smiles and remarked, as he buried the model under 
 its cover, " You're handy and you're quiet at your 
 job. Who knows but that I shall want you again. 
 Will you come if I call you? " 
 
 " Won't I ? " was the gay retort, as the detective 
 thus released, stooped for the book still lying on the 
 floor. " Paolo and Francesca," he read, from the 
 back, as he laid it on the table. "Poetry?" he 
 queried. 
 
 " Rot," scornfully returned the other, as he 
 moved to take down a bottle and some glasses from 
 a cupboard let into another portion of the wall. 
 
 Sweetwater taking advantage of the moment, 
 sidled towards the shelf where that empty space 
 still gaped with the tell-tale hole at the back. He
 
 i68 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 could easily have replaced the missing book before 
 Mr. Brotherson turned. But the issue was too 
 doubtful. He was dealing with no absent-minded 
 fool, and it behooved him to avoid above all things 
 calling attention to the book or to the place on the 
 shelf where it belonged. 
 
 But there was one thing he could do and did. 
 Reaching out a finger as deft as Brotherson's own, 
 he pushed a second volume into the place of the one 
 that was gone. This veiled the auger-hole com- 
 pletely; a fact which so entirely relieved his mind 
 that his old smile came back like sunshine to his lips, 
 and it was only by a distinct effort that he kept the 
 dancing humour from his eyes as he prepared to re- 
 fuse the glass which Brotherson now brought for- 
 ward: 
 
 " None of that! " said he. " You mustn't tempt 
 me. The doctor has shut down on all kinds of spir- 
 its for two months more, at least. But don't let me 
 hinder you. I can bear to smell the stuff. My 
 turn will come again some day." 
 
 But Brotherson did not drink. Setting down the 
 glass he carried, he took up the book lying near, 
 weighed it in his hand and laid it down again, with 
 an air of thoughtful inquiry. Then he suddenly 
 pushed it towards Sweetwater. " Do you want it? " 
 he asked. 
 
 Sweetwater was too taken aback to answer imme- 
 diately. This was a move he did not understand. 
 Want it, he? What he wanted was to see it put back 
 in its place on the shelf. Did Brotherson suspect
 
 A BOOK PLAYS A LEADING PART 169 
 
 this? The supposition was incredible; yet who 
 could read a mind so mysterious? 
 
 Sweetwater, debating the subject, decided that the 
 risk of adding to any such possible suspicion was less 
 to be dreaded than the continued threat offered by 
 that unoccupied space so near the hole which testi- 
 fied so unmistakably of the means he had taken to 
 spy upon this suspected man's privacy. So, after a 
 moment of awkward silence, not out of keeping with 
 the character he had assumed, he calmly refused the 
 present as he had the glass. 
 
 Unhappily he was not rewarded by seeing the de- 
 spised volume restored to its shelf. It still lay 
 where its owner had pushed it, when, with some awk- 
 wardly muttered thanks, the discomfited detective 
 withdrew to his own room.
 
 XVIII 
 
 WHAT AM I TO DO NOW 
 
 EARLY morning saw Sweetwater peering into the 
 depths of his closet. The hole was hardly visible. 
 This meant that the book he had pushed across it 
 from the other side had not been removed. 
 
 Greatly re-assured by the sight, he awaited his op- 
 portunity, and as soon as a suitable one presented it- 
 self, prepared the hole for inspection by breaking 
 away its edges and begriming it well with plaster and 
 old dirt. This done, he left matters to arrange them- 
 selves; which they did, after this manner. 
 
 Mr. Brotherson suddenly developed a great need 
 of him, and it became a common thing for him to 
 spend the half and, sometimes, the whole of the 
 evening in the neighbouring room. This was just 
 what he had worked for, and his constant intercourse 
 with the man whose secret he sought to surprise 
 should have borne fruit. But it did not. Nothing 
 in the eager but painstaking inventor showed a dis- 
 tracted mind or a heavily-burdened soul. Indeed, 
 he was so calm in all his ways, so precise and so self- 
 contained, that Sweetwater often wondered what had 
 become of the fiery agitator and eloquent propa- 
 gandist of new and startling doctrines. 
 
 Then, he thought he understood the riddle. The 
 model was reaching its completion, and Brotherson's 
 extreme interest in it and the confidence he had in its 
 
 170
 
 WHAT AM I TO DO NOW 171 
 
 success swallowed up all lesser emotions. Were the 
 invention to prove a failure but there was small 
 hope of this. The man was of too well-poised a 
 mind to over-estimate his work or miscalculate its 
 place among modern improvements. Soon he would 
 reach the goal of his desires, be praised, feted, made 
 much of by the very people he now professedly 
 scorned. There was no thoroughfare for Sweetwa- 
 ter here. Another road must be found ; some secret, 
 strange and unforeseen method of reaching a soul in- 
 accessible to all ordinary or even extraordinary im- 
 pressions. 
 
 Would a night of thought reveal such a method? 
 Night! the very word brought inspiration. A man 
 is not his full self at night. Secrets which, under the 
 ordinary circumstances of everyday life, lie too deep 
 for surprise, creep from their hiding-places in the 
 dismal hours of universal quiet, and lips which are 
 dumb to the most subtle of questioners break into 
 strange and self-revealing mutterings when sleep lies 
 heavy on ear and eye and the forces of life and death 
 are released to play with the rudderless spirit. 
 
 It was in different words from these that Sweet- 
 water reasoned, no doubt, but his conclusions were 
 the same, and as he continued to brood over them, he 
 saw a chance a fool's chance, possibly, (but fools 
 sometimes win where wise men fail) of reaching 
 those depths he still believed in, notwithstanding his 
 failure to sound them. 
 
 Addressing a letter to his friend in Twenty-ninth 
 Street, he awaited reply in the shape of a small pack- 
 age he had ordered sent to the corner drug-store.
 
 i 7 2 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 When it came, he carried it home in a state of min- 
 gled hope and misgiving. Was he about to cap his 
 fortnight of disappointment by another signal fail- 
 ure; end the matter by disclosing his hand; lose all, 
 or win all by an experiment as daring and possibly 
 as fanciful as were his continued suspicions of this 
 seemingly upright and undoubtedly busy man? 
 
 He made no attempt to argue the question. The 
 event called for the exercise of the most dogged ele- 
 ments in his character and upon these he must rely. 
 He would make the effort he contemplated, simply 
 because he was minded to do so. That was all there 
 was to it. But any one noting him well that night, 
 would have seen that he ate little and consulted his 
 watch continually. Sweetwater had not yet passed 
 the line where work becomes routine and the feel- 
 ings remain totally under control. 
 
 Brotherson was unusually active and alert that 
 evening. He was anxious to fit one delicate bit of 
 mechanism into another, and he was continually in- 
 terrupted by visitors. Some big event was on in the 
 socialistic world, and his presence was eagerly de- 
 manded by one brotherhood after another. Sweet- 
 water, posted at his loop-hole, heard the arguments 
 advanced by each separate spokesman, followed by 
 Brotherson's unvarying reply: that when his work 
 was done and he had proved his right to approach 
 them with a message, they might look to hear from 
 him again; but not before. His patience was inex- 
 haustible, but he showed himself relieved when the 
 hour grew too late for further interruption. He be- 
 gan to whistle a token that all was going well with
 
 WHAT AM I TO DO NOW 173 
 
 him, and Sweetwater, who had come to understand 
 some of his moods, looked forward to an hour or two 
 of continuous work on Brotherson's part and of 
 dreary and impatient waiting on his own. But, as so 
 many times before, he misread the man. Earlier than 
 common much earlier, in fact, Mr. Brotherson laid 
 down his tools and gave himself up to a restless pac- 
 ing of the floor. This was not usual with him. Nor 
 did he often indulge himself in playing on the piano 
 as he did .to-night, beginning with a few heavenly 
 strains and ending with a bang that made the key- 
 board jump. Certainly something was amiss in the 
 quarter where peace had hitherto reigned undis- 
 turbed. Had the depths begun to heave, or were 
 physical causes alone responsible for these unwonted 
 ebullitions of feeling? 
 
 The question was immaterial. Either would 
 form an excellent preparation for the coup planned by 
 Sweetwater; and when, after another hour of uncer- 
 tainty, perfect silence greeted him from his neigh- 
 bour's room, hope had soared again on exultant v/ing, 
 far above all former discouragements. 
 
 Mr. Brotherson's bed was in a remote corner from 
 the loop-hole made by Sweetwater; but in the still- 
 ness now pervading the whole building, the latter 
 could hear his even breathing very distinctly. He 
 was in a deep sleep. 
 
 The young detective's moment had come. 
 
 Taking from his breast a small box, he placed it 
 on a shelf close against the partition. An instant of 
 quiet listening, then he touched a spring in the side 
 of the box and laid his ear, in haste, to his loop-hole.
 
 174 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 A strain of well-known music broke softly from 
 the box and sent its vibrations through the wall. 
 
 It was answered instantly by a stir within; then, 
 as the noble air continued, awakening memories of 
 that fatal instant when it crashed through the corri- 
 dors of the Hotel Clermont, drowning Miss Chal- 
 loner's cry if not the sound of her fall, a word burst 
 from the sleeping man's lips which carried its own 
 message to the listening detective. 
 
 It was Edith ! Miss Challoner's first name, and the 
 tone bespoke a shaken soul. 
 
 Sweetwater, gasping with excitement, caught the 
 box from the shelf and silenced it. It had done its 
 work and it was no part of Sweetwater's plan to have 
 this strain located, or even to be thought real. But 
 its echo still lingered in Brotherson's otherwise un- 
 conscious ears; for another "Edith!" escaped his 
 lips, followed by a smothered but forceful utterance 
 of these five words, " You know I promised you " 
 
 Promised her what? He did not say. Would he 
 have done so had the music lasted a trifle longer? 
 Would he yet complete his sentence? Sweetwater 
 trembled with eagerness and listened breathlessly 
 for the next sound. Brotherson was awake. He 
 was tossing in his bed. Now he has leaped to the 
 floor. Sweetwater hears him groan, then comes an- 
 other silence, broken at last by the sound of his body 
 falling back upon the bed and the troubled ejacula- 
 tion of "Good God!" wrung from lips no tor- 
 ture could have forced into complaint under any day- 
 time conditions. 
 
 Sweetwater continued to listen, but he had heard
 
 WHAT AM I TO DO NOW 175 
 
 all, and after some few minutes longer of fruitless 
 waiting, he withdrew from his post. The episode 
 was over. He would hear no more that night. 
 
 Was he satisfied? Certainly the event, puerile as 
 it might seem to some, had opened up strange vistas 
 to his aroused imagination. The words " Edith, 
 you know I promised you " were in themselves 
 provocative of strange and doubtful conjectures. 
 Had the sleeper under the influence of a strain of 
 music indissolubly associated with the death of Miss 
 Challoner, been so completely forced back into the 
 circumstances and environment of that moment that 
 his mind had taken up and his lips repeated the 
 thoughts with which that moment of horror was 
 charged? Sweetwater imagined the scene saw 
 the figure of Brotherson hesitating at the top of the 
 stairs saw hers advancing from the writing-room, 
 with startled and uplifted hand heard the music 
 the crash of that great finale and decided, with- 
 out hesitation, that the words he had just heard were 
 indeed the thoughts of that moment. " Edith, you 
 know I promised you " What had he promised? 
 What she received was death ! Had this been in his 
 mind? Would this have been the termination of the 
 sentence had he wakened less soon to consciousness 
 and caution? 
 
 Sweetwater dared to believe it. He was no nearer 
 comprehending the mystery it involved than he had 
 been before, but he felt sure that he had been given 
 one true and positive glimpse into this harassed soul, 
 which showed its deeply hidden secret to be both 
 deadly and fearsome; and happy to have won his
 
 176 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 way so far into the mystic labyrinth he had sworn to 
 pierce, he rested in happy unconsciousness till morn- 
 ing when 
 
 Could it be? Was it he who was dreaming now, 
 or was the event of the night a mere farce of his own 
 imagining? Mr. Brotherson was whistling in his 
 room, gaily and with ever increasing verve, and the 
 tune which filled the whole floor with music was the 
 same grand finale from William Tell which had 
 seemed to work such magic in the night. As Sweet- 
 water caught the mellow but indifferent notes sound- 
 ing from those lips of brass, he dragged forth the 
 music-box he held hidden in his coat pocket, and fling- 
 ing it on the floor stamped upon it. 
 
 ; ' The man is too strong for me," he cried. " His 
 heart is granite ; he meets my every move. What am 
 I to do now? "
 
 XIX 
 
 THE DANGER MOMENT 
 
 FOR a day Sweetwater acknowledged himself to be 
 mentally crushed, disillusioned and defeated. Then 
 his spirits regained their poise. It would take a 
 heavy weight indeed to keep them down perma- 
 nently. 
 
 His opinion was not changed in regard to his neigh- 
 bour's secret guilt. A demeanour of this sort sug- 
 gested bravado rather than bravery to the ever sus- 
 picious detective. But he saw, very plainly by this 
 time, that he would have to employ more subtle 
 methods yet ere his hand would touch the goal which 
 so tantalisingly eluded him. 
 
 His work at the bench suffered that week; he made 
 two mistakes. But by Saturday night he had sat- 
 isfied himself that he had reached the point where he 
 would be justified in making use of Miss Challoner's 
 letters. So he telephoned his wishes to New York, 
 and awaited the promised developments with an anx- 
 iety we can only understand by realising how much 
 greater were his chances of failure than of success. 
 To ensure the latter, every factor in his scheme must 
 work to perfection. The medium of communication 
 (a young, untried girl) must do her part with all the 
 skill of artist and author combined. Would she dis- 
 appoint them? He did not think so. Women pos- 
 sess a marvellous adaptability for this kind of work, 
 
 177
 
 i 7 8 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 and this one was French, which made the case still 
 more hopeful. 
 
 But Brotherson ! In what spirit would he meet 
 the proposed advances? Would he even admit the 
 girl, and, if he did, would the interview bear any 
 such fruit as Sweetwater hoped for? The man who 
 could mock the terrors of the night by a careless 
 repetition of a strain instinct with the most sacred 
 memories, was not to be depended upon to show 
 much feeling at sight of a departed woman's writing. 
 
 But no other hope remained, and Sweetwater 
 faced the attempt with heroic determination. 
 
 The day was Sunday, which ensured Brotherson's 
 being at home. Nothing would have lured Sweet- 
 water out for a moment, though he had no reason to 
 expect that the affair he was anticipating would come 
 off till early evening. 
 
 But it did. Late in the afternoon he heard the 
 expected steps go by his door a woman's steps. 
 But they were not alone. A man's accompanied 
 them. What man? Sweetwater hastened to satisfy 
 himself on this point by laying his ear to the parti- 
 tion. 
 
 Instantly the whole conversation became audible. 
 
 " An errand? Oh, yees, I have an errand! " ex- 
 plained the evidently unwelcome intruder, in her 
 broken English. " This is my brother Pierre. My 
 name is Celeste; Celeste Ledru. I understand Eng- 
 lish ver well. I have worked much in families. 
 But he understands nothing. He is all French. He 
 accompanies me for for the what you call it? 
 les convenances. He knows nothing of the beesiness."
 
 THE DANGER MOMENT 179 
 
 Sweetwater in the darkness of his closet laughed in 
 his gleeful appreciation. 
 
 " Great ! " was his comment. " Just great ! She 
 has thought of everything or Mr. Gryce has." 
 
 Meanwhile, the girl was proceeding with increased 
 volubility. 
 
 " What is this beesiness, monsieur? I have some- 
 thing to sell so you Americans speak. Something 
 you will want much ver sacred, ver precious. A 
 souvenir from the tomb, monsieur. Will you give 
 ten no, that is too leetle fifteen dollars for it? 
 It is worth Oh, more, much more to the true lover. 
 Pierre, tu es bete. Teins-tu droit sur ta chaise. M. 
 Brotherson est un monsieur comme il faut." 
 
 This adjuration, uttered in sharp reprimand and 
 with but little of the French grace, may or may not 
 have been understood by the unsympathetic man they 
 were meant to impress. But the name which ac- 
 companied them his own name, never heard but 
 once before in this house, undoubtedly caused the 
 silence which almost reached the point of embarrass- 
 ment, before he broke it with the harsh remark: 
 
 " Your French may be good, but it does not go with 
 me. Yet is it more intelligible than your English. 
 What do you want here? What have you in that 
 bag you wish to open; and what do you mean by the 
 sentimental trash with which you offer it? " 
 
 " Ah, monsieur has not memory of me," came in 
 the sweetest tones of a really seductive voice. " You 
 astonish me, monsieur. I thought you knew 
 everybody else does Oh, tout le mondc, monsieur, 
 that I was Miss Challoner's maid near her when
 
 i8o INITIALS ONLY 
 
 other people were not near her the very day she 
 died." 
 
 A pause; then an angry exclamation from some 
 one. Sweetwater thought from the brother, who 
 may have misinterpreted some look or gesture on 
 Brotherson's part. Brotherson himself would not 
 be apt to show surprise in any such noisy way. 
 
 "I I saw many things Oh many things " 
 the girl proceeded with an admirable mixture of sug- 
 gestion and reserve. " That day and other days too. 
 She did not talk Oh, no, she did not talk, but I saw 
 Oh, yes, I saw that she that you I'll have to 
 say it, monsieur, that you were tres bons amis after 
 that week in Lenox." 
 
 '' Well? " His utterance of this word was vigor- 
 ous, but not tender. ''What are you coming to? 
 What can you have to show me in this connection 
 that I will believe in for a moment? " 
 
 " I have these is monsieur certaine that no one 
 can hear? I wouldn't have anybody hear what I 
 have to tell you, for the world for all the world." 
 
 " No one can overhear." 
 
 For the first time that day Sweetwater breathed a 
 full, deep breath. This assurance had sounded 
 heartfelt. " Blessings on her cunning young head. 
 She thinks of everything." 
 
 ' You are unhappy. You have thought Miss Chal- 
 loner cold; that she had no response for your ver 
 ardent passion. But " these words were uttered 
 sotto <uoce and with telling pauses " but I 
 know ver much better than that. She was ver 
 proud. She had a right; she was no poor girl like me
 
 THE DANGER MOMENT 181 
 
 but she spend hours hours in writing letters she 
 nevaire send. I saw one, just once, for a leetle min- 
 ute; while you could breathe so short as that; and it 
 began with Chen, or your English for that, and it 
 ended with words Oh, ver much like these : You 
 may nevaire see these lines, which was ver interesting, 
 veree so, and made one want to see what she did 
 with letters she wrote and nevaire mail; so I watch 
 and look, and one day I see them. She had a leetle 
 ivory box Oh, ver nice, ver pretty. I thought it 
 was jewels she kept locked up so tight. But, non, 
 non, non. It was letters these letters. I heard 
 them rattle, rattle, not once but many times. You 
 believe me, monsieur ? " 
 
 " I believe you to have taken every advantage pos- 
 sible to spy upon your mistress. I believe that, yes." 
 
 " From interest, monsieur, from great interest." 
 
 " Self-interest." 
 
 " As monsieur pleases. But it was strange, ver 
 strange for a grande dame like that to write letters 
 
 sheets on sheets and then not send them, nev- 
 aire. I dreamed of those letters I could not help 
 it, no; and when she died so quick with no word 
 for any one, no word at all, I thought of those writ- 
 ings so secret, so of the heart, and when no one no- 
 ticed or thought about this box, or or the key 
 she kept shut tight, oh, always tight in her leetle gold 
 purse, I Monsieur, do you want to see those let- 
 ters? " asked the girl, with a gulp. Evidently his 
 appearance frightened her or had her acting 
 reached this point of extreme finish? " I had nev- 
 aire the chance to put them back. And and
 
 1 82 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 belong to monsieur. They are his all his and 
 so beautiful! Ah, just like poetry." 
 
 " I don't consider them mine. I haven't a par- 
 ticle of confidence in you or in your story. You are a 
 thief self-convicted ; or you're an agent of the po- 
 lice whose motives I neither understand nor care to 
 investigate. Take up your bag and go. I haven't 
 a cent's worth of interest in its contents." 
 
 She started to her feet. Sweetwater heard her 
 chair grate on the painted floor, as she pushed it 
 back in rising. The brother rose too, but more 
 calmly. Brotherson did not stir. Sweetwater felt 
 his hopes rapidly dying down down into ashes, 
 when suddenly her voice broke forth in pants : 
 
 " And Marie said everybody said that you 
 loved our great lady; that you, of the people, com- 
 mon, common, working with the hands, living with 
 men and women working with the hands, that you 
 had soul, sentiment what you will of the good 
 and the great, and that you would give your eyes for 
 her words, si fines, si spirituelles, so like des vers de 
 poete. False! false! all false! She was an angel. 
 You are read that ! " she vehemently broke in, 
 opening her bag and whisking a paper down before 
 him. " Read and understand my proud and lovely 
 lady. She did right to die. You are hard hard. 
 You would have killed her if she had not " 
 
 "Silence, woman! I will read nothing!" came 
 hissing from the strong man's teeth, set in almost 
 ungovernable anger. " Take back this letter, as you 
 call it, and leave my room." 
 
 "Nevaire! You will not read? But you shall,
 
 THE DANGER MOMENT 183 
 
 you shall. Behold another! One, two, three, 
 four! " Madly they flew from her hand. Madly 
 she continued her vituperative attack. " Beast ! 
 beast ! That she should pour out her innocent heart 
 to you, you! I do not want your money, Monsieur 
 of the common street, of the common house. It 
 would be dirt. Pierre, it would be dirt. Ah, bah I 
 je m'oublie tout a fait. Pierre, il est bete. II re- 
 fuse de les toucher. Mais il faut qu'il les touche, si 
 je les laisse sur le plancher. Va-?en! Je me moque 
 de lui. Canaille! L'homme du peuple, tout a fait 
 du peuple! " 
 
 A loud slam the skurrying of feet through the 
 hall, accompanied by the slower and heavier tread 
 of the so-called brother, then silence, and such si- 
 lence that Sweetwater fancied he could catch the 
 sound of Brotherson's heavy breathing. His own 
 was silenced to a gasp. What a treasure of a girl! 
 How natural her indignation ! What an instinct she 
 showed and what comprehension! This high and 
 mighty handling of a most difficult situation and a 
 most difficult man, had imposed on Brotherson, had 
 almost imposed upon himself. Those letters so 
 beautiful, so spirituelle! Yet, the odds were that she 
 had never read them, much less abstracted them. 
 The minx ! the ready, resourceful, wily, daring minx !' 
 
 But had she imposed on Brotherson? As the 
 silence continued, Sweetwater began to doubt. He 
 understood quite well the importance of his neigh- 
 bour's first movement. Were he to tear those let- 
 ters into shreds! He might be thus tempted. All 
 depended on the strength of his present mood and
 
 i8 4 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 the real nature of the secret which lay buried in his 
 heart. 
 
 Was that heart as flinty as it seemed? Was there 
 no place for doubt or even for curiosity, in its im- 
 penetrable depths? Seemingly, he had not moved 
 foot or hand since his unwelcome visitors had left. 
 He was doubtless still staring at the scattered sheets 
 lying before him; possibly battling with unac- 
 customed impulses ; possibly weighing deeds and con- 
 sequences in those slow moving scales of his in which 
 no man could cast a weight with any certainty how 
 far its even balance would be disturbed. 
 
 There was a sound as of settling coal. Only at 
 night would one expect to hear so slight a sound as 
 that in a tenement full of noisy children. But the 
 moment chanced to be propitious, and it not only 
 attracted the attention of Sweetwater on his side of 
 the wall, but it struck the ear of Brotherson also. 
 With an ejaculation as bitter as it was impatient, he 
 roused himself and gathered up the letters. Sweet- 
 water could hear the successive rustlings as he 
 bundled them up in his hand. Then came another 
 silence then the lifting of a stove lid. 
 
 Sweetwater had not been wrong in his secret ap- 
 prehension. His identification with his unimpres- 
 sionable neighbour's mood had shown him what to 
 expect. These letters these innocent and precious 
 outpourings of a rare and womanly soul the only 
 conceivable open sesame to the hard-locked nature 
 he found himself pitted against, would soon be re- 
 solved into a vanishing puff of smoke. 
 
 But the lid was thrust back, and the letters re-
 
 THE DANGER MOMENT 185 
 
 mained in hand. Mortal strength has its limits. 
 Even Brotherson could not shut down that lid on 
 words which might have been meant for him, harshly 
 as he had repelled the idea. 
 
 The pause which followed told little; but when 
 Sweetwater heard the man within move with char- 
 acteristic energy to the door, turn the key and step 
 back again to his place at the table, he knew that 
 the danger moment had passed and that those let- 
 ters were about to be read, not casually, but seriously, 
 as indeed their contents merited. 
 
 This caused Sweetwater to feel serious himself. 
 Upon what result might he calculate? What would 
 happen to this hardy soul, when the fact he so scorn- 
 fully repudiated, was borne in upon him, and he saw 
 that the disdain which had antagonised him was a 
 mere device a cloak to hide the secret heart of 
 love and eager womanly devotion? Her death 
 little as Brotherson would believe it up till now 
 had been his personal loss the greatest which can 
 befall a man. When he came to see this when 
 the modest fervour of her unusual nature began to 
 dawn upon him in these self-revelations, would the 
 result be remorse, or just the deadening and final 
 extinction of whatever tenderness he may have re- 
 tained for her memory? 
 
 Impossible to tell. The balance of probability 
 hung even. Sweetwater recognised this, and clung, 
 breathless, to his loop-hole. Fain would he have 
 seen, as well as heard. 
 
 Mr. Brotherson read the first letter, standing. As 
 it soon became public property, I will give it here,
 
 1 86 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 just as it afterwards appeared in the columns of the 
 greedy journals: 
 
 " Beloved: 
 
 " When I sit, as I often do, in perfect quiet under the 
 stars, and dream that you are looking at them too, not for 
 hours as I do, but for one full moment in which your 
 thoughts are with me as wholly as mine are with you, I 
 feel that the bond between us, unseen by the world, and 
 possibly not wholly recognised by ourselves, is instinct with 
 the same power which links together the eternities. 
 
 " It seems to have always been ; to have known no begin- 
 ning, only a budding, an efflorescence, the visible product of a 
 hidden but always present reality. A month ago and I was 
 ignorant, even, of your name. Now, you seem the best 
 known to me, the best understood, of God's creatures. One 
 afternoon of perfect companionship one flash of strong 
 emotion, with its deep, true insight into each other's soul, 
 and the miracle was wrought. We had met, and hence- 
 forth, parting would mean separation only, and not the 
 severing of a mutual bond. One hand, and one only, could 
 do that now. I will not name that hand. For us there is 
 nought ahead but life. 
 
 " Thus do I ease my heart in the silence which conditions 
 impose upon us. Some day I shall hear your voice again, 
 and then " 
 
 The paper dropped from the reader's hand. It 
 was several minutes before he took up another. 
 
 This one, as it happened, antedated the other, as 
 will appear on reading it: 
 
 " My friend: 
 
 " I said that I could not write to you that we must 
 wait. You were willing; but there is much to be accom-
 
 THE DANGER MOMENT 187 
 
 plished, and the silence may be long. My father is not an 
 easy man to please, but he desires my happiness and will 
 listen to my plea when the right hour comes. When you 
 have won your place when you have shown yourself to 
 be the man I feel you to be, then my father will recognise 
 your worth, and the way will be cleared, despite the ob- 
 stacles which now intervene. 
 
 " But meantime ! Ah, you will not know it, but words 
 will rise the heart must find utterance. What the lip 
 cannot utter, nor the looks reveal, these pages shall hold in 
 sacred trust for you till the day when my father will place 
 my hand in yours, with heart-felt approval. 
 
 " Is it a folly ? A woman's weak evasion of the strong 
 silence of man? You may say so some day; but somehow, 
 I doubt it I doubt it." 
 
 The creaking of a chair ; the man within had 
 seated himself. There was no other sound; a soul 
 in turmoil wakens no echoes. Sweetwater envied 
 the walls surrounding the unsympathetic reader. 
 They could see. He could only listen. 
 
 A little while; then that slight rustling again of 
 the unfolding sheet. The following was read, and 
 then the fourth and last: 
 
 " Dearest: 
 
 " Did you think I had never seen you till that day we met 
 In Lenox? I am going to tell you a secret a great, great 
 secret such a one as a woman hardly whispers to her own 
 heart. 
 
 " One day, in early summer, I was sitting in St. Barthol- 
 omew's Church on Fifth Avenue, waiting for the services 
 to begin. It was early and the congregation was assem- 
 bling. While idly watching the people coming in, I saw a
 
 1 88 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 gentleman pass by me up the aisle, who made me forget all 
 the others. He had not the air of a New Yorker; he was 
 not even dressed in city style, but as I noted his face and 
 expression, I said way down in my heart, ' That is the kind 
 of man I could love; the only man I have ever seen who 
 could make me forget my own world and my own people.' 
 It was a passing thought, soon forgotten. But when in that 
 hour of embarrassment and peril on Greylock Mountain, I 
 looked up into the face of my rescuer and saw again that 
 countenance which so short a time before had called into 
 life impulses till then utterly unknown, I knew that my 
 hour was come. And that was why my confidence was so 
 spontaneous and my belief in the future so absolute. 
 
 " I trust your love which will work wonders ; and I trust 
 my own, which sprang at a look but only gathered strength 
 and permanence when I found that the soul of the man I 
 loved bettered his outward attractions, making the ideal of 
 my foolish girlhood seem as unsubstantial and evanescent as 
 a dream in the glowing noontide." 
 
 "My Own: 
 
 " I can say so now ; for you have written to me, and I 
 have the dancing words with which to silence any unsought 
 doubt which might subdue the exuberance of these secret 
 outpourings. 
 
 " I did not expect this. I thought that you would remain 
 as silent as myself. But men's ways are not our ways. 
 They cannot exhaust longing in purposeless words on scraps 
 of soulless paper, and I am glad that they cannot. I love 
 you for your impatience; for your purpose, and for the 
 manliness which will win for you yet all that you covet of 
 fame, accomplishment and love. You expect no reply, but 
 there are ways in which one can keep silent and yet speak. 
 Won't you be surprised when your answer comes in a man- 
 ner you have never thought of? "
 
 XX 
 
 CONFUSION 
 
 IN his interest in what was going on on the other 
 side of the wall, Sweetwater had forgotten himself. 
 Daylight had declined, but in the darkness of the 
 closet this change had passed unheeded. Night it- 
 self might come, but that should not force him to 
 leave his post so long as his neighbour remained be- 
 hind his locked door, brooding over the words of 
 love and devotion which had come to him, as it were, 
 from the other world. 
 
 But was he brooding? That sound of iron clat- 
 tering upon iron ! That smothered exclamation and 
 the laugh which ended it! Anger and determination 
 rang in that laugh. It had a hideous sound which 
 prepared Sweetwater for the smell which now 
 reached his nostrils. The letters were burning; this 
 time the lid had been lifted from the stove with un- 
 relenting purpose. Poor Edith Challoner's touch- 
 ing words had met a different fate from any which 
 she, in her ignorance of this man's nature, a nature 
 to which she had ascribed untold perfections 
 could possibly have conceived. 
 
 As Sweetwater thought of this, he stirred nerv- 
 ously in the darkness, and broke into silent invective 
 against the man who could so insult the memory of 
 one who had perished under the blight of his own 
 coldness and misunderstanding. Then he suddenly 
 
 189
 
 i 9 o INITIALS ONLY 
 
 started back surprised and apprehensive. Brother- 
 son had unlocked his door, and was coming rapidly 
 his way. Sweetwater heard his step in the hall and 
 had hardly time to bound from his closet, when he 
 saw his own door burst in and found himself face 
 to face with his redoubtable neighbour, in a state of 
 such rage as few men could meet without quailing, 
 even were they of his own stature, physical vigour 
 and prowess; and Sweetwater was a small man. 
 
 However, disappointment such as he had just ex- 
 perienced brings with it a desperation which often 
 outdoes courage, and the detective, smiling with an 
 air of gay surprise, shouted out : 
 
 ; ' Well, what's the matter now? Has the machine 
 busted, or tumbled into the fire or sailed away to 
 lands unknown out of your open window? " 
 
 ' You were coming out of that closet," was the 
 fierce rejoinder. "What have you got there? 
 Something which concerns me, or why should your 
 face go pale at my presence and your forehead drip 
 with sweat? Don't think that you've deceived me 
 for a moment as to your business here. I recog- 
 nised you immediately. You've played the stranger 
 well, but you've a nose and an eye nobody could 
 forget. I have known all along that I had a police 
 spy for a neighbour; but it didn't faze me. I've 
 nothing to conceal, and wouldn't mind a regiment of 
 you fellows if you'd only play a straight game. But 
 when it comes to foisting upon me a parcel of letters 
 to which I have no right, and then setting a fellow 
 like you to count my groans or whatever else they 
 expected to hear, I have a right to defend myself,
 
 CONFUSION 191 
 
 and defend myself I will, by Godl But first, let 
 me be sure that my accusations will stand. Come 
 into this closet with me. It abuts on the wall of 
 my room and has its own secret, I know. What 
 is it? I have you at an advantage now, and you 
 shall tell." 
 
 He did have Sweetwater at an advantage, and the 
 detective knew it and disdained a struggle which 
 would have only called up a crowd, friendly to the 
 other but inimical to himself. Allowing Brother- 
 son to drag him into the closet, he stood quiescent, 
 while the determined man who held him with one 
 hand, felt about with the other over the shelves and 
 along the partitions till he came to the hole which had 
 offered such a happy means of communication be- 
 tween the two rooms. Then, with a laugh almost 
 as bitter in tone as that which rang from Brother- 
 son's lips, he acknowledged that business had its 
 necessities and that apologies from him were in 
 order; adding, as they both stepped out into the 
 rapidly darkening room : 
 
 " We've played a bout, we two; and you've come 
 out ahead. Allow me to congratulate you, Mr. 
 Brotherson. You've cleared yourself so far as I am 
 concerned. I leave this ranch to-night." 
 
 The frown had come back to the forehead of the 
 indignant man who confronted him. 
 
 "So you listened," he cried; "listened when you 
 weren't sneaking under my eye! A fine occupation 
 for a man who can dove-tail a corner like an adept. 
 I wish I had let you join the brotherhood you were 
 good enough to mention. They would know how
 
 1 92 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 to appreciate your double gifts and how to reward 
 your excellence in the one, if not in the other. What 
 did the police expect to learn about me that they 
 should consider it necessary to call into exercise such 
 extraordinary talents? " 
 
 " I'm not good at conundrums. I was given a 
 task to perform, and I performed it," was Sweet- 
 water's sturdy reply. Then slowly, with his eye 
 fixed directly upon his antagonist, " I guess they 
 thought you a man. And so did I until I heard you 
 burn those letters. Fortunately we have copies." 
 
 " Letters ! " Fury thickened the speaker's voice, 
 and lent a savage gleam to his eye. " Forgeries ! 
 Make believes ! Miss Challoner never wrote the 
 drivel you dare to designate as letters. It was con- 
 cocted at Police Headquarters. They made me tell 
 my story and then they found some one who could 
 wield the poetic pen. I'm obliged to them for the 
 confidence they show in my credulity. / credit Miss 
 Challoner with such words as have been given me to 
 read here to-day? I knew the lady, and I know 
 myself. Nothing that passed between us, not an 
 event in which we were both concerned, has been 
 forgotten by me, and no feature of our intercourse 
 fits the language you have ascribed to her. On the 
 contrary, there is a lamentable contradiction between 
 facts as they were and the fancies you have made her 
 indulge in. And this, as you must acknowledge, 
 not only proves their falsity, but exonerates Miss 
 Challoner from all possible charge of sentimen- 
 tality." 
 
 ' Yet she certainly wrote those letters. We had
 
 CONFUSION 193 
 
 them from Mr. Challoner. The woman who 
 brought them was really her maid. We have not 
 deceived you in this." 
 
 " I do not believe you." 
 
 It was not offensively said; but the conviction it 
 expressed was absolute. Sweetwater recognised the 
 tone, as one of truth, and inwardly laid down his 
 arms. He could never like the man; there was too 
 much iron in his fibre; but he had to acknowledge 
 that as a foe he was invulnerable and therefore ad- 
 mirable to one who had the good sense to appreciate 
 him. 
 
 " I do not want to believe you." Thus did 
 Brotherson supplement his former sentence. " For 
 if I were to attribute those letters to her, I should 
 have to acknowledge that they were written to an- 
 other man than myself. And this would be anything 
 but agreeable to me. Now I am going to my room 
 and to my work. You may spend the rest of the 
 evening or the whole night, if you will,, listening at 
 that hole. As heretofore, the labour will be all 
 yours, and the indifference mine." 
 
 With a satirical play of feature which could 
 hardly be called a smile, he nodded and left the room.
 
 XXI 
 
 A CHANGE 
 
 " IT'S all up. I'm beaten on my own ground." 
 Thus confessed Sweetwater, in great dejection, to 
 himself. " But I'm going to take advantage of the 
 permission he's just given me and continue the listen- 
 ing act. Just because he told me to and just because 
 he thinks I won't. I'm sure it's no worse than to 
 spend hours of restless tossing in bed, trying to 
 sleep." 
 
 But our young detective did neither. 
 
 As he was putting his supper dishes away, a mes- 
 senger boy knocked at his door and handed him a 
 note. It was from Mr. Gryce and ran thus : 
 
 " Steal off, if you can, and as soon as you can, and meet 
 me in Twenty-ninth Street. A discovery has been made 
 which alters the whole situation." 
 
 194
 
 XXII 
 
 O. B. AGAIN 
 
 "WHAT'S happened? Something very important? 
 I ought to hope so after this confounded failure." 
 
 "Failure? Didn't he read the letters?" 
 
 " Yes, he read them. Had to, but " 
 
 "Didn't weaken? Eh?" 
 
 " No, he didn't weaken. You can't get water out 
 of a millstone. You may squeeze and squeeze; but 
 it's your fingers which suffer, not it. He thinks we 
 manufactured those letters ourselves on purpose to 
 draw him." 
 
 "Humph! I knew we had a reputation for 
 finesse, but I didn't know that it ran that high." 
 
 " He denies everything. Said she would never 
 have written such letters to him ; even goes so far as 
 to declare that if she did write them (he must 
 be strangely ignorant of her handwriting) they were 
 meant for some other man than himself. All rot, 
 but " A hitch of the shoulder conveyed Sweet- 
 water's disgust. His uniform good nature was 
 strangely disturbed. 
 
 But Mr. Gryce's was not. The faint smile with 
 which he smoothed with an easy, circling movement, 
 the already polished top of his ever present cane, 
 conveyed a secret complacency which called up a 
 flash of discomfiture to his greatly irritated com- 
 panion. 
 
 195
 
 i 9 6 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 " He says that, does he? You found him on the 
 whole tolerably straightforward, eh? A hard nut; 
 but hard nuts are usually sound ones. Come, now! 
 prejudice aside, what's your honest opinion of the 
 man you've had under your eye and ear for three 
 solid weeks? Hasn't there been the best of reasons 
 for your failure? Speak up, my boy. Squarely, 
 now." 
 
 " I can't. I hate the fellow. I hate any one who 
 makes me look ridiculous. He well, well, if 
 you'll have it, sir, I will say this much. If it weren't 
 for that blasted coincidence of the two deaths equally 
 mysterious, equally under his eye, I'd stake my life 
 on his honesty. But that coincidence stumps me 
 and and a sort of feeling I have here." 
 
 It is to be hoped that the slap he gave his breast, 
 at this point, carried off some of his superfluous emo- 
 tion. " You can't account for a feeling, Mr. Gryce. 
 The man has no heart. He's as hard as rocks." 
 
 " A not uncommon lack where the head plays so 
 big a part. We can't hang him on any such argu- 
 ment as that. You've found no evidence against 
 him?" 
 
 "N no." The hesitating admission was only 
 a proof of Sweetwater's obstinacy. 
 
 ' Then listen to this. The test with the letters 
 failed, because what he said about them was true. 
 They were not meant for him. Miss Challoner had 
 another lover." 
 
 " Only another? I thought there were a half- 
 dozen, at least." 
 
 " Another whom she favoured. The letters
 
 O. B. AGAIN 197 
 
 found in her possession not the ones she wrote 
 herself, but those which were written to her over the 
 signature O. B. were not all from the same hand. 
 Experts have been busy with them for a week, and 
 their reports are unanimous. The O. B. who wrote 
 the threatening lines acknowledged to by Orlando 
 Brotherson, was not the O. B. who penned all of 
 those love letters. The similarity in the writing mis- 
 led us at first, but once the doubt was raised by Mr. 
 Challoner's discovery of an allusion in one of them 
 which pointed to another writer than Mr. Brother- 
 son, and experts had no difficulty in reaching the 
 decision I have mentioned." 
 
 "Two O. B.s! Isn't that incredible, Mr. 
 Gryce?" 
 
 " Yes, it is incredible ; but the incredible is not the 
 impossible. The man you've been shadowing de- 
 nies that these expressive effusions of Miss Challoner 
 were meant for him. Let us see, then, if we can find 
 the man they were meant for." 
 
 "The second O. B.?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Sweetwater's face instantly lit up. 
 
 " Do you mean that I after my egregious fail- 
 ure am not to be kept on the dunce's seat ? That 
 you will give me this new job? " 
 
 ' Yes. We don't know of a better man. It 
 isn't your fault, you said it yourself, that water 
 couldn't be squeezed out of a millstone." 
 
 " The Superintendent how does he feel about 
 it?" 
 
 " He was the first one to mention you."
 
 i 9 8 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 "And the Inspector? " 
 
 " Is glad to see us on a new tack." 
 
 A pause, during which the eager light in the 
 young detective's eye clouded over. Presently he 
 remarked : 
 
 "How will the finding of another O. B. alter 
 Mr. Brotherson's position? He still will be the 
 one person on the spot, known to have cherished a 
 grievance against the victim of this mysterious kill- 
 ing. To my mind, this discovery of a more 
 favoured rival, brings in an element of motive which 
 may rob our self-reliant friend of some of his 
 complacency. We may further, rather than destroy, 
 our case against Brotherson by locating a second 
 O. B." 
 
 Mr. Gryce's eyes twinkled. 
 
 " That won't make your task any more irksome," 
 he smiled. ' The loop we thus throw out is as 
 likely to catch Brotherson as his rival. It all de- 
 pends upon the sort of man we find in this second 
 O. B. ; and whether, in some way unknown to us, 
 he gave her cause for the sudden and overwhelming 
 rush of despair which alone supports this general 
 theory of suicide." 
 
 14 The prospect grows pleasing. Where am I to 
 look for my man? " 
 
 1 Your ticket is bought to Derby, Pennsylvania. 
 If he is not employed in the great factories there, 
 we do not know where to find him. We have no 
 other clew." 
 
 " I see. It's a short journey I have before me." 
 
 " It'll bring the colour to your cheeks."
 
 O. B. AGAIN 199 
 
 " Oh, I'm not kicking." 
 
 " You will start to-morrow." 
 
 " Wish it were to-day." 
 
 " And you will first inquire, not for O. B., that's 
 too indefinite; but for a young girl by the name of 
 Doris Scott. She holds the clew; or rather she is 
 the clew to this second O. B." 
 
 " Another woman ! " 
 
 "No, a child; well, I won't say child exactly; 
 she must be sixteen." 
 
 " Doris Scott." 
 
 " She lives in Derby. Derby is a small place. 
 You will have no trouble in finding this child. It 
 was to her Miss Challoner's last letter was ad- 
 dressed. The one " 
 
 " I begin to see." 
 
 " No, you don't, Sweetwater. The affair is as 
 blind as your hat; nobody sees. We're just feeling 
 along a thread. O. B.'s letters the real O. B., I 
 mean, are the manliest effusions possible. He's no 
 more of a milksop than this Brotherson; and unlike 
 your indomitable friend he seems to have some heart. 
 I only wish he'd given us some facts ; they would have 
 been serviceable. But the letters reveal nothing ex- 
 cept that he knew Doris. He writes in one of them : 
 ' Doris is learning to embroider. It's like a fairy 
 weaving a cobweb! 9 Doris isn't a very common 
 name. She must be the same little girl to whom 
 Miss Challoner wrote from time to time." 
 
 " Was this letter signed O. B.? " 
 
 " Yes; they all are. The only difference between 
 his letters and Brotherson's is this: Brotherson's re-
 
 200 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 tain the date and address; the second O. B.'s do 
 not." 
 
 " How not? Torn off, do you mean? " 
 
 "Yes, or rather, neatly cut away; and as none 
 of the envelopes were kept, the only means by which 
 we can locate the writer is through this girl Doris." 
 
 " If I remember rightly Miss Challoner's letter 
 to this child was free from all mystery." 
 
 " Quite so. It is as open as the day. That is 
 why it has been mentioned as showing the freedom 
 of Miss Challoner's mind five minutes before that 
 fatal thrust." 
 
 Sweetwater took up the sheet Mr. Gryce pushed 
 towards him and re-read these lines: 
 
 "Dear Little Doris: 
 
 "It is a snowy night, but it is all bright inside and I 
 feel no chill in mind or body. I hope it is so in the little 
 cottage in Derby ; that my little friend is as happy with harsh 
 winds blowing from the mountains as she was on the sum- 
 mer day she came to see me at this hotel. I like to think 
 of her as cheerful and beaming, rejoicing in tasks which 
 make her so womanly and sweet. She is often, often in 
 my mind. 
 
 "Affectionately your friend, 
 " EDITH A. CHALLONER." 
 
 " That to a child of sixteen ! " 
 
 " Just so." 
 
 " D-o-r-i-s spells something besides Doris." 
 ' Yet there is a Doris. Remember that O. B. 
 says in one of his letters, ' Doris is learning to em- 
 broider.' "
 
 O. B. AGAIN 201 
 
 " Yes, I remember that." 
 
 " So you must first find Doris." 
 
 " Very good, sir." 
 
 " And as Miss Challoner's letter was directed to 
 Derby, Pennsylvania, you will go to Derby." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Anything more? " 
 
 " I've been reading this letter again." 
 
 " It's worth it." 
 
 " The last sentence expresses a hope." 
 
 " That has been noted." 
 
 Sweetwater's eyes slowly rose till they rested on 
 Mr. Gryce's face : " I'll cling to the thread you've 
 given me. I'll work myself through the labyrinth 
 before us till I reach him." 
 
 Mr. Gryce smiled ; but there was more age, wisdom 
 and sympathy for youthful enthusiasm in that smile 
 than there was confidence or hope.
 
 BOOK III 
 THE HEART OF MAN
 
 XXIII 
 
 DORIS 
 
 " A YOUNG girl named Doris Scott? " 
 
 The station-master looked somewhat sharply at the 
 man he was addressing, and decided to give the di- 
 rection asked. 
 
 ' There is but one young girl in town of that 
 name," he declared, u and she lives in that little 
 house you see just beyond the Works. But let me 
 tell you, stranger," he went on with some precipita- 
 tion 
 
 But here he was called off, and Sweetwater lost 
 the conclusion of his warning, if warning it was 
 meant to be. This did not trouble the detective. 
 He stood a moment, taking in the prospect; decided 
 that the Works and the Works alone made the town, 
 and started for the house which had been pointed 
 out to him. His way lay through the chief business 
 street, and greatly preoccupied by his errand, he 
 gave but a passing glance to the rows on rows of 
 workmen's dwellings stretching away to the left in 
 seemingly endless perspective. Yet in that glance 
 he certainly took in the fact that the sidewalks were 
 blocked with people and wondered if it were a holi- 
 day. If so, it must be an enforced one, for the 
 faces showed little joy. Possibly a strike was on. 
 The anxiety he everywhere saw pictured on young 
 faces and old, argued some trouble; but if the trouble 
 
 205
 
 2o6 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 Was that, why were all heads turned indifferently 
 from the Works, and why were the Works them- 
 selves in full blast ? 
 
 These questions he may have asked himself 
 and he may not. His attention was entirely centred 
 on the house he saw before him and on the possible 
 developments awaiting him there. Nothing else 
 mattered. Briskly he stepped out along the sandy 
 road, and after a turn cr two which led him quite 
 away from the Works and its surrounding buildings, 
 he came out upon the highway and this house. 
 
 It was a low and unpretentious one, and had but 
 one distinguishing feature. The porch which hung 
 well over the doorstep was unique in shape and gave 
 an air of picturesqueness to an otherwise simple ex- 
 terior; a picturesqueness which was much enhanced 
 in its effect by the background of illimitable forest, 
 which united the foreground of this pleasing picture 
 with the great chain of hills which held the Works 
 and town in its ample basin. 
 
 As he approached the doorstep, his mind involun- 
 tarily formed an anticipatory image of the child 
 whose first stitches in embroidery were like a fairy's 
 weaving to the strong man who worked in ore and 
 possibly figured out bridges. That she would prove 
 to be of the anemic type, common among working 
 girls gifted with an imagination they have but scant 
 opportunity to exercise, he had little doubt. 
 
 He was therefore greatly taken aback, when at 
 his first step upon the porch, the door before him flew 
 open and he beheld in the dark recess beyond a young 
 woman of such bright and blooming beauty that he
 
 DORIS 207 
 
 hardly noticed her expression of extreme anxiety, till 
 she lifted her hand and laid an admonitory finger 
 softly on her lip : 
 
 " Hush ! " she whispered, with an earnestness 
 which roused him from his absorption and restored 
 him to the full meaning of this encounter. " There 
 is sickness in the house and we are very anxious. Is 
 your errand an important one? If not " The 
 faltering break in the fresh, young voice, the look 
 she cast behind her into the darkened interior, were 
 eloquent with the hope that he would recognise her 
 impatience and pass on. 
 
 And so he might have done, so he would have 
 done under all ordinary circumstances. But if this 
 was Doris and he did not doubt the fact after that 
 first moment of startled surprise how dare he fore- 
 go this opportunity of settling the question which 
 had brought him here. 
 
 With a slight stammer but otherwise giving no 
 evidence of the effect made upon him by the pas- 
 sionate intensity with which she had urged this plea, 
 he assured her that his errand was important, but 
 one so quickly told that it would delay her but a 
 moment. " But first," said he, with very natural 
 caution, " let me make sure that it is to Miss Doris 
 Scott I am speaking. My errand is to her and her 
 only." 
 
 Without showing any surprise, perhaps too en- 
 grossed in her own thoughts to feel any, she an- 
 swered with simple directness, " Yes, I am Doris 
 Scott." Whereupon he became his most persuasive 
 self, and pulling out a folded paper from his
 
 208 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 pocket, opened it and held it before her, with these 
 words : 
 
 " Then will you be so good as to glance at this 
 letter and tell me if the person whose initials you 
 will find at the bottom happens to be in town at the 
 present moment?" 
 
 In some astonishment now, she glanced down at 
 the sheet thus boldly thrust before her, and recog- 
 nising the O and the B of a well-known signature, 
 she flashed a look back at Sweetwater in which he 
 read a confusion of emotions for which he was hardly 
 prepared. 
 
 " Ah," thought he, " it's coming. In another mo- 
 ment I shall hear what will repay me for the trials 
 and disappointments of all these months." 
 
 But the moment passed and he had heard nothing. 
 Instead, she dropped her hands from the door-jamb 
 and gave such unmistakable evidences of intended 
 flight, that but one alternative remained to him; he 
 became abrupt. 
 
 Thrusting the paper still nearer, he said, with an 
 emphasis which could not fail of making an impres- 
 sion, " Read it. Read the whole letter. You will 
 find your name there. This communication was ad- 
 dressed to Miss Challoner, but " 
 
 Oh, now she found words 1 With a low cry, she 
 put out her hand in quick entreaty, begging him to 
 desist and not speak that name on any pretext or for 
 any purpose. " He may rouse and hear," she ex- 
 plained, with another quick look behind her. " The 
 doctor says that this is the critical day. He may be-
 
 DORIS 209 
 
 come conscious any minute. If he should and were 
 to hear that name, it might kill him." 
 
 " He !*" Sweetwater perked up his ears. " Who 
 do you mean by he? " 
 
 " Mr. Brotherson, my patient, he whose letter " 
 But here her impatience rose above every other con- 
 sideration. Without attempting to finish her sen- 
 tence, or yielding in the least to her curiosity or in- 
 terest in this man's errand, she cried out with 
 smothered intensity, " Go ! go 1 I cannot stay an- 
 other moment from his bedside." 
 
 But a thunderbolt could not have moved Sweet- 
 water after the hearing of that name. " Mr. 
 Brotherson!" he echoed. "Brotherson! Not Or- 
 lando?" 
 
 " No, no; his name is Oswald. He's the manager 
 of these Works. He's sick with typhoid. We are 
 caring for him. If you belonged here you would 
 know that much. There! that's his voice you hear. 
 Go, if you have any mercy." And she began to push 
 to the door. 
 
 But Sweetwater was impervious to all hint. With 
 eager eyes straining into the shadowy depths just visi- 
 ble over her shoulder, he listened eagerly for the dis- 
 jointed words now plainly to be heard in some near-by 
 but unseen chamber. 
 
 " The second O. B. ! " he inwardly declared. 
 "And he's a Brotherson also, and sick! Miss 
 Scott," he whisperingly entreated as her hand fell in 
 manifest despair from the door, " don't send me 
 away yet. I've a question of the greatest importance
 
 210 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 to put you, and one minute more cannot make any 
 difference to him. Listen! those cries are the cries 
 of delirium; he cannot miss you; he's not even con- 
 scious." 
 
 " He's calling out in his sleep. He's calling her, 
 just as he has called for the last two weeks. But 
 he will wake conscious or he will not wake at 
 all." 
 
 The anguish trembling in that latter phrase would 
 have attracted Sweetwater's earnest, if not pitiful, 
 attention at any other time, but now he had ears only 
 for the cry which at that moment came ringing 
 shrilly from within 
 
 "Edith! Edith!" 
 
 The living shouting for the dead! A heart still 
 warm sending forth its longing to the pierced and 
 pulseless one, hidden in a far-off tomb ! To Sweet- 
 water, who had seen Miss Challoner buried, this 
 summons of distracted love came with weird force. 
 
 Then the present regained its sway. He heard 
 her name again, and this time it sounded less like a 
 call and more like the welcoming cry of meeting 
 spirits. Was death to end this separation? Had he 
 found the true O. B., only to behold another and 
 final seal fall upon this closely folded mystery? In 
 his fear of this possibility, he caught at Doris' hand 
 as she was about to bound away, and eagerly asked: 
 
 ; ' When was Mr. Brotherson taken ill? Tell me, 
 I entreat you; the exact day and, if you can, the exact 
 hour. More depends upon this than you can readily 
 realise." 
 
 She wrenched her hand from his, panting with im-
 
 DORIS 211 
 
 patience and a vague alarm. But she answered him 
 distinctly: 
 
 " On the Twenty-fifth of last month, just an hour 
 after he was made manager. He fell in a faint at 
 the Works." 
 
 The day the very day of Miss Challoner's 
 death 1 
 
 " Had he heard did you tell him then or after- 
 wards what happened in New York on that very 
 date?" 
 
 " No, no, we have not told him. It would have 
 killed him and may yet." 
 
 " Edith ! Edith 1 " came again through the hush, 
 a hush so deep that Sweetwater received the impres- 
 sion that the house was empty save for patient and 
 nurse. 
 
 This discovery had its effects upon him. Why 
 should he subject this young and loving girl to further 
 pain? He had already learned more than he had 
 expected to. The rest would come with time. But 
 at the first intimation he gave of leaving, she lost 
 her abstracted air and turned with absolute eager- 
 ness towards him. 
 
 " One moment," said she. " You are a stranger 
 and I do not know your name or your purpose here. 
 But I cannot let you go without begging you not to 
 mention to any one in this town that Mr. Brotherson 
 has any interest in the lady whose name we must 
 not speak. Do not repeat that delirious cry you have 
 heard or betray in any way our intense and fearful 
 interest in this young lady's strange death. You 
 have shown me a letter. Do not speak of that let-
 
 212 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 ter, I entreat you. Help us to retain our secret a lit- 
 tle longer. Only the doctor and myself know what 
 awaits Mr. Brotherson if he lives. I had to tell the 
 doctor, but a doctor reveals nothing. Promise that 
 you will not either, at least till this crisis is passed. 
 It will help my father and it will help me; and we 
 need all the help we can get." 
 
 Sweetwater allowed himself one minute of thought, 
 then he earnestly replied: 
 
 " I will keep your secret for to-day, and longer, if 
 possible." 
 
 " Thank you," she cried; " thank you. I thought 
 I saw kindness in your face." And she again pre- 
 pared to close the door. 
 
 But Sweetwater had one more question to ask. 
 " Pardon me," said he, as he stepped down on the 
 walk, " you say that this is a critical day with your 
 patient. Is that why every one whom I have seen so 
 far wears such a look of anxiety?" 
 
 ' Yes, yes," she cried, giving him one other 
 glimpse of her lovely, agitated face. " There's but 
 one feeling in town to-day, but one hope, and, as I 
 believe, but one prayer. That the man whom every 
 one loves and every one trusts may live to run these 
 Works." 
 
 "Edith! Edith!" rose in ceaseless reiteration 
 from within. 
 
 But it rang but faintly now in the ears of our de- 
 tective. The door had fallen to, and Sweetwater's 
 share in the anxieties of that household was over. 
 
 Slowly he moved away. He was in a confused 
 yet elated condition of mind. Here was food for a
 
 DORIS 213 
 
 thousand new thoughts and conjectures. An Or- 
 lando Brotherson and an Oswald Brotherson 
 relatives possibly, strangers possibly ; but whether rel- 
 atives or strangers, both given to signing their letters 
 with their initials simply; and both the acknowledged 
 admirers of the deceased Miss Challoner. But she 
 had loved only one, and that one, Oswald. It was 
 not difficult to recognise the object of this high- 
 hearted woman's affections in this man whose struggle 
 with the master-destroyer had awakened the solicitude 
 of a whole town.
 
 XXIV 
 
 SUSPENSE 
 
 TEN minutes after Sweetwater's arrival in the vil- 
 lage streets, he was at home with the people he found 
 there. His conversation with Doris in the doorway 
 of her home had been observed by the curious and 
 far-sighted, and the questions asked and answered 
 had made him friends at once. Of course, he could 
 tell them nothing, but that did not matter, he had 
 seen and talked with Doris and their idolised young 
 manager was no worse and might possibly soon be 
 better. 
 
 Of his own affairs of his business with Doris 
 and the manager, they asked nothing. All ordinary 
 interests were lost in the stress of their great suspense. 
 
 It was the same in the bar-room of the one hotel. 
 Without resorting to more than a question or two, 
 he readily learned all that was generally known of 
 Oswald Brotherson. Every one was talking about 
 him, and each had some story to tell illustrative of 
 his kindness, his courage and his quick mind. The 
 Works had never produced a man of such varied 
 capabilities and all round sympathies. To have him 
 for manager meant the greatest good which could be- 
 fall this little community. 
 
 His rise had been rapid. He had come from the 
 east three years before, new to the work. Now, he 
 was the one man there. Of his relationships east, 
 
 214
 
 SUSPENSE 215 
 
 family or otherwise, nothing was said. For them his 
 life began and ended in Derby, and Sweetwater could 
 see, though no actual expression was given to the feel- 
 ing, that there was but one expectation in regard to 
 him and Doris, to whose uncommon beauty and 
 sweetness they all seemed fully alive. And Sweet- 
 water wondered, as many of us have wondered, at the 
 gulf frequently existing between fancy and fact. 
 
 Later there came a small excitement. The doctor 
 was seen riding by on his way to the sick man. 
 From the window where he sat, Sweetwater watched 
 him pass up the street and take the road he had him- 
 self so lately traversed. It was so straight a one 
 and led so directly northward that he could follow 
 with his eye the doctor's whole course, and even get a 
 glimpse of his figure as he stepped from the buggy 
 and proceeded to tie up the horse. There was an 
 energy about him pleasing to Sweetwater. He might 
 have much to do with this doctor. If Oswald 
 Brotherson died but he was not willing to consider 
 this possibility yet. His personal sympathies, to 
 say nothing of his professional interest in the mystery 
 to which this man and this man only possibly 
 held the key, alike forbade. He would hope, as 
 these others were hoping, and if he did not count the 
 minutes, he at least saw every move of the old horse 
 waiting with drooping head and the resignation of 
 long custom for the re-appearance of his master with 
 his news of life or death. 
 
 And so an hour two hours passed. Others 
 were watching the old horse now. The street 
 showed many an eager figure with head turned north-
 
 216 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 ward. From the open door-ways women stepped, 
 looked in the direction of their anxiety and retreated 
 to their work again. Suspense was everywhere; the 
 moments dragged like hours; it became so keen at last 
 that some impatient hearts could no longer stand it. 
 A woman put her baby into another woman's arms 
 and hurried up the road; another followed, then an- 
 other ; then an old man, bowed with years and of tot- 
 tering steps, began to go that way, halting a dozen 
 times before he reached the group now collected in 
 the dusty highway, near but not too near that house. 
 As Sweetwater's own enthusiasm swelled at this sight, 
 he thought of the other Brotherson with his theories 
 and active advocacy for reform, and wondered if 
 men and women would forego their meals and stand 
 for hours in the keen spring wind just to be the first 
 to hear if he were to live or die. He knew that he 
 himself would not. But he had suffered much both 
 in his pride and his purse at the hands of the Brook- 
 lyn inventor; and such despoliation is not a reliable 
 basis for sympathy. He was questioning his own 
 judgment in this matter and losing himself in the 
 mazes of past doubts and conjectures when a sudden 
 change took place in the aspect of the street; he saw 
 people running, and in another moment saw why. 
 The doctor had shown himself on the porch which 
 all were watching. Was he coming out? No, he 
 stands quite still, runs his eye over the people waiting 
 quietly in the road, and beckons to one of the smaller 
 boys. The child, with upturned face, stands listening 
 to what he has to say, then starts on a run for the 
 village. He is stopped, pulled about, questioned,
 
 SUSPENSE 217 
 
 and allowed to run on. Many rush forth to meet 
 him. He is panting, but gleeful. Mr. Brotherson 
 has waked up conscious, and the doctor says, He 
 will live.
 
 XXV 
 
 THE OVAL HUT 
 
 THAT night Dr. Fenton had a visitor. We know 
 that visitor and we almost know what his questions 
 were, if not the answers of the good doctor. Never- 
 theless, it may be better to listen to a part at least 
 of their conversation. 
 
 Sweetwater, who knew when to be frank and open, 
 as well as when to be reserved and ambiguous, made 
 no effort to disguise the nature of his business or his 
 chief cause of interest in Oswald Brotherson. The 
 eye which met his was too penetrating not to detect 
 the smallest attempt at subterfuge; besides, Sweet- 
 water had no need to hide his errand; it was one of 
 peace, and it threatened nobody " the more's the 
 pity," thought he in uneasy comment to himself, as 
 he realised the hopelessness of the whole situation. 
 
 His first word, therefore, was a plain announce- 
 ment. 
 
 " Dr. Fenton, my name is Sweetwater. I am 
 from New York, and represent for the nonce, Mr. 
 Challoner, whose name I have simply to mention, 
 for you to understand that my business is with Mr. 
 Brotherson whom I am sorry to find seriously, if not 
 dangerously, ill. Will you tell me how long you 
 think it will be before I can have a talk with him on a 
 subject which I will not disguise from you may prove 
 a very exciting one?" 
 
 218
 
 THE OVAL HUT 219 
 
 '* Weeks, weeks," returned the doctor. " Mr. 
 Brotherson has been a very sick man and the only 
 hope I have of his recovery is the fact that he is igno- 
 rant of his trouble or that he has any cause for doubt 
 or dread. Were this happy condition of things to 
 be disturbed, were the faintest rumour of sorrow 
 or disaster to reach him in his present weakened state, 
 I should fear a relapse, with all its attendant dangers. 
 What then, if any intimation should be given him of 
 the horrible tragedy suggested by the name you have 
 mentioned? The man would die before your eyes. 
 Mr. Challoner's business will have to wait." 
 
 'That I see; but if I knew when I might 
 speak " 
 
 " I can give you no date. Typhoid is a treacher- 
 ous complaint; he has the best of nurses and the 
 chances are in favour of a quick recovery; but we 
 never can be sure. You had better return to New 
 York. Later, you can write me if you wish, or Mr. 
 Challoner can. You may have confidence in my re- 
 ply; it will not mislead you." 
 
 Sweetwater muttered his thanks and rose. Then 
 he slowly sat down again. 
 
 " Dr. Fenton," he began, " you are a man to be 
 trusted. I'm in a devil of a fix, and there is just a 
 possibility that you may be able to help me out. It 
 is the general opinion in New York, as you may know, 
 that Miss Challoner committed suicide. But the cir- 
 cumstances do not fully bear out this theory, nor can 
 Mr. Challoner be made to accept it. Indeed, he is so 
 convinced of its falsehood, that he stands ready to do 
 anything, pay anything, suffer anything, to have this
 
 220 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 distressing blight removed from his daughter's good 
 name. Mr. Brotherson was her dearest friend, and 
 as such may have the clew to this mystery, but Mr. 
 Brotherson may not be in a condition to speak for 
 several weeks. Meanwhile, Mr. Challoner must suf- 
 fer from great suspense unless " a pause during 
 which he searched the doctor's face with a perfectly 
 frank and inquiring expression " unless some one 
 else can help us out. Dr. Fenton, can you? " 
 
 The doctor did not need to speak; his expression 
 conveyed his answer. 
 
 " No more than another," said he. " Except for 
 what Doris felt compelled to tell me, I know as little 
 as yourself. Mr. Brotherson's delirium took the 
 form of calling continually upon one name. I did 
 not know this name, but Doris did, also the danger 
 lurking in the fact that he had yet to hear of the 
 tragedy which had robbed him of this woman to 
 whom he was so deeply attached. So she told me 
 just this much. That the Edith whose name rung so 
 continuously in our ears was no other than the Miss 
 Challoner of New York of whose death and its tragic 
 circumstances the papers have been full ; that their en- 
 gagement was a secret one unshared so far as she 
 knew by any one but herself. That she begged me 
 to preserve this secret and to give her all the help I 
 could when the time came for him to ask questions. 
 Especially did she entreat me to be with her at the 
 crisis. I was, but his waking was quite natural. He 
 did not ask for Miss Challoner; he only inquired how 
 long he had been ill and whether Doris had received 
 a letter during that time. She had not received one,
 
 THE OVAL HUT 221 
 
 a fact which seemed to disappoint him; but she car- 
 ried it off so gaily (she is a wonderful girl, Mr. 
 Sweetwater the darling of all our hearts), saying 
 that he must not be so egotistical as to think that the 
 news of his illness had gone beyond Derby, that he 
 soon recovered his spirits and became a very promis- 
 ing convalescent. That is all I know about the mat- 
 ter; little more, I take it, than you know yourself." 
 
 Sweetwater nodded ; he had expected nothing from 
 the doctor, and was not disappointed at his failure. 
 There were two strings to his bow, and the one prov- 
 ing valueless, he proceeded to test the other. 
 
 " You have mentioned Miss Scott, as the confidante 
 and only confidante of this unhappy pair," said he. 
 " Would it be possible can you make it possible 
 for me to see her? " 
 
 It was a daring proposition ; he understood this at 
 once from the doctor's expression; and, fearing a 
 hasty rebuff, he proceeded to supplement his request 
 with a few added arguments, urged with such unex- 
 pected address and show of reason that Dr. Fenton's 
 aspect visibly softened and in the end he found him- 
 self ready to promise that he would do what he could 
 to secure his visitor the interview he desired if he 
 would come to the house the next day at the time of 
 his own morning visit. 
 
 This was as much as the young detective could ex- 
 pect, and having expressed his thanks, he took his 
 leave in anything but a discontented frame of mind. 
 With so powerful an advocate as the doctor, he felt 
 confident that he should soon be able to conquer this 
 young girl's reticence and learn all that was to be
 
 222 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 learned from any one but Mr. Brotherson himself. 
 In the time which must elapse between that happy 
 hour and the present, he would circulate and learn 
 what he could about the prospective manager. But 
 he soon found that he could not enter the Works 
 without a permit, and this he was hardly in a position 
 to demand; so he strolled about the village instead, 
 and later wandered away into the forest. 
 
 Struck by the inviting aspect of a narrow and little 
 used road opening from the highway shortly above 
 the house where his interests were just then centred, he 
 strolled into the heart of the spring woods till he came 
 to a depression where a surprise awaited him, in the 
 shape of a peculiar structure rising from its midst 
 where it just fitted, or so nearly fitted that one could 
 hardly walk about it without brushing the surround- 
 ing tree trunks. Of an oval shape, with its door 
 facing the approach, it nestled there, a wonder to the 
 eye and the occasion of considerable speculation to 
 his inquiring mind. It had not been long built, as 
 was shown very plainly by the fresh appearance of 
 the unpainted boards of which it was constructed; 
 and while it boasted of a door, as I've already said, 
 there were no evidences visible of any other break in 
 the smooth, neatly finished walls. A wooden ellipse 
 with a roof but no windows; such it appeared and 
 such it proved to be. A mystery to Sweetwater's 
 eyes, and like all mysteries, interesting. For what 
 purpose had it been built and why this isolation ? It 
 was too flimsy for a reservoir and too expensive for 
 the wild freak of a crank. 
 
 A nearer view increased his curiosity. In the pro-
 
 THE OVAL HUT 223 
 
 jection of the roof over the curving sides he found 
 fresh food for inquiry. As he examined it in the 
 walk he made around the whole structure, he came 
 to a place where something like a hinge became vis- 
 ible and further on another. The roof was not sim- 
 ply a roof; it was also a lid capable of being raised 
 for the air and light which the lack of windows ne- 
 cessitated. This was an odd discovery indeed, giv- 
 ing to the uncanny structure the appearance of a huge 
 box, the cover of which could be raised or lowered at 
 pleasure. And again he asked himself for what it 
 could be intended? What enterprise, even of the 
 great Works, could demand a secrecy so absolute 
 that such pains as these should be taken to shut out 
 all possibility of a prying eye. Nothing in his ex- 
 perience supplied him with an answer. 
 
 He was still looking up at these hinges, with a 
 glance which took in at the same time the nearness 
 and extreme height of the trees by which this sylvan 
 mystery was surrounded, when a sound from the road 
 on the opposite side of the hollow brought his con- 
 jectures to a standstill and sent him hurrying on to 
 the nearest point from which that road became vis- 
 ible. 
 
 A team was approaching. He could hear the 
 heavy tread of horses working their laborious way 
 through trees whose obstructing branches swished be- 
 fore and behind them. They were bringing in a load 
 for this shed, whose uses he would consequently soon 
 understand. Grateful for his good luck for his 
 was a curiosity which could not stand defeat he 
 took a few steps into the wood, and from the vantage
 
 224 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 point of a concealing cluster of bushes, fixed his eyes 
 upon the spot where the road opened into the hollow. 
 
 Something blue moved there, and in another mo- 
 ment, to his great amazement, there stepped into view 
 the spirited form of Doris Scott, who if he had given 
 the matter a thought he would have supposed to be 
 sitting just then by the bedside of her patient, a half 
 mile back on the road. 
 
 She was dressed for the woods in a blue skirt and 
 jacket and moved like a leader in front of a heavily 
 laden wagon now coming to a standstill before the 
 closely shut shed if such we may call it. 
 
 " I have a key," so she called out to the driver 
 who had paused for orders. " When I swing the 
 doors wide, drive straight in." 
 
 Sweetwater took a look at the wagon. It was 
 piled high with large wooden boxes on more than 
 one of which he could see scrawled the words: O. 
 Brotherson, Derby, Pa. 
 
 This explained her presence, but the boxes told 
 nothing. They were of all sizes and shapes, and 
 some of them so large that the assistance of another 
 man was needed to handle them. Sweetwater was 
 about to offer his services when a second man ap- 
 peared from somewhere in the rear, and the detec- 
 tive's attention being thus released from the load out 
 of which he could make nothing, he allowed it to con- 
 centrate upon the young girl who had it in charge 
 and who, for many reasons, was the one person of 
 supreme importance to him. 
 
 She had swung open the two wide doors, and now 
 stood waiting for horse and wagon to enter. With
 
 THE OVAL HUT 225 
 
 locks flying free she wore no bonnet she pre- 
 sented a picture of ever increasing interest to Sweet- 
 water. Truly she was a very beautiful girl, buoy- 
 ant, healthy and sweet; as unlike as possible his 
 preconceived notions of Miss Challoner's humble lit- 
 tle protegee. Her brown hair of a rich chestnut hue, 
 was in itself a wonder. On no head, even in the 
 great city he had just left, had he seen such abun- 
 dance, held in such modest restraint. Nature had 
 been partial to this little working girl and given her 
 the chevelure of a queen. 
 
 But this was nothing. No one saw this aureole 
 when once the eye had rested on her features and 
 caught the full nobility of their expression and the 
 lurking sweetness underlying her every look. She 
 herself made the charm and whether placed high or 
 placed low, must ever attract the eye and afterwards 
 lure the heart, by an individuality which hardly 
 needed perfect features in which to express itself. 
 
 Young yet, but gifted, as girls of her class often 
 are, with the nicest instincts and purest aspirations, 
 she showed the elevation of her thoughts both in her 
 glance and the poise with which she awaited events. 
 Swcetwater watched her with admiration as she su- 
 perintended the unloading of the wagon and the dis- 
 posal of the various boxes on the floor within; but as 
 nothing she said during the process was calculated to 
 afford the least enlightenment in regard to their 
 contents, he presently wearied of his inaction and 
 turned back towards the highway, comforting him- 
 self with the reflection that in a few short hours he 
 would have her to himself when nothing but a blun-
 
 226 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 der on his part should hinder him from sounding her 
 young mind and getting such answers to his questions 
 as the affair in which he was so deeply interested, de- 
 manded.
 
 XXVI 
 
 SWEETWATER RETURNS 
 
 " You see me again, Miss Scott. I hope that yes- 
 terday's intrusion has not prejudiced you against me." 
 
 " I have no prejudices," was her simple but firm 
 reply. " I am only hurried and very anxious. The 
 doctor is with Mr. Brotherson just now; but he has 
 several other equally sick patients to visit and I dare 
 not keep him here too long." 
 
 ; ' Then you will welcome my abruptness. Miss 
 Scott, here is a letter from Mr. Challoner. It will 
 explain my position. As you will see, his only desire 
 is to establish the fact that his daughter did not com- 
 mit suicide. She was all he had in the world, and 
 the thought that she could, for any reason, take her 
 own life is unbearable to him. Indeed, he will not 
 believe she did so, evidence or no evidence. May I 
 ask if you agree with him? You have seen Miss 
 Challoner, I believe. Do you think she was the 
 woman to plunge a dagger in her heart in a place as 
 public as a hotel reception room ? " 
 
 " No, Mr. Sweetwater. I'm a poor working girl, 
 with very little education and almost no knowledge 
 of the world and such ladies as she. But something 
 tells me for all that, that she was too nice to do this. 
 I saw her once and it made me want to be quiet and 
 kind and beautiful like her. I never shall think she 
 did anything so horrible. Nor will Mr. Brotherson 
 
 227
 
 228 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 ever believe it. He could not and live. You see, I 
 am talking to you as if you knew him, the kind of 
 man he is and just how he feels towards Miss Chal- 
 loner. He is " Her voice trailed off and a look, 
 uncommon and almost elevated, illumined her face. 
 " I will not tell you what he is; you will know, if you 
 ever see him." 
 
 " If the favourable opinion of a whole town makes 
 a good fellow, he ought to be of the best," returned 
 Sweetwater, with his most honest smile. " I hear 
 but one story of him wherever I turn." 
 
 " There is but one story to tell," she smiled, and 
 her head drooped softly, but with no air of self-con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 Sweetwater watched her for a moment, and then 
 remarked: " I'm going to take one thing for granted; 
 that you are as anxious as we are to clear Miss Chal- 
 loner's memory." 
 
 " O yes, O yes." 
 
 " More than that, that you are ready and eager to 
 help us. Your very looks show that." 
 
 " You are right; I would do anything to help you. 
 But what can a girl like me do ? Nothing ; nothing. 
 I know too little. Mr. Challoner must see that 
 when you tell him I'm only the daughter of a fore- 
 man." 
 
 " And a friend of Mr. Brotherson," supplemented 
 Sweetwater. 
 
 " Yes," she smiled, " he would want me to say so. 
 But that's his goodness. I don't deserve the hon- 
 our." 
 
 " His friend and therefore his confidante," Sweet-
 
 SWEETWATER RETURNS 229 
 
 water continued. " He has talked to you about Miss 
 Challoner?" 
 
 " He had to. There was nobody else to whom he 
 could talk ; and then, I had seen her and could under- 
 stand." 
 
 ' Where did you see her ? " 
 
 " In New York. I was there once with father, 
 who took me to see her. I think she had asked Mr. 
 Brotherson to send his little friend to her hotel if 
 ever we came to New York.'* 
 
 " That was some time ago? " 
 
 " We were there in June." 
 
 " And you have corresponded ever since with Miss 
 Challoner?" 
 
 " She has been good enough to write, and I have 
 ventured at times to answer her." 
 
 The suspicion which might have come to some 
 men found no harbour in Sweetwater's mind. This 
 young girl was beautiful, there was no denying that, 
 beautiful in a somewhat startling and quite unusual 
 way ; but there was nothing in her bearing, nothing in 
 Miss Challoner's letters to indicate that she had been 
 a cause for jealousy in the New York lady's mind. 
 He, therefore, ignored this possibility, pursuing his 
 inquiry along the direct lines he had already laid out 
 for himself. Smiling a little, but in a very earnest 
 fashion, he pointed to the letter she still held and 
 quietly said: 
 
 " Remember that I'm not speaking for myself, 
 Miss Scott, when I seem a little too persistent and in- 
 quiring. You have corresponded with Miss Chal- 
 loner; you have been told the fact of her secret en-
 
 2 3 o INITIALS ONLY 
 
 gagement to Mr. Brotherson and you have been 
 witness to his conduct and manner for the whole time 
 he has been separated from her. Do you, when you 
 think of it carefully, recall anything in the whole 
 story of this romance which would throw light upon 
 the cruel tragedy which has so unexpectedly ended it ? 
 Anything, Miss Scott? Straws show which way the 
 stream flows." 
 
 She was vehement, instantly vehement, in her dis- 
 claimer. 
 
 " I can answer at once," said she, " because I have 
 thought of nothing else for all these weeks. Here all 
 was well. Mr. Brotherson was hopeful and happy 
 and believed in her happiness and willingness to wait 
 for his success. And this success was coming so fast ! 
 Oh, how can we ever tell him ! How can we ever 
 answer his questions even, or keep him satisfied and 
 calm until he is strong enough to hear the truth. I've 
 had to acknowledge already that I have had no letter 
 from her for weeks. She never wrote to him di- 
 rectly, you know, and she never sent him messages, 
 but he knew that a letter to me, was also a letter to 
 him and I can see that he is troubled by this long 
 silence, though he says I was right not to let her 
 know of his illness and that I must continue to keep 
 her in ignorance of it till he is quite well again and 
 can write to her himself. It is hard to hear him talk 
 like this and not look sad or frightened." 
 
 Sweetwater remembered Miss Challoner's last let- 
 ter, and wished he had it here to give her. In default 
 of this, he said : 
 
 " Perhaps this not hearing may act in the way of
 
 SWEETWATER RETURNS 231 
 
 a preparation for the shock which must come to him 
 sooner or later. Let us hope so, Miss Scott." 
 
 Her eyes filled. 
 
 " Nothing can prepare him," said she. Then 
 added, with a yearning accent, " I wish I were older 
 or had more^experience. I should not feel so help- 
 less. But the gratitude I owe him will give me 
 strength when I need it most. Only I wish the suf- 
 fering might be mine rather than his." 
 
 Unconscious of any self-betrayal, she lifted her 
 eyes, startling Sweetwatcr by the beauty of her look. 
 
 " I don't think I'm so sorry for Oswald Brother- 
 son," he murmured to himself as he left her. " He's 
 a more fortunate man than he knows, however deeply 
 he may feel the loss of his first sweetheart." 
 
 That evening the disappointed Sweetwater took 
 the train for New York. He had failed to advance 
 the case in hand one whit, yet the countenance he 
 showed Mr. Gryce at their first interview was not 
 a wholly gloomy one. 
 
 " Fifty dollars to the bad ! " was his first laconic 
 greeting. " All I have learned is comprised in these 
 two statements. The second O. B. is a fine fellow; 
 and not intentionally the cause of our tragedy. He 
 does not even know about it. He's down with the 
 fever at present and they haven't told him. When 
 he's better we may hear something; but I doubt even 
 that." 
 
 " Tell me about it." 
 
 Sweetwater complied; and such is the unconscious- 
 ness with which we often encounter the pivotal cir- 
 cumstance upon which our future or the future of
 
 2 3 2 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 our most cherished undertaking hangs, he omitted 
 from his story, the sole discovery which was of any 
 real importance in the unravelling of the mystery in 
 which they were so deeply concerned. He said noth- 
 ing of his walk in the woods or of what he saw there. 
 
 " A meagre haul," he remarked at the close. 
 " But that's as it should be, if you and I are right in 
 our impressions and the clew to this mystery lies here 
 in the character and daring of Orlando Brotherson. 
 That's why I'm not down in the mouth. Which 
 goes to show what a grip my prejudices have on me." 
 
 u As prejudiced as a bulldog." 
 
 " Exactly. By the way, what news of the gentle- 
 man I've just mentioned? Is he as serene in my ab- 
 sence as when under my eye? " 
 
 " More so; he looks like a man on the verge of 
 triumph. But I fear the triumph he anticipates has 
 nothing to do with our affairs. All his time and 
 thought is taken up with his invention." 
 
 " You discourage me, sir. And now to see Mr. 
 Challoner. Small comfort can I carry him."
 
 XXVII 
 
 THE IMAGE OF DREAD 
 
 IN the comfortable little sitting-room of the Scott 
 cottage Doris stood, looking eagerly from the win- 
 dow which gave upon the road. Behind her, on the 
 other side of the room, could be seen through a partly 
 opened door, a neatly spread bed, with a hand lying 
 quietly on the patched coverlid. It was a strong 
 looking hand which, even when quiescent, conveyed 
 the idea of purpose and vitality. As Doris said, the 
 fingers never curled up languidly, but always with the 
 hint of a clench. Several weeks had passed since the 
 departure of Sweetwater and the invalid was fast 
 gaining strength. To-morrow, he would be up. 
 
 Was Doris thinking of him? Undoubtedly, for 
 her eyes often flashed his way; but her main attention 
 was fixed upon the road, though no one was in sight 
 at the moment. Some one had passed for whose re- 
 turn she looked; some one whom, if she had been 
 asked to describe, she would have called a tall, fine- 
 looking man of middle age, of a cultivated appear- 
 ance seldom seen in this small manufacturing town; 
 seldom seen, possibly, in any town. He had glanced 
 up at the window as he went by, in a manner too 
 marked not to excite her curiosity. Would he look 
 up again when he came back? She was waiting there 
 to see. Why, she did not know. She was not used 
 to indulging in petty suppositions of this kind; her 
 
 233
 
 234 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 life was too busy, her anxieties too keen. The great 
 dread looming ever before her, the dread of that 
 hour when she must speak, left her very little heart 
 for anything dissociated with this coming event. 
 For a girl of seventeen she was unusually thoughtful. 
 Life had been hard in this little cottage since her 
 mother died, or rather she had felt its responsibil- 
 ities keenly. 
 
 Life itself could not be hard where Oswald Broth- 
 erson lived ; neither to man, nor woman. The cheer 
 of some natures possesses a divine faculty. If it can 
 help no other way, it does so by the aid of its own 
 light. Such was the character of this man's temper- 
 ament. The cottage was a happy place; only 
 she never fathomed the depths of that only. If in 
 these days she essayed at times to do so, she gave full 
 credit to the Dread which rose ever before her 
 rose like a ghost! She, Doris, led by inscrutable 
 Fate, was waiting to hurt him who hurt nobody; 
 whose mere presence was a blessing. 
 
 But her interest had been caught to-day, caught by 
 this stranger, and when during her eager watch the 
 small messenger from the Works came to the door 
 with the usual daily supply of books and magazines 
 for the patient, she stepped out on the porch to speak 
 to him and to point out the gentleman who was now 
 rapidly returning from his stroll up the road. 
 
 ' Who is that, Johnny? " she asked. " You know 
 everybody who comes to -town. What is the name 
 of the gentleman you see coming? " 
 
 The boy looked, searched his memory, not without 
 some show of misgiving.
 
 THE IMAGE OF DREAD 235 
 
 " A queer name," he admitted at last. " I never 
 heard the likes of it here before. Shally something. 
 Shally Shally " 
 
 "Challoner?" 
 
 1 Yes, that's it. How could you guess? He's 
 from New York. Nobody knows why he's here. 
 Don't seem to have no business." 
 
 ' Well, never mind. Run on, Johnny. And 
 don't forget to come earlier to-morrow; Mr. Broth- 
 erson gets tired waiting." 
 
 " Does he? I'll come quick then; quick as I can 
 run." And he sped off at a pace which promised well 
 for the morrow. 
 
 Challoner! There was but one Challoner in the 
 world for Doris Scott, Edith's father. Was this 
 he ? It must be, or why this haunting sense of some- 
 thing half remembered as she caught a glimpse of 
 his face. Edith's father! and he was approaching, 
 approaching rapidly, on his way back to town. 
 Would he stop this time? As the possibility struck 
 her, she trembled and drew back, entering the house, 
 but pausing in the hall with her ear turned to the 
 road. She had not closed the door; something 
 within a hope or a dread had prevented that. 
 Would he take it as an invitation to come in? No, 
 no; she was not ready for such an encounter yet. 
 He might speak Edith's name; Oswald might hear 
 and with a gasp she recognised the closeness of 
 his step ; heard it lag, almost halt just where the path 
 to the house ran into the roadside. But it passed 
 on. He was not going to force an interview yet. 
 She could hear him retreating further and further
 
 236 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 away. The event was not for this day, thank God! 
 She would have one night at least in which to prepare 
 herself. 
 
 With a sense of relief so great that she realised, 
 for one shocked moment, the full extent of her fears, 
 she hastened back into the sitting-room, with her col- 
 lection of books and pamphlets. A low voice 
 greeted her. It came from the adjoining room. 
 
 " Doris, come here, sweet child. I want you." 
 
 How she would have bounded joyously at the 
 summons, had not that Dread raised its bony finger 
 in every call from that dearly loved voice. As it 
 was, her feet moved slowly, lingering at the sound. 
 But they carried her to his side at last, and once there, 
 she smiled. 
 
 " See what an armful," she cried in joyous greet- 
 ing, as she held out the bundle she had brought. 
 ' You will be amused all day. Only, do not tire 
 yourself." 
 
 " I do not want the papers, Doris; not yet. 
 There's something else which must come first. 
 Doris, I have decided to let you write to her. I'm 
 so much better now, she will not feel alarmed. I 
 must must get a word from her. I'm starving 
 for it. I lie here and can think of nothing else. A 
 message one little message of six short words 
 would set me on my feet again. So get your paper 
 and pen, dear child, and write her one of your pret- 
 tiest letters." 
 
 Had he loved her, he would have perceived the 
 chill which shook her whole body, as he spoke. But
 
 THE IMAGE OF DREAD 237 
 
 his first thought, his penetrating thought, was not 
 for her and he saw only the answering glance, 
 the patient smile. She had not expected him to see 
 more. She knew that she was quite safe from the 
 divining look; otherwise, he would have known her 
 secret long ago. 
 
 " I'm ready," said she. But she did not lay down 
 her bundle. She was not ready for her task, poor 
 child. She quailed before it. She quailed so much 
 that she feared to stir lest he should see that she had 
 no command over her movements. 
 
 The man who watched without seeing wondered 
 that she stood so still and spoke so briefly. But only 
 for a moment. He thought he understood her hes- 
 itation, and a look of great earnestness replaced his 
 former one of grave decision. 
 
 " I know that in doing this I am going beyond my 
 sacred compact with Miss Challoner," he said. " I 
 never thought of illness, at least, of illness on my 
 part. I never dreamt that I, always so well, always 
 so full of life, could know such feebleness as this, 
 feebleness which is all of the body, Doris, leaving the 
 mind free to dream and long. Talk of her, child. 
 Tell me all over again just how she looked and spoke 
 that day you saw her in New York." 
 
 " Would it not be better for me to write my letter 
 first? Papa will be coming soon and Truda can 
 never cook your bird as you like it." 
 
 Surprised now by something not quite natural in 
 her manner, he caught at her hand and held her as 
 she was moving away.
 
 238 INITIALS ONLY, 
 
 " You are tired," said he. " I've wearied you 
 with my commission and complaints. Forgive me, 
 dear child, and >" 
 
 " You are mistaken," she interrupted softly. " I 
 am not tired; I only wished to do the important 
 thing first. Shall I get my desk? Do you really 
 wish me to write? " 
 
 " Yes," said he, softly dropping her hand. " I 
 wish you to write. It will ensure me good sleep, and 
 sleep will make me strong. A few words, Doris; 
 just a few words." 
 
 She nodded; turning quickly away to hide her 
 tears. His smile had gone to her very soul. It 
 was always a beautiful one, his chief personal attrac- 
 tion, but at this moment it seemed to concentrate 
 within it the unspoken fervours and the boundless 
 expectations of a great love, and she who was the 
 aim and cause of all this sweetness lay in unrespon- 
 sive silence in a distant tomb 1 
 
 But Doris' own smile was not lacking in encour- 
 agement and beauty when she came back a few min- 
 utes later and sat down ly his side to write. His 
 melted before it, leaving his eyes very earnest as he 
 watched her bending figure and the hard-worked little 
 hand at its unaccustomed task. 
 
 " I must give her daily exercises," he decided 
 within himself. " That look of pain shows how dif- 
 ficult this work is for her. It must be made easy at 
 any cost to my time. Such beauty calls for accom- 
 plishment. I must not neglect so plain a duty." 
 
 Meantime, she v/as struggling to find words in 
 face of that great Dread. She had written Dear
 
 THE IMAGE OF DREAD 239 
 
 Miss Challoner and was staring in horror at the 
 soulless words. Only her sense of duty upheld her. 
 Gladly would she have torn the sheet in two and 
 rushed away. How could she add sentences to this 
 hollow phrase, the mere employment of which 
 seemed a sacrilege. Dear Miss Challoner. Oh, 
 she was dear, but 
 
 Unconsciously the young head drooped, and the 
 pen slid from her hand. 
 
 " I cannot," she murmured, " I cannot think what 
 to say." 
 
 " Shall I help you ? " came softly from the bed. 
 " I'll try and not forget that it is Doris writing." 
 
 " If you will be so good," she answered, with re- 
 newed courage. " I can put the words down if you 
 will only find them for me." 
 
 " Write then. ' Dear Miss Challoner: " 
 
 " I have already written that." 
 
 "Why do you shudder?" 
 
 " I'm cold. I've been cold all day. But never 
 mind that, Mr. Brotherson. Tell me how to begin 
 my letter." 
 
 " This way. ' I've not been able to answer your 
 kind letter, because I have had to play nurse for 
 some three or four weeks to a very fretful and ex- 
 acting -patient.' Have you written that? " 
 
 " No," said Doris, bending over her desk till her 
 curls fell in a tangle over her white cheeks. " I do 
 not like to," she protested at last, with an attempt at 
 nai'vete which seemed real enough to him. 
 
 " Well, leave out the fretful if you must, but keep 
 in the exacting. I have been exacting, you know."
 
 2 4 o INITIALS ONLY 
 
 Silence, broken only by the scratching of the stub- 
 born, illy-directed pen. 
 
 " It's down," she whispered. She said, afterward, 
 that it was like writing with a ghost looking over 
 one's shoulder. 
 
 " Then add, ' Mr. Brotherson has had a slight 
 attack of fever, but he is getting well fast, and will 
 soon ' Do I run on too quickly? " 
 
 " No, no, I can follow." 
 
 " But not without losing breath; eh, Doris? " 
 
 As he laughed, she smiled. There was a heroism 
 in that smile, Oswald Brotherson, of which you knew 
 nothing. 
 
 " You might speak a little more slowly," she ad- 
 mitted. 
 
 Quietly he repeated the last phrase. " * But he is 
 getting well fast and will soon be ready to take up 
 the management of the Works which was given him 
 just before he was taken ill.' That will show her 
 that I am working up," he brightly remarked as 
 Doris carefully penned the last word. " Of myself 
 you need say nothing more, unless " he paused and 
 his face took on a wistful look which Doris dared 
 not meet; "unless but no, no, she must think it 
 has been only a passing indisposition. If she knew 
 I had been really ill, she would suffer, and perhaps 
 act imprudently or suffer and not dare to act at all, 
 which might be sadder for her still. Leave it where 
 it is and begin about yourself. Write a good deal 
 about yourself, so that she will see that you are not 
 worried and that all is well with us here. Cannot 
 you do that without assistance? Surely you can tell
 
 THE IMAGE OF DREAD 241 
 
 her about that last piece of embroidery you showed 
 me. She will be glad to hear why, Doris ! " 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Brotherson," the poor child burst out, 
 " you must let me cry ! I'm so glad to see you better 
 and interested in all sorts of things. These are not 
 tears of grief. I I but I'm forgetting what 
 the doctor told me. You are growing excited, and I 
 was to see that you were calm, always calm. I will 
 take my desk away. I will write the rest in the 
 other room, while you look at the magazines." 
 
 " But bring your letter back for me to seal. I 
 want to see it in its envelope. Oh, Doris, you are a 
 good little girl I " 
 
 She shook her head, and hastened to hide herself 
 from him in the other room; and it was a long time 
 before she came back with the letter folded and in 
 its envelope. When she did, her face was com- 
 posed and her manner natural. She had quite made 
 up her mind what her duty was and how she was go- 
 ing to perform it. 
 
 " Here is the letter," said she, laying it in his out- 
 stretched hand. Then she turned her back. She 
 knew, with a woman's unerring instinct why he 
 wished to handle it before it went. She felt that kiss 
 he folded away in it, in every fibre of her aroused 
 and sympathetic heart, but the hardest part of the 
 ordeal was over and her eyes beamed softly when 
 she turned again to take it from his hand and affix the 
 stamp. 
 
 "You will mail it yourself?" he asked. "I 
 should like to have you put it into the box with your 
 own hand."
 
 242 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 V I will put it in to-night, after supper," she prom- 
 ised him. 
 
 His smile of contentment assured her that this 
 trial of her courage and self-control was not with- 
 out one blessed result. He would rest for several 
 days in the pleasure of what he had done or thought 
 he had done. She need not cringe before that im- 
 age of Dread for two, three days at least. Mean- 
 while, he would grow strong in body, and she, per- 
 haps, in spirit. Only one precaution she must take. 
 No hint of Mr. Challoner's presence in town must 
 reach him. He must be guarded from a knowledge 
 of that fact as certainly as from the more serious one 
 which lay behind it.
 
 XXVIII 
 
 I HOPE NEVER TO SEE THAT MAN 
 
 THAT this would be a difficult thing to do, Doris was 
 soon to realise. Mr. Challoner continued to pass 
 the house twice a day and the time finally came when 
 he ventured up the walk. 
 
 Doris was in the window and saw him coming. 
 She slipped softly out and intercepted him before 
 he had stepped upon the porch. She had caught 
 up her hat as she passed through the hall, and 
 was fitting it to her head as he looked up and saw 
 ker. 
 
 "Miss Scott?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Challoner." 
 
 " You know me? " he went on, one foot on the 
 step and one still on the walk. 
 
 Before replying she closed the door behind her. 
 Then as she noted his surprise she carefully ex- 
 plained : 
 
 " Mr. Brotherson, our boarder, is just recovering 
 from typhoid. He is still weak and acutely suscep- 
 tible to the least noise. I was afraid that our voices 
 might disturb him. Do you mind walking a little 
 way up the road ? That is, if your visit was intended 
 for me." 
 
 Her flush, the beauty which must have struck even 
 him, but more than all else her youth, seemed to 
 reconcile him to this unconventional request. Bow- 
 
 243
 
 244 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 ing, he took his foot from the step, saying, as she 
 joined him : 
 
 " Yes, you are the one I wanted to see; that is, 
 to-day. Later, I hope to have the privilege of a 
 conversation with Mr. Brotherson." 
 
 She gave him one quick look, trembling so that he 
 offered her his arm with a fatherly air. 
 
 " I see that you understand my errand here," he 
 proceeded, with a grave smile, meant as she knew 
 for her encouragement. " I am glad, because we can 
 go at once to the point. Miss Scott," he continued 
 in a voice from which he no longer strove to keep 
 back the evidences of deep feeling, " I have the 
 strongest interest in your patient that one man can 
 have in another, where there is no personal ac- 
 quaintanceship. You who have every reason to un- 
 derstand my reasons for this, will accept the state- 
 ment, I hope, as frankly as it is made." 
 
 She nodded. Her eyes were full of tears, but she 
 did not hesitate to raise them. She had the greatest 
 desire to see the face of the man who could speak 
 like this to-day, and yet of whose pride and sense of 
 superiority his daughter had stood in such awe, that 
 she had laid a seal upon the impulses of her heart, 
 and imposed such tasks and weary waiting upon her 
 lover. Doris forgot, in meeting his softened glance 
 and tender, almost wistful, expression, the changes 
 which can be made by a great grief, and only won- 
 dered why her sweet benefactress had not taken him 
 into her confidence and thus, possibly, averted the 
 doom which Doris felt had in some way grown out 
 of this secrecy.
 
 I HOPE NEVER TO SEE THAT MAN 245 
 
 ' Why should she have feared the disapproval of 
 this man? " she inwardly queried, as she cast him a 
 confiding look which pleased him greatly, as his tone 
 now showed. 
 
 ;< When I lost my daughter, I lost everything," he 
 declared, as they walked slowly up the road. " Noth- 
 ing excites my interest, save that which once excited 
 hers. I am told that the deepest interest of her life 
 lay here. I am also told that it was an interest 
 quite worthy of her. I expect to find it so. I hope 
 with all my heart to find it so, and that is why I have 
 come to this town and expect to linger till Mr. Broth- 
 erson has recovered sufficiently to see me. I hope 
 that this will be agreeable to him. I hope that I 
 am not presuming too much in cherishing these ex- 
 pectations. 
 
 Doris turned her candid eyes upon him. 
 
 " I cannot tell; I do not know," said she. " No- 
 body knows, not even the doctor, what effect the news 
 we so dread to give him will have upon Mr. Brother- 
 son. You will have to wait we all shall have to 
 wait the results of that revelation. It cannot be 
 kept from him much longer. When I return, I shall 
 shrink from his first look, in the fear of seeing it be- 
 tray this dreadful knowledge. Yet I have a faith- 
 ful woman there to keep every one out of his room." 
 
 " You have had much to carry for one so young," 
 was Mr. Challoner's sympathetic remark. * You 
 must let me help you when that awful moment comes. 
 I am at the hotel and shall stay there till Mr. Broth- 
 erson is pronounced quite well. I have no other duty 
 now in life but to sustain htm through his trouble
 
 246 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 and then, with what aid he can give, search out and 
 find the cause of my daughter's death which I will 
 never admit without the fullest proof, to have been 
 one of suicide." 
 
 Doris trembled. 
 
 " It was not suicide," she declared, vehemently. 
 " I have always felt sure that it was not; but to-day 
 I know." 
 
 Her hand fell clenched on her breast and her eyes 
 gleamed strangely. Mr. Challoner was himself 
 greatly startled. What had happened what 
 could have happened since yesterday that she should 
 emphasise that now? 
 
 " I've not told any one," she went on, as he stopped 
 short in the road, in his anxiety to understand her. 
 " But I will tell you. Only, not here, not with all 
 these people driving past; most of whom know me. 
 Come to the house later this evening, after Mr. 
 Brotherson's room is closed for the night. I have 
 a little sitting-room on the other side of the hall 
 where we can talk without being heard. Would 
 you object to doing that? Am I asking too much of 
 you?" 
 
 " No, not at all," he assured her. " Expect me at 
 eight. Will that be too early? " 
 
 " No, no. Oh, how those people stared! Let us 
 hasten back or they may connect your name with what 
 we want kept secret." 
 
 He smiled at her fears, but gave in to her humour ; 
 he would see her soon again and possibly learn some- 
 thing which would amply repay him, both for his 
 trouble and his patience.
 
 I HOPE NEVER TO SEE THAT MAN 247 
 
 But when evening came and she turned to face him 
 in that little sitting-room where he had quietly fol- 
 lowed her, he was conscious of a change in her man- 
 ner which forbade these high hopes. The gleam 
 was gone from her eyes; the tremulous eagerness 
 from her mobile and sensitive mouth. She had been 
 thinking in the hours which had passed, and had lost 
 the confidence of that one impetuous moment. Her 
 greeting betrayed embarrassment and she hesitated 
 painfully before she spoke. 
 
 " I don't know what you will think of me," she 
 ventured at last, motioning to a chair but not sitting 
 herself. ' You have had time to think over what I 
 said and probably expect something real, some- 
 thing you could tell people. But it isn't like that. 
 It's a feeling a belief. I'm so sure " 
 
 " Sure of what, Miss Scott? " 
 
 She gave a glance at the door before stepping up 
 nearer. He had not taken the chair she prof- 
 
 " Sure that I have seen the face of the man who 
 murdered her. It was in a dream," she whisperingly 
 completed, her great eyes misty with awe. 
 
 "A dream, Miss Scott?" He tried to hide his 
 disappointment. 
 
 " Yes; I knew that it would sound foolish to you; 
 it sounds foolish to me. But listen, sir. Listen to 
 what I have to tell and then you can judge. I was 
 very much agitated yesterday. I had to write a 
 letter at Mr. Brotherson's dictation a letter to 
 her. You can understand my horror and the effort 
 I made to hide my emotion. I was quite unnerved.
 
 248 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 I could not sleep till morning, and then and then 
 I saw I hope I can describe it." 
 
 Grasping at a near-by chair, she leaned on it for 
 support, closing her eyes to all but that inner vision. 
 A breathless moment followed, then she murmured 
 in strained monotonous tones : 
 
 " I see it again just as I saw it in the early 
 morning but even more plainly, if that is possible. 
 A hall (I should call it a hall, though I don't re- 
 member seeing any place like it before), with a little 
 staircase at the side, up which there comes a man, 
 who stops just at the top and looks intently my way. 
 There is fierceness in his face a look which means 
 no good to anybody and as his hand goes to his 
 overcoat pocket, drawing out something which I can- 
 not describe, but which he handles as if it were a 
 pistol, I feel a horrible fear, and and " The 
 child was staggering, and the hand which was free 
 had sought her heart where it lay clenched, the 
 knuckles showing white in the dim light. 
 
 Mr. Challoner watched her with dilated eyes, the 
 spell under which she spoke falling in some degree 
 upon him. Had she finished? Was this all? No; 
 she is speaking again, but v:ry low, almost in a whis- 
 per. 
 
 " There is music a crash but I plainly see his 
 other hand approach the object he is holding. He 
 takes something from the end the object is pointed 
 my way I am looking into into what ? I do 
 not know. I cannot even see him now. The space 
 where he stood is empty. Everything fades, and I 
 wake with a loud cry in my ears and a sense of death
 
 I HOPE NEVER TO SEE THAT MAN 249 
 
 here" She had lifted her hand and struck at her 
 heart, opening her eyes as she did so. " Yet it was 
 not I who had been shot," she added softly. 
 
 Mr. Challoner shuddered. This was like the re- 
 opening of his daughter's grave. But he had en- 
 tered upon the scene with a full appreciation of the 
 ordeal awaiting him and he did not lose his calmness, 
 or the control of his judgment. 
 
 " Be seated, Miss Scott," he entreated, taking a 
 chair himself. " You have described the spot and 
 some of the circumstances of my daughter's death as 
 accurately as if you had been there. But you have 
 doubtless read a full account of those details in the 
 papers; possibly seen pictures which would make the 
 place quite real to you. The mind is a strange store- 
 house. We do not always know what lie: hidden 
 within it." 
 
 " That's true," she admitted. " But the man I I 
 had never seen the man, or any picture of him, and 
 his face was clearest of all. I should know it if I 
 saw it anywhere. It is imprinted on my memory as 
 plainly as yours. Oh, I hope never to see that 
 man I" 
 
 Mr. Challoner sighed; he had really anticipated 
 something from the interview. The disappoint- 
 ment was keen. A moment of expectation; the thrill 
 which comes to us all under the shadow of the super- 
 natural, and then this! a young and imagina- 
 tive girl's dream, convincing to herself but supplying 
 nothing which had not already been supplied both 
 by the facts and his own imagination I A man had 
 stood at the staircase, and this man had raised his
 
 250 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 arm. She said that she had seen something like a 
 pistol in his hand, but his daughter had not been 
 shot. This he thought it well enough to point out 
 to her. 
 
 Leaning toward her that he might get her full at- 
 tention, he waited till her eyes met his, then quietly 
 asked : 
 
 u Have you ever named this man to yourself? " 
 
 She started and dropped her eyes. 
 
 " I do not dare to," said she. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because I've read in the papers that the man 
 who stood there had the same name as " 
 
 " Tell me, Miss Scott." 
 
 " As Mr. Brotherson's brother." 
 
 " But you do not think it was his brother? " 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 " You've never seen his brother? " 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Nor his picture? " 
 
 " No, Mr. Brotherson has none." 
 
 "Aren't they friends? Does he never mention 
 Orlando?" 
 
 " Very, very rarely. But I've no reason to think 
 they are not on good terms. I know they corre- 
 spond." 
 
 "Miss Scott?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Challoner." 
 
 " You must not rely too much upon your 
 dream." 
 
 Her eyes flashed to his and then fell again. 
 
 " Dreams are not revelations ; they are the repro-
 
 I HOPE NEVER TO SEE THAT MAN 25 1 
 
 duction of what already lies hidden in the mind. I 
 can prove that your dream is such." 
 
 " How? " She looked startled. 
 ' You speak of seeing something being leveled at 
 you which made you think of a pistol." 
 ' Yes, I was looking directly into it." 
 
 " But my daughter was not shot. She died from 
 a stab." 
 
 Doris' lovely face, with its tender lines and girlish 
 curves, took on r. strange look of conviction which 
 deepened, rather than melted under his indulgent, 
 jut penetrating gaze. 
 
 " I know that you think so; but my dream says 
 no. I saw this object. It was pointed directly to- 
 wards me above all, I saw his face. It was the 
 face of one whose finger is on the trigger and who 
 mean? death ; and I believe my dream." 
 
 Wei 1 , if- v/as useless to reason further. Gentle in 
 all else, she was immovable so fur as this idea was 
 concerned and, seeing this, he let the matter go and 
 prepared to take his leave. 
 
 She seemed to be quite ready for this. Anxiety 
 about her patient had regained its place in her mind, 
 and her glance sped constantly toward the door. 
 Taking her hand in his, he said some kind words, 
 then crossed to the door and opened it. Instantly 
 her finger flew to her lips and, obedient to its silent 
 injunction, he took up his hat in silence, and was pro- 
 ceeding down the hall, when the bell rang, startling 
 them both and causing him to step quickly back. 
 
 " Who is it? " she asked. " Father's in and vis- 
 itors seldom come so late."
 
 252 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 "Shall I see?" 
 
 She nodded, looking strangely troubled as the door 
 swung open, revealing the tall, strong figure of a 
 man facing them from the porch. 
 
 " A stranger," formed itself upon her lips, and 
 she was moving forward, when the man suddenly 
 stepped into the glare of the light, and she stopped, 
 with a murmur of dismay which pierced Mr. Chal- 
 loner's heart and prepared him for the words which 
 now fell shudderingly from her lips: 
 
 " It is he ! it is he ! I said that I should know 
 him wherever I saw him." Then with a quiet turn 
 towards the intruder, " Oh, why, why, did you come 
 here!"
 
 XXIX 
 
 DO YOU KNOW MY BROTHER 
 
 HER hands were thrust out to repel, her features 
 were fixed; her beauty something wonderful. Or- 
 lando Brotherson, thus met, stared for a moment at 
 the vision before him, then slowly and with effort 
 withdrawing his gaze, he sought the face of Mr. 
 Challoner with the first sign of open disturbance that 
 gentleman had ever seen in him. 
 
 " Ah," said he, " my welcome is readily under- 
 stood. I see you far from home, sir." And with 
 an ironical bow he turned again to Doris, who had 
 dropped her hands, but in whose cheeks the pallor 
 still lingered in a way to check the easy flow of words 
 with which he might have sought to carry off the sit- 
 uation. 
 
 "Am I in Oswald Brotherson's house?" he 
 asked. " I was directed here. But possibly there 
 may bs some mistake." 
 
 " It is here he lives," said she; moving back auto- 
 matically till she stood again by the threshold of the 
 small room in which she had received Mr. Chal- 
 loner. " Do you wish to see him to-night? If so, 
 I fear it is impossible. He has been very ill and is 
 not allowed to receive visits from strangers." 
 
 " I am not a stranger," announced the newcomer, 
 with a smile few could see unmoved, it offered such 
 a contrast to his stern and dominating figure. " I 
 
 253
 
 254 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 thought I heard some words of recognition which 
 would prove your knowledge of that fact." 
 
 She did not answer. Her lips had parted, but 
 her thought or at least the expression of her thought 
 hung suspended in the terror of this meeting for 
 which she was not at all prepared. He seemed to 
 note this terror, whether or not he understood its 
 cause, and smiled again, as he added: 
 
 " Mr. Brotherson must have spoken of his brother 
 Orlando. I am he, Miss Scott. Will you let me 
 come in now? " 
 
 Her eyes sought those of Mr. Challoner, who 
 quietly nodded. Immediately she stepped from be- 
 fore the door which her figure had guarded and, mo- 
 tioning him to enter, she begged Mr. Challoner, with 
 an imploring look, to sustain her in the interview she 
 saw before her. He had no desire for this en- 
 counter, especially as Mr. Brotherson's glance in his 
 direction had been anything but conciliatory. He 
 was quite convinced that nothing was to be gained 
 by it, but he could not resist her appeal, and followed 
 them into the little room whose limited dimensions 
 made the tall Orlando look bigger and stronger and 
 more lordly in his self-confidence than ever. 
 
 " I am sorry it is so late," she began, contem- 
 plating his intrusive figure with forced composure. 
 ' We have to be very quiet in the evenings so as not 
 to disturb your brother's first sleep which is of great 
 importance to him." 
 
 ' Then I'm not to see him to-night? " 
 
 " I pray you to wait. He's he's been a very 
 sick man."
 
 DO YOU KNOW MY BROTHER 255 
 
 " Dangerously so? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Orlando continued to regard her with a peculiar 
 awakening gaze, showing, Mr. Challoner thought, 
 more interest in her than in his brother, and when 
 he spoke it was mechanically and as if in sole obedi- 
 ence to the proprieties of the occasion. 
 
 " I did not know he was ill till very lately. His 
 last letter was a cheerful one, and I supposed that 
 all was right till chance revealed the truth. I came 
 on at once. I was intending to come anyway. I 
 have business here, as you probably know, Miss 
 Scott." 
 
 She shook her head. " I know very little about 
 business," said she. 
 
 " My brother has not told you why he expected 
 me?" 
 
 " He has not even told me that he expected you." 
 
 " No? " The word was highly expressive; there 
 was surprise in it and a touch of wonder, but more 
 than all, satisfaction. " Oswald was always close- 
 mouthed," he declared. " It's a good fault; I'm 
 obliged to the boy." 
 
 These last words were uttered with a lightness 
 which imposed upon his two highly agitated hearers, 
 causing Mr. Challoner to frown and Doris to shrink 
 back in indignation at the man who could indulge in 
 a sportive suggestion in presence of such fears, if not 
 of such memories, as the situation evoked. But to 
 one who knew the strong and self-contained man - 
 to Sweetwater possibly, had he been present, there 
 was in this very attempt in his quiet manner and
 
 256 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 in the strange and fitful flash of his ordinarily quick, 
 eye, that which showed he was labouring and had 
 been labouring almost from his first entrance, under 
 an excitement of thought and feeling which in one 
 of his powerfully organised nature must end and 
 that soon in an outburst of mysterious passion which 
 would carry everything before it. But he did not 
 mean that it should happen here. He was too ac- 
 customed to self-command to forget himself in this 
 presence. He would hold these rampant dogs in 
 leash till the hour of solitude ; then a glittering 
 smile twisted his lips as he continued to gaze, first 
 at the girl who had just entered his life, and then at 
 the man he had every reason to distrust, and with 
 that firm restraint upon himself still in full force, 
 remarked, with a courteous inclination: 
 
 " The hour is late for further conversation. I 
 have a room at the hotel and will return to it at once. 
 In the morning I hope to see my brother." 
 
 He was going, Doris not knowing what to say, Mr. 
 Challoner not desirous of detaining him, when there 
 came the sound of a little tinkle from the other side 
 of the hall, blanching the young girl's cheeks and 
 causing Orlando Brotherson's brows to rise in peculiar 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " My brother? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes," came in faltering reply. " He has heard 
 our voices; I must go to him." 
 
 " Say that Orlando wishes him a good night," 
 smiled her heart's enemy, with a bow of infinite grace. 
 
 She shuddered, and was hastening from the room 
 when her glance fell on Mr. Challoner. He was
 
 DO YOU KNOW MY BROTHER 257 
 
 pale and looked greatly disturbed. The prospect of 
 being left alone with a man whom she had herself 
 denounced to him as his daughter's murderer, might 
 prove a tax to his strength to which she had no right 
 to subject him. Pausing with an appealing air, she 
 made him a slight gesture which he at once under- 
 stood. 
 
 " I will accompany you into the hall," said he. 
 ' Then if anything is wrong, you have but to speak 
 my name." 
 
 But Orlando Brotherson, displeased by this move, 
 took a step which brought him between the two. 
 
 " You can hear her from here if she chooses to 
 speak. There's a point to be settled between us be- 
 fore either of us leaves this house, and this oppor- 
 tunity is as good as another. Go to my brother, 
 Miss Scott; we will await your return." 
 
 A flash from the proud banker's eye; but no de- 
 mur, rather a gesture of consent. Doris, with a look 
 of deep anxiety, sped away, and the two men stood 
 face to face. 
 
 It was one of those moments which men recognise 
 as memorable. What had the one to say or the other 
 to hear, worthy of this preamble and the more than 
 doubtful relation in which they stood each to each? 
 Mr. Challoner had more time than he expected in 
 which to wonder and gird himself for whatever suffer- 
 ing or shock awaited him. For, Orlando Brother- 
 son, unlike his usual self, kept him waiting while he 
 collected his own wits, which, strange to say, seemed 
 to have vanished with the girl. 
 
 But the question finally came.
 
 25 8 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 " Mr. Challoner, do you know my brother? " 
 
 " I have never seen him." 
 
 " Do you know him? Does he know you? " 
 
 " Not at all. We are strangers." 
 
 It was said honestly. They did not know each 
 other. Mr. Challoner was quite correct in his state- 
 ment. 
 
 But the other had his doubts. Why shouldn't he 
 have? The coincidence of finding this mourner if 
 not avenger of Edith Challoner, in his own direct 
 radius again, at a spot so distant, so obscure and so 
 disconnected with any apparent business reason, was 
 certainly startling enough unless the tie could be 
 found in his brother's name and close relationship 
 to himself. 
 
 He, therefore, allowed himself to press the ques- 
 tion: 
 
 " Men sometimes correspond who do not know 
 each other. You knew that a Brotherson lived 
 here?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And hoped to learn something about me " 
 
 "No; my interest was solely with your brother." 
 
 "With my brother? With Oswald? What in- 
 terest can you have in him apart from me ? Oswald 
 is" 
 
 Suddenly a thought came an unimaginable one; 
 one with power to blanch even his hardy cheek and 
 shake a soul unassailable by all small emotions. 
 
 "Oswald Brotherson!" he repeated; adding in 
 unintelligible tones to himself " O. B. The same 
 initials ! They are following up these initials. Poor
 
 DO YOU KNOW MY BROTHER 259 
 
 Oswald." Then aloud : " It hardly becomes me, 
 perhaps, to question your motives in this attempt at 
 making my brother's acquaintance. I think I can 
 guess them; but your labour will be wasted. Os- 
 wald's interests do not extend beyond this town; they 
 hardly extend to me. We are strangers, almost. 
 You will learn nothing from him on the subject which 
 naturally engrosses you." 
 
 Mr. Challoner simply bowed. " I do not feel 
 called upon," said he, " to explain my reasons for 
 wishing to know your brother. I will simply satisfy 
 you upon a point which may well rouse your curiosity. 
 You remember that that my daughter's last act 
 was the writing of a letter to a little protegee of hers. 
 Miss Scott was that protegee. In seeking her, I 
 came upon him. Do you require me to say more 
 on this subject? Wait till I have seen Mr. Oswald 
 Brotherson and then perhaps I can do so." 
 
 Receiving no answer to this, Mr. Challoner turned 
 again to the man who was the object of his deepest 
 suspicions, to find him still in the daze of that unim- 
 aginable thought, battling with it, scoffing at it, suc- 
 cumbing to it and all without a word. Mr. Chal- 
 loner was without clew to this struggle, but the might 
 of it and the mystery of it, drove him in extreme agi- 
 tation from the room. Though proof was lacking, 
 though proof might never come, nothing could ever 
 alter his belief from this moment on that Doris was 
 right in her estimate of this man's guilt, however un- 
 substantial her reasoning might appear. 
 
 How far he might have been carried by this new 
 conviction; whether he would have left the house
 
 2 6o INITIALS ONLY 
 
 without seeing Doris again or exchanging another 
 word with the man whose very presence stifled him, 
 he had no opportunity to show, for before he had 
 taken another step, he encountered the hurrying 
 figure of Doris, who was returning to her guests with 
 an air of marked relief. 
 
 " He does not know that you are here," she 
 whispered to Mr. Challoner, as she passed him. 
 Then, as she again confronted Orlando who hastened 
 to dismiss his trouble at her approach, she said quite 
 gaily, " Mr. Brotherson heard your voice, and is 
 glad to know that you're here. He bade me give 
 you this key and say that you would have found 
 things in better shape if he had been in condition to 
 superintend the removal of the boxes to the place he 
 had prepared for you before he became ill. I was the 
 one to do that," she added, controlling her aversion 
 with manifest effort. " When Mr. Brotherson came 
 to himself he asked if I had heard about any large 
 boxes having arrived at the station shipped to his 
 name. I said that several notices of such had come 
 to the house. At which he requested me to see that 
 they were carried at once to the strange looking shed 
 he had had put up for him in the woods. I thought 
 that they were for him, and I saw to the thing my- 
 self. Two or three others have come since and been 
 taken to the same place. I think you will find noth- 
 ing broken or disturbed; Mr. Brotherson's wishes 
 are usually respected." 
 
 ' That is fortunate for me," was the courteous re- 
 ply. 
 
 But Orlando Brotherson was not himself, not at all
 
 DO YOU KNOW MY BROTHER 261 
 
 himself as he bowed a formal adieu and withdrew 
 past the drawn-up sentinel-like figure of Mr. Chal- 
 loner, without a motion on his part or on the part of 
 that gentleman to lighten an exit which had some- 
 thing in it of doom and dread presage.
 
 XXX 
 
 CHAOS 
 
 IT is not difficult to understand Mr. Challoner's feel- 
 ings or even those of Doris at the moment of Mr. 
 Brotherson's departure. But why this change in 
 Brotherson himself? Why this sense of something 
 new and terrible rising between him and the suddenly 
 beclouded future? Let us follow him to his lonely 
 hotel-room and see if we can solve the puzzle. 
 
 But first, does he understand his own trouble ? He 
 does not seem to. For when, his hat thrown aside, 
 he stops, erect and frowning under the flaring gas- 
 jet he had no recollection of lighting, his first act was 
 to lift his hand to his head in a gesture of surprising 
 helplessness for him, while snatches of broken 
 sentences fell from his lips among which could be 
 heard: 
 
 'What has come to me? Undone in an hour! 
 Doubly undone ! First by a face and then by this 
 thought which surely the devils have whispered to me. 
 Mr. Challoner and Oswald! What is the link be- 
 tween them? Great God! what is the link? Not 
 myself? Who then or what? " 
 
 Flinging himself into a chair, he buried his face 
 in his hands. There were two demons to fight 
 the first in the guise of an angel. Doris ! Unknown 
 yesterday, unknown an hour ago; but now! Had 
 there ever been a day an hour when she had 
 
 262
 
 CHAOS 263 
 
 not been as the very throb of his heart, the light of 
 his eyes, and the crown of all imaginable blisses? 
 
 He was startled at his own emotion as he con- 
 templated her image in his fancy and listened for 
 the lost echo of the few words she had spoken 
 words so full of music when they referred to his 
 brother, so hard and cold when she simply addressed 
 himself. 
 
 This was no passing admiration of youth for a 
 captivating woman. This was not even the love he 
 had given to Edith Challoner. This was something 
 springing full-born out of nothing ! a force which, 
 for the first time in his life, made him complaisant to 
 the natural weaknesses of man! a dream and yet a 
 reality strong enough to blot out the past, remake 
 the present, change the aspect of all his hopes, and 
 outline a new fate. He did not know himself. 
 There was nothing in his whole history to give him 
 an understanding of such feelings as these. 
 
 Can a man be seized as it were by the hair, and 
 swung up on the slopes of paradise or down the 
 steeps of hell without a forewarning, without the 
 chance even to say whether he wished such a 
 cataclysm in his life or no? 
 
 He, Orlando Brotherson, had never thought much 
 of love. Science had been his mistress; ambition his 
 lode-star. Such feeling as he had acknowledged to 
 had been for men struggling men, men who were 
 down-trodden and gasping in the narrow bounds of 
 poverty and helplessness. Miss Challoner had 
 roused well, his pride. He could see that now. 
 The might of this new emotion made plain many
 
 264 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 things he had passed by as useless, puerile, unworthy 
 of a man of mental calibre and might He had 
 never loved Edith Challoner at any moment of their 
 acquaintanceship, though he had been sincere in think- 
 ing that he did. Doris' beauty, the hour he had just 
 passed with her, had undeceived him. 
 
 Did he hail the experience? It was not likely to 
 bring him joy. This young girl whose image floated 
 in light before his eyes, would never love him. She 
 loved his brother. He had heard their names 
 mentioned together before he had been in town an 
 hour. Oswald, the cleverest man, Doris, the most 
 beautiful girl in Western Pennsylvania. 
 
 He had accepted the gossip then; he had not seen 
 her and it all seemed very natural ; hardly worth a 
 moment's thought. But now! 
 
 And here, the other Demon sprang erect and grap- 
 pled with him before the first one had let go his hold. 
 Oswald and Challoner ! The secret, unknown 
 something which had softened J:hat hard man's eye 
 when his brother's name was mentioned ! He had 
 noted it and realised the mystery; a mystery before 
 which sleep and rest must fly ; a mystery to which he 
 must now give his thought, whatever the cost, what- 
 ever the loss to those heavenly dreams the magic of 
 which was so new it seemed to envelope him in the 
 balm of Paradise. Away, then, image of light ! Let 
 the faculties thou hast dazed, act again. There is 
 more than Fate's caprice in Challoner's interest in a 
 man he never saw. Ghosts of old memories rise and 
 demand a hearing. Facts, trivial and commonplace 
 enough to have been lost in oblivion with the day
 
 CHAOS 265 
 
 which gave them birth, throng again from the past, 
 proving that nought dies without a possibility of 
 resurrection. Their power over this brooding man 
 is shown by the force with which his fingers crush 
 against his bowed forehead. Oswald and Challoner ! 
 Had he found the connecting link? Had it been 
 could it have been Edith f The preposterous is some- 
 times true; could it be true in this case? 
 
 He recalled the letters read to him as hers in that 
 room of his in Brooklyn. He had hardly noted them 
 then, he was so sure of their being forgeries, gotten 
 up by the police to mislead him. Could they have 
 been real, the effusions of her mind, the breathings of 
 her heart, directed to an actual O. B., and that O. B., 
 his brother? They had not been meant for him. 
 He had read enough of the mawkish lines to be sure 
 of that. None of the allusions fitted in with the facts 
 of their mutual intercourse. But they might with 
 those of another man; they might with the possible 
 acts and affections of Oswald whose temperament 
 was wholly different from his and who might have 
 loved her, should it ever be shown that they had met 
 and known each other. And this was not an impos- 
 sibility. Oswald had been east, Oswald had even 
 been in the Berkshires before himself. Oswald - 
 AVhy it was Oswald who had suggested that he should 
 go there go where she still was. Why this second 
 coincidence, if there were no tie if the Challoners 
 and Oswald were as far apart as they seemed and as 
 conventionalities would naturally place them. Os- 
 wald was a sentimentalist, but very reserved about his 
 sentimentalities. If these suppositions were true, he
 
 266 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 had had a sentimentalist's motive for what he did. 
 As Orlando realised this, he rose from his seat, 
 aghast at the possibilities confronting him from this 
 line of thought. Should he contemplate them? 
 Risk his reason by dwelling on a supposition which 
 might have no foundation in fact? No. His brain 
 was too full his purposes too important for any 
 unnecessary strain to be put upon his faculties. No 
 thinking! investigation first. Mr. Challoner should 
 be able to settle this question. He would see him. 
 Even at this late hour he ought to be able to find him 
 in one of the rooms below; and, by the force of an ir- 
 resistible demand, learn in a moment whether he had 
 to do with a mere chimera of his own overwrought 
 fancy, or with a fact which would call into play all 
 the resources of an hitherto unconquered and un- 
 daunted nature. 
 
 There was a wood-fire burning in the sitting-room 
 that night, and around it was grouped a number of 
 men with their papers and pipes. Mr. Brotherson, 
 entering, naturally looked that way for the man he 
 was in search of, and was disappointed not to find 
 him there; but on casting his glances elsewhere, he 
 was relieved to see him standing in one of the windows 
 overlooking the street. His back was to the room 
 and he seemed to be lost in a fit of abstraction. 
 
 As. Orlando crossed to him, he had time to observe 
 how much whiter was this man's head than in the 
 last interview he had held with him in the coroner's 
 office in New York. But this evidence of grief in one 
 with whom he had little, if anything, in common, 
 neither touched his feelings nor deterred his step.
 
 CHAOS 267 
 
 The awakening of his heart to new and profound emo- 
 tions had not softened him towards the sufferings of 
 others if those others stood without the pale he had 
 previously raised as the legitimate boundary of a just 
 man's sympathies. 
 
 He was, as I have said, an extraordinary specimen 
 of manly vigour in body and in mind, and his presence 
 in any company always attracted attention and roused, 
 if it never satisfied, curiosity. Conversation accord- 
 ingly ceased as he strode up to Mr. Challoner's side, 
 so that his words were quite audible as he addressed 
 that gentleman with a somewhat curt: 
 
 ' You see me again, Mr. Challoner. May I beg 
 of you a few minutes' further conversation? I will 
 not detain you long." 
 
 The grey head turned, and the many eyes watch- 
 ing showed surprise at the expression of dislike and 
 repulsion with which this New York gentleman met 
 the request thus emphatically urged. But his answer 
 was courteous enough. If Mr. Brotherson knew a 
 place where they would be left undisturbed, he would 
 listen to him if he would be very brief. 
 
 For reply, the other pointed to a small room quite 
 unoccupied which opened cut of the one in which they 
 then stood. Mr. Challoner bowed and in an other 
 moment the door closed upon them, to the infinite dis- 
 appointment of the men about the hearth. 
 
 "What do you wish to ask?" was Mr. Chal- 
 loner's immediate inquiry. 
 
 " This. I make no apologies and expect in answer 
 nothing more than an unequivocal yes or no. You 
 tell me that you have never met my brother. Can
 
 268 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 that be said of the other members of your family 
 of your deceased daughter, in fact? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "She was acquainted with Oswald Brotherson?" 
 
 " She was." 
 
 "Without your knowledge? 
 
 " Entirely so." 
 
 " Corresponded with him? " 
 
 " Not exactly." 
 
 "How, not exactly?" 
 
 " He wrote to her occasionally. She wrote to 
 him frequently but she never sent her letters." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 The exclamation was sharp, short and conveyed lit- 
 tle. Yet with its escape, the whole scaffolding of 
 this man's hold upon life and his own fate went down 
 in indistinguishable chaos. Mr. Challoner realised 
 a sense of havoc, though the eyes bent upon his 
 countenance had not wavered, nor the stalwart figure 
 moved. 
 
 " I have read some of those letters," the inventor 
 finally acknowledged. " The police took great pains 
 to place them under my eye, supposing them to have 
 been meant for me because of the initials written on 
 the wrapper. But they were meant for Oswald. 
 You believe that now? " 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 " And that is why I found you in the same house 
 with him." 
 
 " It is. Providence has robbed me of my 
 daughter; if this brother of yours should prove to 
 be the man I am led to expect, I shall ask him to
 
 CHAOS 269 
 
 take that place in my heart and life which was 
 once hers." 
 
 A quick recoil, a smothered exclamation on the part 
 of the man he addressed. A barb had been hidden 
 in this simple statement which had reached some 
 deeply-hidden but vulnerable spot in Brotherson's 
 breast, which had never been pierced before. His 
 eye which alone seemed alive, still rested piercingly 
 upon that of Mr. Challoner, but its light was fast 
 fading, and speedily became lost in a dimness in 
 which the other seemed to see extinguished the last 
 upflaring embers of those inner fires which feed the 
 aspiring soul. It was a sight no man could see un- 
 moved. Mr. Challoner turned sharply away, in 
 dread of the abyss which the next word he uttered 
 might open between them. 
 
 But Orlando Brotherson possessed resources of 
 strength of which, possibly, he was not aware himself. 
 When Mr. Challoner, still more affected by the 
 silence than by the dread I have mentioned, turned 
 to confront him again, it was to find his features com- 
 posed and his glance clear. He had conquered all 
 outward manifestation of the mysterious emotion 
 which for an instant had laid his proud spirit low. 
 
 " You are considerate of my brother," were the 
 words with which he re-opened this painful conversa- 
 tion. ' You will not find your confidence misplaced. 
 Oswald is a straightforward fellow, of few faults." 
 
 " I believe it. No man can be so universally be- 
 loved without some very substantial claims to regard. 
 I am glad to see that your opinion, though given some- 
 what coldly, coincides with that of his friends."
 
 270 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 " I am not given to exaggeration," was the even 
 reply. 
 
 The flush which had come into Mr. Challoner's 
 cheek under the effort he had made to sustain with un- 
 flinching heroism this interview with the man he 
 looked upon as his mortal enemy, slowly faded out 
 till he looked the wraith of himself even to the un- 
 sympathetic eyes of Orlando Brotherson. A duty lay 
 before him which would tax to its utmost extent his 
 already greatly weakened self-control. Nothing 
 which had yet passed showed that this man realised 
 the fact that Oswald had been kept in ignorance of 
 Miss Challoner's death. If these brothers were to 
 meet on the morrow, it must be with the full under- 
 standing that this especial topic was to be completely 
 avoided. But in what words could he urge such a 
 request upon this man? None suggested themselves, 
 yet he had promised Miss Scott that he would ensure 
 his silence in this regard, and it was with this difficulty 
 and no other he had been struggling when Mr. 
 Brotherson came upon him in the other room. 
 
 " You have still something to say," suggested the 
 latter, as an oppressive silence swallowed up that icy 
 sentence I have already recorded. 
 
 " I have," returned Mr. Challoner, regaining his 
 courage under the exigencies of the moment. " Miss 
 Scott is very anxious to have your promise that you 
 will avoid all disagreeable topics with your brother 
 till the doctor pronounces him strong enough to meet 
 the trouble which awaits him." 
 
 " You mean " 
 
 " He is not as unhappy as we. He knows nothing
 
 CHAOS 271 
 
 of the affliction which has befallen him. He was 
 taken ill " The rest was almost inaudible. 
 
 But Orlando Brotherson had no difficulty in under- 
 standing him, and for the second time in this extraor- 
 dinary interview, he gave evidences of agitation 
 and of a mind shaken from its equipoise. But only 
 for an instant. He did not shun the other's gaze 
 or even maintain more than a momentary silence. 
 Indeed, he found strength to smile, in a curious, sar- 
 donic way, as he said : 
 
 " Do you think I should be apt to broach this 
 subject with any one, let alone with him, whose con- 
 nection with it I shall need days to realise? I'm not 
 so given to gossip. Besides, he and I have other 
 topics of interest. I have an invention ready with 
 which I propose to experiment in a place he has 
 already prepared for me. We can talk about 
 that." 
 
 The irony, the hardy self-possession with which 
 this was said struck Mr. Challoner to the heart. 
 Without a word he wheeled about towards the door. 
 Without a word, Brotherson stood, watching him go 
 till he saw his hand fall on the knob when he quietly 
 prevented his exit by saying: 
 
 " Unhappy truths cannot be long concealed. 
 How soon does the doctor think my brother can 
 bear these inevitable revelations?" 
 
 " He said this morning that if his patient were as 
 well to-morrow as his present condition gives promise 
 of, he might be told in another week." 
 
 Orlando bowed his appreciation of this fact, but 
 added quickly:
 
 272 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 " Who is to do the telling?" 
 
 " Doris. Nobody else could be trusted with so 
 delicate a task." 
 
 " I wish to be present." 
 
 Mr. Challoner looked up, surprised at the feeling 
 with which this request was charged. 
 
 "As his brother his only remaining relative, 
 I have that right. Do you think that Dor that 
 Miss Scott, can be trusted not to forestall that mo- 
 ment by any previous hint of what awaits him? " 
 
 " If she so promises. But will you exact this 
 from her? It surely cannot be necessary for me to 
 say that your presence will add infinitely to the diffi- 
 culty of her task." 
 
 " Yet it is a duty I cannot shirk. I will consult 
 the doctor about it. I will make him see that I 
 both understand and shall insist upon my rights in 
 this matter. But you may tell Miss Doris that I 
 will sit out of sight, and that I shall not obtrude my- 
 self unless my name is brought up in an undesirable 
 way." 
 
 The hand on the door-knob made a sudden move- 
 ment. 
 
 " Mr. Brotherson, I can bear no more to-night. 
 With your permission, I will leave this question to be 
 settled by others." And with a repetition of his 
 former bow, the bereaved father withdrew. 
 
 Orlando watched him till the door closed, then he 
 too dropped his mask. 
 
 But it was on again, when in a little while he 
 passed through the sitting-room on his way upstairs.
 
 CHAOS 273 
 
 No other day in his whole life had been like this 
 to the hardy inventor; for in it both his heart and his 
 conscience had been awakened, and up to this hour he 
 had not really known that he possessed either.
 
 XXXI 
 
 WHAT IS HE MAKING 
 
 OTHER boxes addressed to O. Brotherson had been 
 received at the station, and carried to the mysterious 
 shed in the woods; and now, with locked door and 
 lifted top, the elder brother contemplated his stores 
 and prepared himself for work. 
 
 He had been allowed a short interview with Os- 
 wald, and he had indulged himself in a few words 
 with Doris. But he had left those memories behind 
 with other and more serious matters. Nothing that 
 could unnerve his hand or weaken his insight should 
 enter this spot sacred to his great hope. Here 
 genius reigned. Here he was himself wholly and 
 without flaw; a Titan with his grasp on a mechan- 
 ical idea by means of which he would soon rule the 
 world. 
 
 Not so happy were the other characters in this 
 drama. Oswald's thoughts, disturbed for a short 
 time by the somewhat constrained interview he had 
 held with his brother, had flown eastward again, in 
 silent love and longing; while Doris, with a double 
 dread now in her heart, went about her daily tasks, 
 praying for strength to endure the horrors of this 
 week, without betraying the anxieties secretly devour- 
 ing her. And she was only seventeen and quite alone 
 in her trouble. She must bear it all unassisted 
 and smile, which she did with heavenly sweetness, 
 
 274
 
 WHAT IS HE MAKING 275 
 
 when the magic threshold was passed and she stood in 
 her invalid's presence, overshadowed though it ever 
 was by the great Dread. 
 
 And Mr. Challoner? Let those endless walks of 
 his through the woods and over the hills tell his story 
 if they can; or his rapidly whitening hair, and lag- 
 ging step. He had been a strong man before his 
 trouble, and had the stroke which laid him low been 
 limited to one quick, sharp blow he might have risen 
 above it after a while and been ready to encounter 
 life again. But this long drawn out misery was 
 proving too much for him. The sight of Brother- 
 son, though they never really met, acted like acid 
 upon a wound, and it was not till six days had passed 
 and the dreaded Sunday was at hand, that he slept 
 with any sense of rest or went his way about the town 
 without that halting at the corners which betrayed his 
 perpetual apprehension of a most undesirable en- 
 counter. 
 
 The reason for this change will be apparent in 'he 
 short conversation he held with a man he had come 
 upon one evening in the small park just beyond the 
 workmen's dwellings. 
 
 " You see I am here," was the stranger's low 
 greeting. 
 
 " Thank God," was Mr. Challoner's reply. " I 
 could not have faced to-morrow alone and I doubt 
 if Miss Scott could have found the requisite courage. 
 Does she know that you are here? " 
 
 " I stopped at her door." 
 
 "Was that safe?" 
 
 " I think so. Mr. Brotherson the Brooklyn
 
 276 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 one, is up in his shed. He sleeps there now, I am 
 told, and soundly too I've no doubt." 
 
 " What is he making? " 
 
 " What half the inventors on both sides of the 
 water are engaged upon just now. A monoplane, or 
 a biplane, or some machine for carrying men through 
 the air. I know, for I helped him with it. But 
 you'll find that if he succeeds in this undertaking, and 
 I believe he will, nothing short of fame awaits him. 
 His invention has startling points. But I'm not go- 
 ing to give them away. I'll be true enough to him 
 for that. As an inventor he has my sympathy; but 
 Well, we will see what we shall see, to-morrow. 
 You say that he is bound to be present when Miss 
 Scott relates her tragic story. He won't be the only 
 unseen listener. I've made my own arrangements 
 with Miss Scott. If he feels the need of watching 
 her and his brother Oswald, I feel the need of watch- 
 ing him." 
 
 ' You take a burden of intolerable weight from 
 my shoulders. Now I shall feel easier about that 
 interview. But I should like to ask you this: Do 
 you feel justified in this continued surveillance of a 
 man who has so frequently, and with such evident sin- 
 cerity, declared his innocence? " 
 
 " I do that. If he's as guiltless as he says he is, 
 my watchfulness won't hurt him. If he's not, then, 
 Mr. Challoner, I've but one duty; to match his 
 strength with my patience. That man is the one 
 great mystery of the day, and mysteries call for so- 
 lution. At least, that's the way a detective looks 
 at it."
 
 WHAT IS HE MAKING 277 
 
 " May Heaven help your efforts ! " 
 
 " I shall need its assistance," was the dry re- 
 joinder. Sweetwater was by no means blind to the 
 difficulties awaiting him.
 
 XXXII 
 
 TELL ME, TELL IT ALL 
 
 THE day was a grey one, the first of the kind in 
 weeks. As Doris stepped into the room where Os- 
 wald sat, she felt how much a ray of sunshine would 
 have encouraged her and yet how truly these leaden 
 skies and this dismal atmosphere expressed the gloom 
 which soon must fall upon this hopeful, smiling man. 
 
 He smiled because any man must smile at the en- 
 trance of so lovely a woman, but it was an abstracted 
 smile, and Doris, seeing it, felt her courage falter for 
 a moment, though her steps did not, nor her steady 
 compassionate gaze. Advancing slowly, and not an- 
 swering because she did not hear some casual re- 
 mark of his, she took her stand by his side and then 
 slowly and with her eyes on his face, sank down upon 
 her knees, still without speaking, almost without 
 breathing. 
 
 His astonishment was evident, for her air was 
 strange and full of presage, as, indeed, she had 
 meant it to be. But he remained as silent as she, 
 only reached out his emaciated hand and, laying it 
 on her head, smiled again but this time far from ab- 
 stractedly. Then, as he saw her cheeks pale in ter- 
 ror of the task before her, he ventured to ask gently : 
 
 "What is the matter, child? So weary, eh? 
 Nothing worse than that, I hope." 
 
 "Are you quite strong this morning? Strong 
 278
 
 TELL ME, TELL IT ALL 279 
 
 enough to listen to my troubles ; strong enough to bear 
 your own if God sees fit to send them? " came hesi- 
 tatingly from her lips as she watched the effect of 
 each word, in breathless anxiety. 
 
 'Troubles? There can be but one trouble for 
 me," was his unexpected reply. " That I do not 
 fear will not fear in my hour of happy recovery. 
 So long as Edith is well Doris ! Doris 1 You 
 alarm me. Edith is not ill ; not ill ? " 
 
 The poor child could not answer save with her 
 sympathetic look and halting, tremulous breath; and 
 these signs, he would not, could not read, his own 
 words had made such an echo in his ears. 
 
 " 111! I cannot imagine Edith ill. I always see 
 her in my thoughts, as I saw her on that day of our 
 first meeting; a perfect, animated woman with the 
 joyous look of a glad, harmonious nature. Noth- 
 ing has ever clouded that vision. If she were ill I 
 would have known it. We are so truly one that 
 Doris, Doris, you do not speak. You know the depth 
 of my love, the terror of my thoughts. Is Edith 
 ill?" 
 
 The eyes gazing wildly into his, slowly left his face 
 and raised themselves aloft, with a sublime look. 
 Would he understand? Yes, he understood, and the 
 cry which rang from his lips stopped for a moment 
 the beating of more than one heart in that little cot- 
 tage. 
 
 " Dead ! " he shrieked out, and fell back fainting 
 in his chair, his lips still murmuring in semi-uncon- 
 sciousness, " Dead ! dead ! " 
 
 Doris sprang to her feet, thinking of nothing but
 
 2 8o INITIALS ONLY 
 
 his wavering, slipping life till she saw his breath re- 
 turn, his eyes refill with light. Then the horror of 
 what was yet to come the answer which must be 
 given to the how she saw trembling on his lips, 
 caused her to sink again upon her knees in an uncon- 
 scious appeal for strength. If that one sad revela- 
 tion had been all ! 
 
 But the rest must be told; his brother exacted it 
 and so did the situation. Further waiting, further 
 hiding of the truth would be insupportable after this. 
 But oh, the bitterness of it! No wonder that she 
 turned away from those frenzied, wildly-demanding 
 eyes. 
 
 "Doris?" 
 
 She trembled and looked behind her. She had not 
 recognised his voice. Had another entered? Had 
 his brother dared No, they were alone; seemingly 
 so, that is. She knew, no one better that they 
 were not really alone, that witnesses were within hear- 
 ing, if not within sight. 
 
 " Doris," he urged again, and this time she turned 
 in his direction and gazed, aghast. If the voice were 
 strange, what of the face which now confronted her. 
 The ravages of sickness had been marked, but they 
 were nothing to those made in an instant by a blasting 
 grief. She was startled, although expecting much, 
 and could only press his hands while she waited for 
 the question he was gathering strength to utter. It 
 was simple when it came; just two words: 
 
 "How long?" 
 
 She answered them as simply. 
 
 " Just as long as you have been ill," said she; then,
 
 TELL ME, TELL IT ALL 281 
 
 with no attempt to break the inevitable shock, she 
 went on: " Miss Challoner was struck dead and you 
 were taken down with typhoid on the self-same day." 
 
 " Struck dead ! Why do you use that word, 
 struck? Struck dead! she, a young woman. Oh, 
 Doris, an accident I My darling has been killed in 
 an accident ! " 
 
 1 They do not call it accident. They call it what 
 it never was. What it never was," she insisted, 
 pressing him back with frightened hands, as he strove 
 to rise. " Miss Challoner was " How nearly the 
 word shot had left her lips. How fiercely above all 
 else, in that harrowing moment had risen the desire 
 to fling the accusation of that word into the ears of 
 him who listened from his secret hiding-place. But 
 she refrained out of compassion for the man she 
 loved, and declared instead, " Miss Challoner died 
 from a wound ; how given, why given, no one knows. 
 I had rather have died myself than have to tell you 
 this. Oh, Mr. Brotherson, speak, sob, do anything 
 but" 
 
 She started back, dropping his hands as she did so. 
 With quick intuition she saw that he must be left to 
 himself if he were to meet this blow without succumb- 
 ing. The body must have freedom if the spirit 
 would not go mad. Conscious, or perhaps not con- 
 scious, of his release from her restraining hand, al- 
 beit profiting by it, he staggered to his feet, murmur- 
 ing that word of doom : " Wound ! wound I my 
 darling died of a wound ! What kind of a wound? " 
 he suddenly thundered out. " I cannot understand 
 what you mean by wound. Make it clear to me.
 
 282 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 Make it clear to me at once. If I must bear this 
 grief, let me know its whole depth. Leave nothing 
 to my imagination or I cannot answer for myself. 
 Tell it all, Doris." 
 
 And Doris told him : 
 
 " She was on the mezzanine floor of the hotel 
 where she lives. She was seemingly happy and had 
 been writing a letter a letter to me which they 
 never forwarded. There was no one else by but some 
 strangers good people whom one must believe. 
 She was crossing the floor when suddenly she threw 
 up her hands and fell. A thin, narrow paper-cutter 
 was in her grasp; and it flew into the lobby. Some 
 say she struck herself with that cutter; for when they 
 picked her up they found a wound in her breast which 
 that cutter might have made." 
 
 "Edith? never!" 
 
 The words were chokingly said; he was swaying, 
 almost falling, but he steadied himself. 
 
 " Who says that? " he asked. 
 
 " It was the coroner's verdict." 
 
 " And she died that way died? " 
 
 " Immediately." 
 
 " After writing to you? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What was in that letter? " 
 
 " Nothing of threat, they say. Only just cheer 
 and expressions of hope. Just like the others, Mr. 
 Brotherson." 
 
 "And they accuse her of taking her own life? 
 Their verdict is a lie. They did not know her." 
 Then, after some moments of wild and confused feel-
 
 TELL ME, TELL IT ALL 283 
 
 ing, he declared, with a desperate effort at self-con- 
 trol : ' You said that some believe this. Then 
 there must be others who do not. What do they 
 say?" 
 
 " Nothing. They simply feel as you do. They 
 see no reason for the act and no evidence of her 
 having meditated it. Her father and her friends 
 insist besides, that she was incapable of such a hor- 
 ror. The mystery of it is killing us all; me above 
 others, for I've had to show you a cheerful face, with 
 my brain reeling and my heart like lead in my 
 bosom." 
 
 She held out her hands. She tried to draw his 
 attention to herself; not from any sentiment of ego- 
 tism, but to break, if she could, the strain of these in- 
 supportable horrors where so short a time before 
 Hope sang and Life revelled in re-awakened joys. 
 
 Perhaps some faint realisation of this reached him, 
 for presently he caught her by the hands and bowed 
 his head upon her shoulder and finally let her seat him 
 again, before he said: 
 
 " Do they know of of my interest in this? " 
 
 " Yes; they know about the two O. B.s." 
 
 "The two " He was on his feet again, but 
 only for a moment; his weakness was greater than 
 his will power. 
 
 " Orlando and Oswald Brotherson," she ex- 
 plained, in answer to his broken appeal. * Your 
 brother wrote letters to her as well as you, and signed 
 them just as you did, with his initials only. These 
 letters were found in her desk, and he was supposed, 
 for a time, to have been the author of all that were
 
 284 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 so signed. But they found out the difference after 
 awhile. Yours were easily recognised after they 
 learned there was another O. B. who loved her." 
 
 The words were plain enough, but the stricken 
 listener did not take them in. They carried no mean- 
 ing to him. How should they? The very idea she 
 sought to impress upon him by this seemingly care- 
 less allusion was an incredible one. She found it her 
 dreadful task to tell him the hard, bare truth. 
 
 " Your brother," said she, " was devoted to Miss 
 Challoner, too. He even wanted to marry her. I 
 cannot keep back this fact. It is known everywhere, 
 and by everybody but you." 
 
 " Orlando? " His lips took an ironical curve, as 
 he uttered the word. This was a young girl's im- 
 aginative fancy to him. ' Why Orlando never knew 
 her, never saw her, never " 
 
 " He met her at Lenox." 
 
 The name produced its effect. He stared, made 
 an effort to think, repeated Lenox over to himself; 
 then suddenly lost his hold upon the idea which that 
 word suggested, struggled again for it, seized it in 
 an instant of madness and shouted out : 
 
 ' Yes, yes, I remember. I sent him there " and 
 paused, his mind blank again. 
 
 Poor Doris, frightened to her very soul, looked 
 blindly about for help ; but she did not quit his side ; 
 she did not dare to, for his lips had reopened; the 
 continuity of his thoughts had returned; he was going 
 to speak. 
 
 " I sent him there." The words came in a sort of 
 shout. " I was so hungry to hear of her and I
 
 TELL ME, TELL IT ALL 285 
 
 thought he might mention her in his letter. Insane I 
 insane ! He saw her and What's that you said 
 about his loving her? He couldn't have loved her; 
 he's not of the loving sort. They've deceived you 
 with strange tales. They've deceived the whole 
 world with fancies and mad dreams. He may have 
 admired her, but loved her, no! or if he had, he 
 would have respected my claims." 
 
 u He did not know them." 
 
 A laugh; a laugh which paled Doris' cheek; then 
 his tones grew even again, memory came back and 
 he muttered faintly: 
 
 " That is true. I said nothing to him. He had 
 the right to court her and he did, you say; wrote 
 to her; imposed himself upon her, drove her mad 
 with importunities she was forced to rebuke; and 
 and what else? There is something else. Tell me; 
 I will know it all." 
 
 He was standing now, his feebleness all gone, 
 passion in every lineament and his eye alive and fev- 
 erish, with emotion. " Tell me," he repeated, with 
 unrestrained vehemence. " Tell me all. Kill me 
 with sorrow but save me from being unjust." 
 
 "He wrote her a letter; it frightened her. He 
 followed it up by a visit " 
 
 Doris paused ; the sentence hung suspended. She 
 had heard a step a hand on the door. 
 
 Orlando had entered the room.
 
 XXXIII 
 
 ALONE 
 
 OSWALD had heard nothing, seen nothing. But he 
 took note of Doris' silence, and turning towards her 
 in frenzy saw what had happened, and so was in a 
 measure prepared for the stern, short sentence which 
 now rang through the room : 
 
 ' Wait, Miss Scott! you tell the story badly. Let 
 him listen to me. From my mouth only shall he hear 
 the stern and seemingly unnatural part I played in 
 this family tragedy." 
 
 The face of Oswald hardened. Those pliant 
 features beloved for their gracious kindliness 
 set themselves in lines which altered them almost 
 beyond recognition; but his voice was not without 
 some of its natural sweetness, as, after a long and 
 hollow look at the other's composed countenance, he 
 abruptly exclaimed: 
 
 "Speak! I am bound to listen; you are my 
 brother." 
 
 Orlando turned towards Doris. She was slipping 
 away. 
 
 " Don't go," said he. 
 
 But she was gone. 
 
 Slowly he turned back. 
 
 Oswald raised his hand and checked the words 
 with which he would have begun his story. 
 
 286
 
 ALONE 287 
 
 " Never mind the beginnings," said he. " Doris 
 has told all that. You saw Miss Challoner in Lenox 
 admired her offered yourself to her and after- 
 wards wrote her a threatening letter because she re- 
 jected you." 
 
 " It is true. Other men have followed just such 
 unworthy impulses and been ashamed and sorry 
 afterwards. I was sorry and I was ashamed, and as 
 soon as my first anger was over went to tell her so. 
 But she mistook my purpose and " 
 
 "And what?" ' 
 
 Orlando hesitated. Even his iron nature trem- 
 bled before the misery he saw a misery he was 
 destined to augment rather than soothe. With pains 
 altogether out of keeping with his character, he 
 sought in the recesses of his darkened mind for 
 words less bitter and less abrupt than those which 
 sprang involuntarily to his lips. But he did not find 
 them. Though he pitied his brother and wished to 
 show that he did, nothing but the stern language 
 suitable to the stern fact he wished to impart, would 
 leave his lips. 
 
 " And ended the pitiful struggle of the moment 
 with one quick, unpremeditated blow," was what he 
 said. " There is no other explanation possible for 
 this act, Oswald. Bitter as it is for me to acknowl- 
 edge it, I am thus far guilty of this beloved woman's 
 death. But, as God hears me, from the moment I 
 first saw her, to the moment I saw her last, I did not 
 know, nor did I for a moment dream that she was 
 anything to you or to any other man of my stamp and
 
 288 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 station. I thought she despised my country birth, 
 my mechanical attempts, my lack of aristocratic pre- 
 tensions and traditions." 
 
 "Edith?" 
 
 " Now that I know she had other reasons for her 
 contempt that the words she wrote were in rebuke 
 to the brother rather than to the man, I feel my guilt 
 and deplore my anger. I cannot say more. I 
 should but insult your grief by any lengthy expres- 
 sions of regret and sorrow." 
 
 A groan of intolerable anguish from the sick 
 man's lips, and then the quick thrust of his re-awak- 
 ened intelligence rising superior to the overthrow of 
 all his hopes. 
 
 " For a woman of Edith's principle to seek death 
 in a moment of desperation, the provocation must 
 have been very great. Tell me if I'm to hate you 
 through life yea through all eternity or if I 
 must seek in some unimaginable failure of my own 
 character or conduct the cause of her intolerable de- 
 spair." 1 
 
 " Oswald ! " The tone was controlling, and yet 
 that of one strong man to another. " Is it for us to 
 read the heart of any woman, least of all of a woman 
 of her susceptibilities and keen inner life? The 
 wish to end all comes to some natures like a lightning 
 flash from a clear sky. It comes, it goes, often 
 without leaving a sign. But if a weapon chances to 
 be near (here it was in hand) then death fol- 
 lows the impulse which, given an instant of thought, 
 would have vanished in a back sweep of other emo- 
 tions. Chance was the real accessory to this death
 
 ALONE 289 
 
 by suicide. Oswald, let us realise it as such and ac- 
 cept our sorrow as a mutual burden and turn to 
 what remains to us of life and labour. Work is 
 grief's only consolation. Then let us work." 
 
 But of all this Oswald had caught but the one 
 word. 
 
 " Chance? " he repeated. " Orlando, I believe in 
 God." 
 
 ' Then seek your comfort there. I find it in 
 harnessing the winds; in forcing the powers of na- 
 ture to do my bidding." 
 
 The other did not speak, and the silence grew 
 heavy. It was broken, when it was broken, by a 
 cry from Oswald: 
 
 " No more," said he, " no more." Then, in a 
 yearning accent, " Send Doris to me." 
 
 Orlando started. This name coming so close 
 upon that word comfort produced a strange effect 
 upon him. But another look at Oswald and he was 
 ready to do his bidding. The bitter ordeal was 
 over; let him have his solace if it was in her power 
 to give it to him. 
 
 Orlando, upon leaving his brother's room, did not 
 stop to deliver that brother's message directly to 
 Doris; he left this for Truda to do, and retired im- 
 mediately to his hangar in the woods. Locking 
 himself in, he slightly raised the roof and then sat 
 down before the car which was rapidly taking on 
 shape and assuming that individuality and appear- 
 ance of sentient life which hitherto he had only seen 
 in dreams. But his eye, which had never failed to 
 kindle at this sight before, shone dully in the semi-
 
 290 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 gloom. The air-car could wait; he would first have 
 his hour in this solitude of his own making. The 
 gaze he dreaded, the words from which he shrank 
 could not penetrate here. He might even shout her 
 name aloud, and only these windowless walls would 
 respond. He was alone with his past, his present and 
 his future. 
 
 Alone ! 
 
 He needed to be. The strongest must pause when 
 the precipice yawns before him. The gulf can be 
 spanned; he feels himself forceful enough for that; 
 but his eyes must take their measurement of it first; 
 he must know its depths and possible dangers. Only 
 a fool would ignore these steeps of jagged rock; and 
 he was no fool, only a man to whom the unexpected 
 had happened, a man who had seen his way clear to 
 the horizon and then had come up against this! 
 Love, when he thought such folly dead! Remorse, 
 when Glory called for the quiet mind and heart ! 
 
 He recognised its mordant fang, and knew that 
 its ravages, though only just begun, would last his 
 lifetime. Nothing could stop them now, nothing, 
 nothing. And he laughed, as the thought went 
 home; laughed at the irony of fate and its inexor- 
 ableness; laughed at his own defeat and his nearness 
 to a barred Paradise. Oswald loved Edith, loved 
 her yet, with a flame time would take long to quench, 
 Doris loved Oswald and he Doris; and not one of 
 them would ever attain the delights each was so 
 fitted to enjoy. Why shouldn't he laugh? What 
 is left to man but mockery when all props fall? Dis-
 
 ALONE 291 
 
 appointment was the universal lot; and it should go 
 merrily with him if he must take his turn at it. But 
 here the strong spirit of the man re-asserted itself; 
 it should be but a turn. A man's joys are not 
 bounded by his loves or even by the satisfaction of a 
 perfectly untrammelled mind. Performance makes 
 a world of its own for the capable and the strong, 
 and this was still left to him. He, Orlando Broth- 
 erson, despair while his great work lay unfinished! 
 That would be to lay stress on the inevitable pains 
 and fears of commonplace humanity. He was not 
 of that ilk. Intellect was his god; ambition his mo- 
 tive power. What would this casual blight upon his 
 supreme contentment be to him, when with the wings 
 of his air-car spread, he should spurn the earth and 
 soar into the heaven of fame simultaneously with his 
 flight into the open. 
 
 He could wait for that hour. He had measured 
 the gulf before him and found it passable. Hence- 
 forth no looking back. 
 
 Rising, he stood for a moment gazing, with an 
 alert eye now, upon such sections of his car as had 
 not yet been fitted into their places; then he bent for- 
 ward to his work, and soon the lips which had ut- 
 tered that sardonic laugh a few minutes before, 
 parted in gentler fashion, and song took the place 
 of curses a ballad of love and fondest truth. But 
 Orlando never knew what he sang. He had the 
 gift and used it. 
 
 Would his tones, however, have rung out with 
 quite so mellow a sweetness had he seen the restless
 
 292 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 figure even then circling his retreat with eyes dart- 
 ing accusation and arms lifted towards him in wild 
 but impotent threat? 
 
 Yes, I think they would ; for he knew that the man 
 who thus expressed his helplessness along with his 
 convictions, was no nearer the end he had set himself 
 to attain than on the day he first betrayed his sus- 
 picions.
 
 XXXIV 
 
 THE rfTJT CHANGES ITS NAME 
 
 THAT night Oswald was taken very ill. For three 
 days his life hung in the balance, then youth and 
 healthy living triumphed over shock and bereave- 
 ment, and he came slowly back to his sad and crip- 
 pled existence. 
 
 He had been conscious for a week or more of his 
 surroundings, and of his bitter sorrows as well, when 
 one morning he asked Doris whose face it was he 
 had seen bending over him so often during the last 
 week: "Have you a new doctor? A man with 
 white hair and a comforting smile? Or have I 
 dreamed this face? I have had so many fancies 
 this might easily be one of them." 
 
 " No, it is not a fancy," was the quiet reply. 
 " Nor is it the face of a doctor. It is that of a 
 friend. One whose heart is bound up in your re- 
 covery; one for whom you must live, Mr. Brother- 
 
 son." 
 
 " I don't know him, Doris. It's a strange face to 
 me. And yet, it's not altogether strange. Who is 
 this man and why should he care for me so 
 deeply?" 
 
 " Because you share one love and one grief. It 
 is Edith's father whom you see at your bedside. He 
 has helped to nurse you ever since you came down this 
 second time." 
 
 293
 
 294 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 "Edith's father! Doris, it cannot be. Edith's 
 father! " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Challoner has been in Derby for the 
 last two weeks. He has only one interest now; to 
 see you well again." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Doris caught the note of pain, if not suspicion, in 
 this query, and smiled as she asked in turn: 
 
 " Shall he answer that question himself? He is 
 waiting to come in. Not to talk. You need not 
 fear his talking. He's as quiet as any man I ever 
 saw." 
 
 The sick man closed his eyes, and Doris watch- 
 ing, saw the flush rise to his emaciated cheek, then 
 slowly fade away again to a pallor that frightened 
 her. Had she injured where she would heal? Had 
 she pressed too suddenly and too hard on the ever 
 gaping wound in her invalid's breast? She gasped 
 in terror at the thought, then she faintly smiled, for 
 his eyes had opened again and showed a calm deter- 
 mination as he said: 
 
 " I should like to see him. I should like him to 
 answer the question I have just put you. I should 
 rest easier and get well faster or not get well at 
 all." 
 
 This latter he half whispered, and Doris, tripping 
 from the room may not have heard it, for her face 
 showed no further shadow as she ushered in Mr. 
 Challoner, and closed the door behind him. She 
 had looked forward to this moment for days. To 
 Oswald, however, it was an unexpected excitement 
 and his voice trembled with something more than
 
 THE HUT CHANGES ITS NAME 295 
 
 physical weakness as he greeted his visitor and 
 thanked him for his attentions. 
 
 44 Doris says that you have shown me this kind- 
 ness from the desire you have to see me well again, 
 Mr. Challoner. Is this true?" 
 
 4 Very true. I cannot emphasise the fact too 
 strongly." 
 
 Oswald's eyes met his again, this time with great 
 earnestness. 
 
 ' You must have serious reasons for feeling so 
 reasons which I do not quite understand. May I 
 ask why you place such value upon a life which, if 
 ever useful to itself or others, has lost and lost for- 
 ever, the one delight which gave it meaning? " 
 
 It was for Mr. Challoner's voice to tremble now, 
 as reaching out his hand, he declared, with unmis- 
 takable feeling: 
 
 " I have no son. I have no interest left in life, 
 outside this room and the possibilities it contains for 
 me. Your attachment to my daughter has created 
 a bond between us, Mr. Brotherson, which I sin- 
 cerely hope to see recognised by you." 
 
 Startled and deeply moved, the young man 
 stretched out a shaking hand towards his visitor, 
 with the feeble but exulting cry: 
 
 " Then you do not blame me for her wretched 
 and mysterious death. You hold me guiltless of 
 the misery which nerved her despairing arm? " 
 
 " Quite guiltless." 
 
 Oswald's wan and pinched features took on a 
 beautiful expression and Mr. Challoner no longer 
 wondered at his daughter's choice.
 
 296 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 ' Thank God ! " fell from the sick man's lips, 
 and then there was a silence during which their two 
 hands met. 
 
 It was some minutes before either spoke and then 
 it was Oswald who said: 
 
 " I must confide to you certain facts. I hon- 
 oured your daughter and realised her position fully. 
 Our plight was never made in words, nor should I 
 have presumed to advance any claim to her hand if 
 I had not made good my expectations, Mr. Chal- 
 loner. I meant to win both her regard and yours 
 by acts, not words. I felt that I had a great deal 
 to do and I was prepared to work and wait. I 
 loved her " He turned away his head and the 
 silence which filled up the gap, united those two 
 hearts, as the old and young are seldom united. 
 
 But when a little later, Mr. Challoner rejoined 
 Doris, in her little sitting-room, he nevertheless 
 showed a perplexity she had hoped to see removed 
 by this understanding with the younger Brotherson. 
 
 The cause became apparent as soon as he spoke. 
 
 " These brothers hold by each other," said he. 
 " Oswald will hear nothing against Orlando. He 
 says that he has redeemed his fault. He does not 
 even protest that his brother's word is to be believed 
 in this matter. He does not seem to think that nec- 
 essary. He evidently regards Orlando's personality 
 as speaking as truly and satisfactorily for itself, as his 
 own does. And I dared not undeceive him." 
 
 " He does not know all our reasons for distrust. 
 He has heard nothing about the poor washer- 
 woman."
 
 THE HUT CHANGES ITS NAME 297 
 
 " No, and he must not, not for weeks. He has 
 borne all that he can." 
 
 " His confidence in his older brother is sublime. 
 I do not share it; but I cannot help but respect him 
 for it." 
 
 It was warmly said, and Mr. Challoner could not 
 forbear casting an anxious look at her upturned face. 
 What he saw there made him turn away with a sigh. 
 
 ' This confidence has for me a very unhappy side," 
 he remarked. " It shows me Oswald's thought. 
 He who loved her best, accepts the cruel verdict of 
 an unreasoning public." 
 
 Doris' large eyes burned with a weird light upon 
 his face. 
 
 " He has not had my dream," she murmured, with 
 all the quiet of an unmoved conviction. 
 
 Yet as the days went by, even her manner changed 
 towards the busy inventor. It was hardly possible 
 for it not to. The high stand he took; the regard 
 accorded him on every side; his talent; his conver- 
 sation, which was an education in itself, and, above 
 all, his absorption in a work daily advancing towards 
 completion, removed him so insensibly and yet so 
 decidedly, from the hideous past of tragedy with 
 which his name, if not his honour, was associated, 
 that, unconsciously to herself, she gradually lost her 
 icy air of repulsion and lent him a more or less at- 
 tentive ear, when he chose to join their small com- 
 pany of an evening. The result was that he turned 
 so bright a side upon her that toleration merged 
 from day to day into admiration and memory lost 
 itself in anticipation of the event which was to prove
 
 298 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 him a man of men, if not one of the world's greatest 
 mechanical geniuses. 
 
 Meantime, Oswald was steadily improving in 
 health, if not in spirits. He had taken his first walk 
 without any unfavourable results, and Orlando de- 
 cided from this that the time had come for an ex- 
 planation of his device and his requirements in re- 
 gard to it. Seated together in Oswald's room, he 
 broached the subject thus: 
 
 " Oswald, what is your idea about what I'm mak- 
 ing up there ? " 
 
 " That it will be a success." 
 
 " I know; but its character, its use? What do you 
 think it is? " 
 
 "I've an idea; but my idea don't fit the condi- 
 tions." 
 
 "How's that?" 
 
 " The shed is too closely hemmed in. You 
 haven't room " 
 
 "For what?" 
 
 " To start an aeroplane." 
 
 " Yet it is certainly a device for flying." 
 
 " I supposed so; but " 
 
 " It is an air-car with a new and valuable idea 
 the idea for which the whole world has been seeking 
 ever since the first aeroplane found its way up from 
 the earth. My car needs no room to start in save 
 that w r hich it occupies. If it did, it would be but 
 the modification of a hundred others." 
 
 "Orlando!" 
 
 As Oswald thus gave expression to his surprise, 
 their two faces were a study: the fire of genius in
 
 THE HUT CHANGES ITS NAME 299 
 
 the one; the light of sympathetic understanding in 
 the other. 
 
 " If this car, now within three days of its comple- 
 tion," Orlando proceeded, " does not rise from the 
 oval .of my hangar like a bird from its nest, and after 
 a wide and circling flight descend again into the self- 
 same spot without any swerving from its direct 
 course, then have I failed in my endeavour and must 
 take a back seat with the rest. But it will not fail. 
 I'm certain of success, Oswald. All I want just now 
 is a t sympathetic helper you, for instance; some 
 one who will aid me with the final fittings and hold 
 his peace to all eternity if the impossible occurs and 
 the thing proves a failure." 
 
 " Have you such pride as that? " 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " So much that you cannot face failure? " 
 
 " Not when attached to my name. You can see 
 how I feel about that by the secrecy I have worked 
 under. No other person living knows what I have 
 just communicated to you. Every part shipped here 
 came from different manufacturing firms; sometimes 
 a part of a part was all I allowed to be made in any 
 one place. My fame, like my ship, must rise with 
 one bound into the air, or it must never rise at all. I 
 was not made for petty accomplishment, or the slow 
 plodding of commonplace minds. I must startle, or 
 remain obscure. That is why I chose this place for 
 my venture, and you for my helper and associate." 
 
 " You want me to ascend with you? " 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 " At the end of three days?"
 
 3 oo INITIALS ONLY 
 
 11 Yes." 
 
 " Orlando, I cannot." 
 
 " You cannot? Not strong enough yet? I'll 
 wait then, three days more." 
 
 " The time's too short. A month is scarcely suffi- 
 cient. It would be folly, such as you never show, to 
 trust a nerve so undermined as mine till time has 
 restored its power. For an enterprise like this you 
 need a man of ready strength and resources ; not one 
 whose condition you might be obliged to consider at 
 a very critical moment." 
 
 Orlando, balked thus at the outset, showed his 
 displeasure. 
 
 " You do not do justice to your will. It is strong 
 enough to carry you through anything." 
 
 " It was." 
 
 " You can force it to act for you." 
 
 " I fear not, Orlando." 
 
 " I counted on you and you thwart me at the most 
 critical moment of my life." 
 
 Oswald smiled; his whole candid and generous na- 
 ture bursting into view, in one quick flash. 
 
 " Perhaps," he assented; " but you will thank me 
 when you realise my weakness. Another man must 
 be found quick, deft, secret, yet honourably alive 
 to the importance of the occasion and your rights as 
 a great original thinker and mechanician." 
 
 " Do you know such a man? " 
 
 " I don't; but there must be many such among 
 our workmen." 
 
 ' There isn't one; and I haven't time to send to 
 Brooklyn. I reckoned on you."
 
 THE HUT CHANGES ITS NAME 301 
 
 " Can you wait a month? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "A fortnight, then?" 
 
 " No, not ten days." 
 
 Oswald looked surprised. He would like to have 
 asked why such precipitation was necessary, but the 
 tone in which this ultimatum was given was of that 
 decisive character which admits of no argument. 
 He, therefore, merely looked his query. But Or- 
 lando was not one to answer looks; besides, he had 
 no reply for the same importunate question urged 
 by his own good sense. He knew that he must 
 make the attempt upon which his future rested soon, 
 and without risk of the sapping influence of length- 
 ened suspense and weeks of waiting. He could hold 
 on to those two demons leagued in attack against 
 him, for a definite seven days, but not for an inde- 
 terminate time. If he were to be saved from folly, 
 from himself events must rush. 
 
 He, therefore, repeated his no, with increased 
 vehemence, adding, as he marked the reproach in his 
 brother's eye, " I cannot wait. The test must be 
 made on Saturday evening next, whatever the condi- 
 tions; whatever the weather. An air-car to be 
 serviceable must be ready to meet lightning and 
 tempest, and what is worse, perhaps, an insufficient 
 crew." Then rising, he exclaimed, with a determi- 
 nation which rendered him majestic, " // help is not 
 forthcoming, I'll do it all myself. Nothing shall 
 hold me back; nothing shall stop me; and when you 
 see me and my car rise above the treetops, you'll feel 
 that I have done what I could to make you forget "
 
 302 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 He did not^ need to continue. Oswald understood 
 and flashed a grateful look his way before saying: 
 
 " You will make the attempt at night? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 "And on Saturday?" 
 
 " I've said it." 
 
 " I will run over in my mind the qualifications of 
 such men as I know and acquaint you with the result 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " There are adjustments to be made. A man of 
 accuracy is necessary." 
 
 " I will remember." 
 
 " And he must be likable. I can do nothing with 
 a man with whom I'm not perfectly in accord." 
 
 " I understand that." 
 
 " Good-night then." A moment of hesitancy, then, 
 " I wish not only yourself but Miss Scott to be pres- 
 ent at this test. Prepare her for the spectacle; but 
 not yet, not till within an hour or two of the occa- 
 sion." 
 
 And with a proud smile in which flashed a sig- 
 nificance which startled Oswald, he gave a hurried 
 nod and turned away. 
 
 When in an hour afterwards, Doris looked in 
 through the open door, she found Oswald sitting with 
 face buried in his hands, thinking so deeply that he 
 did not hear her. He had sat like this, immovable 
 and absorbed, ever since his brother had left him.
 
 XXXV 
 
 SILENCE AND A KNOCK 
 
 OSWALD did not succeed in finding a man to please 
 Orlando. He suggested one person after another 
 to the exacting inventor, but none were satisfactory 
 to him and each in turn was turned down. It is not 
 every one we want to have share a world-wide tri- 
 umph or an ignominious defeat. And the days were 
 passing. 
 
 He had said in a moment of elation, " / will do it 
 alone; " but he knew even then that he could not. 
 Two hands were necessary to start the car; after- 
 wards, he might manage it alone. Descent was even 
 possible, but to give the contrivance its first lift re- 
 quired a second mechanician. Where was he to find 
 one to please him? And what was he to do if he 
 did not? Conquer his prejudices against such men 
 as he had seen, or delay the attempt, as Oswald had 
 suggested, till he could get one of his old cronies on 
 from New York. He could do neither. The ob- 
 stinacy of his nature was such as to offer an invincible 
 barrier against either suggestion. One alternative re- 
 mained. He had heard of women aviators. If 
 Doris could be induced to accompany him into the 
 air, instead of clinging sodden-like to the weight of 
 Oswald's woe, then would the world behold a tri- 
 umph which would dwarf the ecstasy of the bird's 
 flight and rob the eagle of his kingly pride. But 
 
 303
 
 304 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 Doris barely endured him as yet, and the thought 
 was not one to be considered for a moment. Yet 
 what other course remained? He was brooding 
 deeply on the subject, in his hangar one evening 
 (it was Thursday and Saturday was but two days 
 off) when there came a light knock at the door. 
 
 This had never occurred before. He had given 
 strict orders, backed by his brother's authority, that 
 he was never to be intruded upon when in this place ; 
 and though he had sometimes encountered the pry- 
 ing eyes of the curious flashing from behind the 
 trees encircling the hangar, his door had never been 
 approached before, or his privacy encroached upon. 
 He started then, when this low but penetrating 
 sound struck across the turmoil of his thoughts, and 
 cast one look in the direction from which it came; 
 but he did not rise, or even change his position on 
 his workman's stool. 
 
 Then it came again, still low but with an insist- 
 ence which drew his brows together and made his 
 hand fall from the wire he had been unconsciously 
 holding through the mental debate which was ab- 
 sorbing him. Still he made no response, and the 
 knocking continued. Should he ignore it entirely, 
 start up his motor and render himself oblivious to 
 all other sounds? At every other point in his career 
 he would have done this, but an unknown, and as 
 yet unnamed, something had entered his heart dur- 
 ing this fatal month, which made old ways im- 
 possible and oblivion a thing he dared not court too 
 recklessly. Should this be a summons from Doris ! 
 Should (inconceivable idea, yet it seized upon him
 
 SILENCE AND A KNOCK 305 
 
 relentlessly and would not yield for the asking) 
 should it be Doris herself I 
 
 Taking advantage of a momentary cessation of 
 the ceaseless tap tap, he listened. Silence was never 
 profounder than in this forest on that windless night. 
 Earth and air seemed, to his strained ear, emptied 
 of all sound. The clatter of his own steady, un- 
 hastened heart-beat was all that broke upon the still- 
 ness. He might be alone in the Universe for all 
 token of life beyond these walls, or so he was saying 
 to himself, when sharp, quick, sinister, the knock- 
 ing recommenced, demanding admission, insisting 
 upon attention, drawing him against his own will to 
 his feet, and finally, though he made more than one 
 stand against it, to the very door. 
 
 "Who's there?" he asked, imperiously and with 
 some show of anger. 
 
 No answer, but another quiet knock. 
 
 " Speak! or go from my door. No one has the 
 right to intrude here. What is your name and busi- 
 ness?" 
 
 Continued knocking nothing more. 
 
 With an outburst of wrath, which made the han- 
 gar ring, Orlando lifted his fist to answer this ap- 
 peal in his own fierce fashion from his own side of 
 the door, but the impulse paused at fulfilment, and 
 he let his arm fall again in a rush of self-hatred which 
 it would have pained his worst enemy, even little 
 Doris, to witness. As it reached his side, the knock 
 came again. 
 
 It was too much. With an oath, Orlando reached 
 for his key. But before fitting it into the lock, he
 
 306 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 cast a look behind him. The car was in plain sight, 
 filling the central space from floor to roof. A 
 single glance from a stranger's eye, and its principal 
 secret would be a secret no longer. He must not 
 run such a risk. Before he answered this call, he 
 must drop the curtain he had rigged up against such 
 emergencies as these. He had but to pull a cord 
 and a veil would fall before his treasure, concealing 
 it as effectually as an Eastern bride is concealed be- 
 hind her yashmak. 
 
 Stepping to the wall, he drew that cord, then with 
 an impatient sigh, returned to the door. 
 
 Another quiet but insistent knock greeted him. 
 
 In no fury now, but with a vague sense of portent 
 which gave an aspect of farewell to the one quick 
 glance he cast about the well-known spot, he fitted the 
 key in the lock, and stood ready to turn it. 
 
 " I ask again your name and your business," he 
 shouted out in loud command. " Tell them or " 
 He meant to say, " or I do not turn this key." But 
 something withheld the threat. He knew that it 
 would perish in the utterance; that he could not carry 
 it out. He would have to open the door now, re- 
 sponse or no response. " Speak ! " was the word 
 with which he finished his demand. 
 
 A final knock. 
 
 Pulling a pistol from his pocket, with his left 
 hand, he turned the key with his right. 
 
 The door remained unopened. 
 
 Stepping slowly back, he stared at its unpainted 
 boards for a moment, then he spoke up quietly, al- 
 most courteously :
 
 SILENCE AND A KNOCK 307 
 
 " Enter." 
 
 But the command passed unheeded; the latch was 
 not raised, and only the slightest tap was heard. 
 
 With a bound he reached forward and pulled the 
 door open. Then a great silence fell upon him and 
 a rigidity as of the grave seized and stiffened his 
 powerful frame. 
 
 The man confronting him from the darkness was 
 Sweetwater.
 
 XXXVI 
 
 THE MAN WITHIN AND THE MAN WITHOUT 
 
 AN instant of silence, during which the two men 
 eyed each other; then, Sweetwater, with an ironical 
 smile directed towards the pistol lightly remarked: 
 
 " Mr. Challoner and other men at the hotel are 
 acquainted with my purpose and await my return. 
 I have come " here he cast a glowing look at the 
 huge curtain cutting off the greater portion of the 
 illy-lit interior "to offer you my services, Mr. 
 Brotherson. I have no other motive for this in- 
 trusion than to be of use. I am deeply interested in 
 your invention, to the development of which I have 
 already lent some aid, and can bring to the test you 
 propose a sympathetic help which you could hardly 
 find in any other person living." 
 
 The silence which settled down at the completion 
 of these words had a weight which made that of 
 the previous moment seem light and all athrob with 
 sound. The man within had not yet caught his 
 breath; the man without held his, in an anxiety which 
 had little to do with the direction of the weapon, 
 into which he looked. Then an owl hooted far 
 away in the forest, and Orlando, slowly lowering his 
 arm, asked in an oddly constrained tone : 
 
 " How long have you been in town? " 
 
 The answer cut clean through any lingering hope 
 he may have had. 
 
 308
 
 WITHIN AND WITHOUT 309 
 
 " Ever since the day your brother was told the 
 story of his great misfortune." 
 
 " Ah ! still at your old tricks ! I thought you had 
 quit that business as unprofitable." 
 
 " I don't know. I never expect quick returns. 
 He who holds on for a rise sometimes reaps un- 
 looked-for profits." 
 
 The arm and fist of Orlando Brotherson ached to 
 hurl this fellow back into the heart of the midnight 
 woods. 
 
 But they remained quiescent and he spoke instead : 
 
 " I have buried the business. You will never re- 
 suscitate it through me." 
 
 Sweetwater smiled. There was no mirth in his 
 smile though there was lightness in his tone as he 
 said: 
 
 " Then let us go back to the matter in hand. 
 You need a helper; where are you going to find one 
 if you don't take me? " 
 
 A growl from Brotherson's set lips. Never had 
 he looked more dangerous than in the one burning in- 
 stant following this daring repetition of the detect- 
 ive's outrageous request. But as he noted how 
 slight was the figure opposing him from the other 
 side of the threshold, he was swayed by his natural 
 admiration of pluck in the physically weak, and lost 
 his threatening attitude, only to assume one which 
 Sweetwater secretly found it even harder to meet. 
 
 " You are a fool," was the stinging remark he 
 heard flung at him. " Do you want to play the 
 police-officer here and arrest me in mid air? " 
 
 " Mr. Brotherson, you understand me as little
 
 3 io INITIALS ONLY 
 
 as I am supposed to understand you. Humble as my 
 place is in society and, I may add, in the Department 
 whose interests I serve, there are in me two men. 
 One you know passably well the detective whose 
 methods, only indifferently clever show that he has 
 very much to learn. Of the other the workman 
 acquainted with hammer and saw, but with some 
 knowledge too of higher mathematics and the princi- 
 ples upon which great mechanical inventions depend, 
 you know little, and must imagine much. I was play- 
 ing the gawky when I helped you in the old house in 
 Brooklyn. I was interested in your air-ship Oh, 
 I recognised it for what it was, notwithstanding its 
 oddity and lack of ostensible means for flying but 
 I was not caught in the whirl of its idea ; the idea by 
 which you doubtless expect, and with very good rea- 
 son too, to revolutionise the science of aviation. But 
 since then I've been thinking it over, and am so filled 
 with your own hopes that either I must have a hand 
 in the finishing and sailing of the one you have your- 
 self constructed, or go to work myself on the hints 
 you have unconsciously given me, and make a car of 
 my own." 
 
 Audacity often succeeds where subtlier means fail. 
 Orlando, with a curious twist of his strong lip, took 
 hold of the detective's arm and drew him in, shut- 
 ting and locking the door carefully behind him. 
 
 " Now," said he, " you shall tell me what you 
 think you have discovered, to make any ideas of your 
 own available in the manufacture of a superior self- 
 propelling air-ship." 
 
 Sweetwater who had been so violently wheeled
 
 WITHIN AND WITHOUT 311 
 
 about in entering that he stood with his back to the 
 curtain concealing the car, answered without hesita- 
 tion: 
 
 ' You have a device, entirely new so far as I 
 can judge, by which this car can leap at once into 
 space, hold its own in any direction, and alight again 
 upon any given spot without shock to the machine or 
 danger to the people controlling it." 
 
 " Explain the device." 
 
 " I will draw it." 
 
 "You can?" 
 
 " As I see it." 
 
 " As you see it! " 
 
 " Yes. It's a brilliant idea ; I could never have 
 conceived it." 
 
 " You believe " 
 
 " I know." 
 
 " Sit here. Let's see what you know." 
 
 Sweetwater sat down at the table the other pointed 
 out, and drawing forward a piece of paper, took up 
 a pencil with an easy air. Brotherson approached 
 and stood at his shoulder. He had taken up his 
 pistol again, why he hardly knew, and as Sweetwater 
 began his marks, his fingers tightened on its butt 
 till they turned white in the murky lamplight. 
 
 " You see," came in easy tones from the stooping 
 draughtsman, " I have an imagination which only 
 needs a slight fillip from a mind like yours to send 
 it in the desired direction. I shall not draw an 
 exact reproduction of your idea, but I think you 
 will see that I understand it very well. How's that 
 for a start? "
 
 3 i2 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 Brotherson looked and hastily drew back. He 
 did not want the other to note his surprise. 
 
 " But that is a portion you never saw," he loudly 
 declared. 
 
 " No, but I saw this," returned Sweetwater, work- 
 ing busily on some curves; " and these gave me the 
 fillip I mentioned. The rest came easily." 
 
 Brotherson, in dread of his own anger, threw his 
 pistol to the other end of the shed: 
 
 " You knave ! You thief ! " he furiously cried. 
 
 "How so?" asked Sweetwater smilingly, rising 
 and looking him calmly in the face. " A thief is 
 one who appropriates another man's goods, or, let 
 us say, another man's ideas. I have appropriated 
 nothing yet. I've only shown you how easily 
 I could do so. Mr. Brotherson, take me in as your 
 assistant. I will be faithful to you, I swear it. I 
 want to see that machine go up." 
 
 " For how many people have you drawn those 
 lines? " thundered the inexorable voice. 
 
 " For nobody ; not for myself even. This is the first 
 time they have left their hiding-place in my brain." 
 
 " Can you swear to that? " 
 
 " I can and will, if you require it. But you ought 
 to believe my word, sir. I am square as a die in all 
 matters not connected well, not connected with 
 my profession," he smiled in a burst of that whimsi- 
 cal humour, which not even the seriousness of the 
 moment could quite suppress. 
 
 " And what surety have I that you do not con- 
 sider this very matter of mine as coming within the 
 bounds you speak of?"
 
 WITHIN AND WITHOUT 313 
 
 " None. But you must trust me that far." 
 
 Brotherson surveyed him with an irony which con- 
 veyed a very different message to the detective than 
 any he had intended. Then quickly: 
 
 ' To how many have you spoken, dilating upon 
 this device, and publishing abroad my secret? " 
 
 " I have spoken to no one, not even to Mr. Gryce. 
 That shows my honesty as nothing else can." 
 ' You have kept my secret intact? " 
 
 " Entirely so, sir." 
 
 " So that no one, here or elsewhere, shares our 
 knowledge of the new points in this mechanism? " 
 
 " I say so, sir." 
 
 ' Then if I should kill you," came in ferocious 
 accents, " now here " 
 
 ' You would be the only one to own that knowl- 
 edge. But you won't kill me." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Need I go into reasons? " 
 
 "Why? I say." 
 
 " Because your conscience is already too heavily 
 laden to bear the burden of another unprovoked 
 crime." 
 
 Brotherson, starting back, glared with open feroc- 
 ity upon the man who dared to face him with such an 
 accusation. 
 
 " God ! why didn't I shoot you on entrance I " he 
 cried. " Your courage is certainly colossal." 
 
 A fine smile, without even the hint of humour now, 
 touched the daring detective's lip. Brotherson's 
 anger seemed to grow under it, and he loudly re- 
 peated :
 
 3 i4 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 "It's more than colossal; it's abnormal and " 
 A moment's pause, then with ironic pauses " and 
 quite unnecessary save as a matter of display, unless 
 you think you need it to sustain you through the or- 
 deal you are courting. You wish to help me finish 
 and prepare for flight? " 
 
 " I sincerely do." 
 
 " You consider yourself competent? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 Brotherson's eyes fell and he walked once to the 
 extremity of the oval flooring and back. 
 
 " Well, we will grant that. But that's not all 
 that is necessary. My requirements demand a com- 
 panion in my first flight. Will you go up in the car 
 with me on Saturday night? " 
 
 A quick affirmative was on Sweetwater's lips but 
 the glimpse which he got of the speaker's face glower- 
 ing upon him from the shadows into which Brother- 
 son had withdrawn, stopped its utterance, and the 
 silence grew heavy. Though it may not have lasted 
 long by the clock, the instant of breathless contem- 
 plation of each other's features across the interven- 
 ing space was of incalculable moment to Sweetwater, 
 and, possibly, to Brotherson. As drowning men are 
 said to live over their whole history between their 
 first plunge and their final rise to light and air, so 
 through the mind of the detective rushed the memo- 
 ries of his past and the fast fading glories of his 
 future ; and rebelling at the subtle peril he saw in that 
 sardonic eye, he vociferated an impulsive: 
 
 " No! I'll not " and paused, caught by a new 
 and irresistible sensation.
 
 WITHIN AND WITHOUT 315 
 
 A breath of wind the first he had felt that 
 night had swept in through some crevice in the 
 curving wall, flapping the canvas enveloping the 
 great car. It acted like a peal to battle. After all, 
 a man must take some risks in his life, and his heart 
 was in this trial of a redoubtable mechanism in which 
 he had full faith. He could not say no to the pros- 
 pect of being the first to share a triumph which 
 would send his name to the ends of the earth; and, 
 changing the trend of his sentence, he repeated with 
 a calmness which had the force of a great decision: 
 
 " I will not fail you in anything. If she rises " 
 here his trembling hand fell on the curtain shutting 
 off his view of the ship, " she shall take me with her, 
 so that when she descends I may be the first to con- 
 gratulate the proud inventor of such a marvel." 
 
 " So be it! " shot from the other's lips, his eyes 
 losing their threatening look, and his whole counte- 
 nance suddenly aglow with the enthusiasm of 
 awakened genius. 
 
 Coming from the shadows, he laid his hand on the 
 cord regulating the rise and fall of the concealing 
 curtain. 
 
 " Here she is ! " he cried and drew the cord. 
 
 The canvas shook, gathered itself into great folds 
 and disappeared in the shadows from which he had 
 just stepped. 
 
 The air-car stood revealed a startling, because 
 wholly unique, vision. 
 
 Long did Sweetwater survey it, then turning with 
 beaming face upon the watchful inventor, he uttered 
 a loud Hurrah.
 
 3 i6 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 Next moment, with everything forgotten between 
 them save the glories of this invention, both dropped 
 simultaneously to the floor and began that minute 
 examination of the mechanism necessary to their 
 mutual work.
 
 XXXVII 
 
 HIS GREAT HOUR 
 
 SATURDAY night at eight o'clock. 
 
 So the fiat had gone forth, with no concession to 
 be made on account of weather. 
 
 As Oswald came from his supper and took a look 
 at the heavens from the small front porch, he was 
 deeply troubled that Orlando had remained so ob- 
 stinate on this point. For there were ominous clouds 
 rolling up from the east, and the storms in this region 
 of high mountains and abrupt valleys were not light, 
 nor without danger even to those with feet well- 
 planted upon mother earth. 
 
 If the tempest should come up before eight I 
 
 Mr. Challoner, who, from some mysterious im- 
 pulse of bravado on the part of Brotherson, was to 
 be allowed to make the third in this small band of 
 spectators, was equally concerned at this sight, but 
 not for Brotherson. His fears were for Oswald, 
 whose slowly gathering strength could illy bear the 
 strain which this additional anxiety for his brother's 
 life must impose upon him. As for Doris, she was 
 in a state of excitement more connected with the past 
 than with the future. That afternoon she had laid 
 her hand in that of Orlando Brotherson, and wished 
 him well. She I in whose breast still lingered remi- 
 niscences of those old doubts which had beclouded his 
 image for her at their first meeting. She had not 
 
 317
 
 318 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 been able to avoid it. His look was a compelling 
 one, and it had demanded thus much from her; and 
 a terrible thought to her gentle spirit he might 
 be going to his death ! 
 
 It had been settled by the prospective aviator that 
 they were to watch for the ascent from the mouth of 
 the grassy road leading in to the hangar. The three 
 were to meet there at a quarter to eight and await the 
 stroke and the air-car's rise. That time was near, 
 and Mr. Challoner, catching a glimpse of Oswald's 
 pallid and unnaturally drawn features, as he set down 
 the lantern he carried, shuddered with foreboding and 
 wished the hour passed. 
 
 Doris' watchful glance never left the face whose 
 lightest change was more to her than all Orlando's 
 hopes. But the result upon her was not to weaken 
 her resolution, but to strengthen it. Whatever the 
 outcome of the next few minutes, she must stand 
 ready to sustain her invalid through it. That the 
 darkness of early evening had deepened to oppres- 
 sion, was unnoticed for the moment. The fears of 
 an hour past had been forgotten. Their attention 
 was too absorbed in what was going on before them, 
 for even a glance overhead. 
 
 Suddenly Mr. Challoner spoke. 
 
 ' Who is the man whom Mr. Brotherson has asked 
 to go up with him? " 
 
 It was Oswald who answered. 
 
 " He has never told me. He has kept his own 
 counsel about that as about everything else connected 
 with this matter. He simply advised me that I was
 
 HIS GREAT HOUR 319 
 
 not to bother about him any more ; that he had found 
 the assistant he wanted." 
 
 " Such reticence seems unpardonable. You have 
 displayed great patience, Oswald." 
 
 " Because I understand Orlando. He reads men's 
 natures like a book. The man he trusts, we may 
 trust. To-morrow, he will speak openly enough. 
 All cause for reticence will be gone." 
 
 ' You have confidence then in the success of this 
 undertaking? " 
 
 " If I hadn't, I should not be here. I could hardly 
 bear to witness his failure, even in a secret test like 
 this. I should find it too hard to face him after- 
 wards." 
 
 " I don't understand." 
 
 " Orlando has great pride. If this enterprise fails 
 I cannot answer for him. He would be capable of 
 anything. Why, Doris! what is the matter, child? 
 I never saw you look like that before." 
 
 She had been down on her knees regulating the 
 lantern, and the sudden flame, shooting up, had 
 shown him her face turned up towards his in an 
 apprehension which verged on horror. 
 
 " Do I look frightened? " she asked, remembering 
 herself and lightly rising. " I believe that I am a lit- 
 tle frightened. If if anything should go wrong! 
 If an accident " But here she remembered herself 
 again and quickly changed her tone. " But your 
 confidence shall be mine. I will believe in his good 
 angel or or in his self-command and great resolu- 
 tion. I'll not be frightened any more."
 
 320 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 But Oswald did not seem satisfied. He continued 
 to look at her in vague concern. 
 
 He hardly knew what to make of the intense feel- 
 ing she had manifested. Had Orlando touched her 
 girlish heart? Had this cold-blooded nature, with 
 its steel-like brilliancy and honourable but stern views 
 of life, moved this warm and sympathetic soul to 
 more than admiration? The thought disturbed him 
 so he forgot the nearness of the moment they were 
 all awaiting till a quick rasping sound from the han- 
 gar, followed by the sudden appearance of an ever- 
 widening band of light about its upper rim, drew 
 his attention and awakened them all to a breathless 
 expectation. 
 
 The lid was rising. Now it was half-way up, and 
 now, for the first time, it was lifted to its full height 
 and stood a broad oval disc against the background 
 of the forest. The effect was strange. The hangar 
 had been made brilliant by many lamps, and their 
 united glare pouring from its top and illuminating 
 not only the surrounding treetops but the broad face 
 of this uplifted disc, roused in the awed spectator 
 a thrill such as in mythological times might have 
 greeted the sudden sight of Vulcan's smithy blazing 
 on Olympian hills. But the clang of iron on iron 
 would have attended the flash and gleam of those un- 
 expected fires, and here all was still save for that 
 steady throb never heard in Olympus or the halls of 
 Valhalla, the pant of the motor eager for flight in the 
 upper air. 
 
 As they listened in a trance of burning hope which 
 obliterated all else, this noise and all others near
 
 HIS GREAT HOUR 321 
 
 and distant, was suddenly lost in a loud clatter of 
 writhing and twisting boughs which set the forest in 
 a roar and seemed to heave the air about them. 
 
 A wind had swooped down from the east, bending 
 everything before it and rattling the huge oval on 
 which their eyes were fixed as though it would tear it 
 from its hinges. 
 
 The three caught at each other's hands in dismay. 
 The storm had come just on the verge of the enter- 
 prise, and no one might guess the result. 
 
 "Will he dare? Will he dare?" whispered 
 Doris, and Oswald answered, though it seemed next 
 to impossible that he could have heard her : 
 
 " He will dare. But will he survive it? Mr. 
 Challoner," he suddenly shouted in that gentleman's 
 ear, "what time is it now?" 
 
 Mr. Challoner, disengaging himself from their 
 mutual grasp, knelt down by the lantern to consult his 
 watch. 
 
 " One minute to eight," he shouted back. 
 
 The forest was now a pandemonium. Great 
 boughs, split from their parent trunks, fell crashing 
 to the ground in all directions. The scream of the 
 wind roused echoes which repeated themselves, here, 
 there and everywhere. No rain had fallen yet, but 
 the sight of the clouds skurrying pell-mell through 
 the glare thrown up from the shed, created such havoc 
 in the already overstrained minds of the three on- 
 lookers, that they hardly heeded, when with a clat- 
 ter and crash which at another time would have 
 startled them into flight, the swaying oval before them 
 was whirled from its hinges and thrown back against
 
 322 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 the' trees already bending under the onslaught of the 
 tempest. Destruction seemed the natural accompani- 
 ment of the moment, and the only prayer which 
 sprang to Oswald's lips was that the motor whose 
 throb yet lingered in their blood though no longer 
 taken in by the ear, would either refuse to work or 
 prove insufficient to lift the heavy car into this seeth- 
 ing tumult of warring forces. His brother's life 
 hung in the balance against his fame, and he could 
 not but choose life for him. Yet, as the multitudi- 
 nous sounds about him yielded for a moment to that 
 brother's shout, and he knew that the moment had 
 come, which would soon settle all, he found himself 
 staring at the elliptical edge of the hangar, with an 
 anticipation which held in it as much terror as joy, 
 for the end of a great hope or the beginning of a 
 great triumph was compressed into this trembling 
 instant and if 
 
 Great God ! he sees it ! They all see it ! Plainly 
 against that portion of the disc which still lifted itself 
 above the further wall, a curious moving mass ap- 
 pears, lengthens, takes on shape, then shoots sud- 
 denly aloft, clearing the encircling tops of the bend- 
 ing, twisting and tormented trees, straight into the 
 heart of the gale, where for one breathless moment it 
 whirls madly about like a thing distraught, then in 
 slow but triumphant obedience to the master hand 
 that guides it, steadies and mounts majestically up- 
 ward till it is lost to their view in the depths of im- 
 penetrable darkness. 
 
 Orlando Brotherson has accomplished his task. 
 He has invented a mechanism which can send an air-
 
 HIS GREAT HOUR 323 
 
 car straight up from its mooring place. As the three 
 watchers realise this, Oswald utters a cry of triumph, 
 and Doris throws herself into Mr. Challoner's arms. 
 Then they all stand transfixed again, waiting for a 
 descent which may never come. 
 
 But hark! a new sound, mingling its clatter with 
 all the others. It is the rain. Quick, maddening, 
 drenching, it comes; enveloping them in wet in a mo- 
 ment. Can they hold their faces up against it? 
 
 And the wind ! Surely it must toss that aerial mes- 
 senger before it and fling it back to earth, a broken 
 and despised toy. 
 
 " Orlando? " went up in a shriek. " Orlando? " 
 
 Oh, for a ray of light in those far-off heavens! 
 For a lull in the tremendous sounds shivering the 
 heavens and shaking the earth 1 But the tempest 
 rages on, and they can only wait, five minutes, ten 
 minutes, looking, hoping, fearing, without thought of 
 self and almost without thought of each other, till 
 suddenly as it had come, the rain ceases and the wind, 
 with one final wail of rage and defeat, rushes away 
 into the west, leaving behind it a sudden silence which, 
 to their terrified hearts, seems almost more dreadful 
 to bear than the accumulated noises of the moment 
 just gone. 
 
 Orlando was in that shout of natural forces, but he 
 is not in this stillness. They look aloft, but the 
 heavens are void. Emptiness is where life was. Os- 
 wald begins to sway, and Doris, remembering him 
 now and him only, has thrown her strong young arm 
 about him, when What is this sound they hear 
 high up, high up, in the rapidly clearing vault of
 
 3 2 4 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 the heavens 1 A throb a steady pant, drawing 
 near and yet nearer, entering the circlet of great 
 branches over their heads descending, slowly de- 
 scending, till they catch another glimpse of those 
 hazy outlines which had no sooner taken shape than 
 the car disappeared from their sight within the el- 
 liptical wall open to receive it. 
 
 It had survived the gale! It has re-entered its 
 haven, and that, too, without colliding with aught 
 around or any shock to those within, just as Orlando 
 had promised; and the world was henceforth his! 
 Hail to Orlando Brotherson! 
 
 Oswald could hardly restrain his mad joy and en- 
 thusiasm. Bounding to the door separating him 
 from this conqueror of almost invincible forces, he 
 pounded it with impatient fist. 
 
 " Let me in ! " he cried. " You've done the trick, 
 Orlando, you've done the trick." 
 
 ' Yes, I have satisfied myself," came back in 
 studied self-control from the other side of the door; 
 and with a quick turning of the lock, Orlando stood 
 before them. 
 
 They never forgot him as he looked at that mo- 
 ment. He was drenched, battered, palpitating with 
 excitement; but the majesty of success was in his 
 eye and in the bearing of his incomparable figure. 
 
 As Oswald bounded towards him, he reached out 
 his hand, but his glance was for Doris. 
 
 ' Yes," he went on, in tones of suppressed elation, 
 " there's no flaw in my triumph. I have done all that 
 I set out to do. Now " 
 
 Why did he stop and look hurriedly back into the
 
 HIS GREAT HOUR 325 
 
 hangar? He had remembered Sweetwater, Sweet- 
 water, who at that moment was stepping carefully 
 from his seat in some remote portion of the car. 
 The triumph was not complete. He had meant 
 But there his thought stopped. Nothing of evil, 
 nothing even of regret should mar his great hour. 
 He was a conqueror, and it was* for him now to reap 
 the joy of conquest.
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 NIGHT 
 
 THREE days had passed, and Orlando Brotherson sat 
 in his room at the hotel before a table laden with 
 telegrams, letters and marked newspapers. The 
 news of his achievement had gone abroad, and 
 Derby was, for the moment, the centre of interest 
 for two continents. 
 
 His success was an established fact. The second 
 trial which he had made with his car, this time with 
 the whole town gathered together in the streets as 
 witnesses, had proved not only the reliability of its 
 mechanism, but the great advantages which it pos- 
 sessed for a direct flight to any given point. Already 
 he saw Fortune beckoning to him in the shape of an 
 unconditional offer of money from a first-class source ; 
 and better still, for he was a man of untiring 
 energy and boundless resource that opportunity for 
 new and enlarged effort which comes with the recog- 
 nition of one's exceptional powers. 
 
 All this was his and more. A sweeter hope, a 
 more enduring joy had followed hard upon gratified 
 ambition. Doris had smiled on him; Doris! 
 She had caught the contagion of the universal en- 
 thusiasm and had given him her first ungrudging 
 token of approval. It had altered his whole outlook 
 on life in an instant, for there was an eagerness in 
 this demonstration which proclaimed the relieved 
 
 326
 
 NIGHT 327 
 
 heart. She no longer trusted either appearances or 
 her dream. He had succeeded in conquering her 
 doubts by the very force of his personality, and the 
 shadow which had hitherto darkened their intercourse 
 had melted quite away. She was ready to take his 
 word now and Oswald's, after which the rest must 
 follow. Love does not lag far behind an ardent ad- 
 miration. 
 
 Famel Fortune! Love! What more could a 
 man desire? What more could this man, with his 
 strenuous past and an unlimited capacity for an en- 
 larged future, ask from fate than this. Yet, as he 
 bends over his letters, fingering some, but reading 
 none beyond a line or two, he betrays but a passing 
 elation, and hardly lifts his head when a burst of 
 loud acclaim comes ringing up to his window from 
 some ardent passer-by : " Hurrah for Brotherson ! 
 He has put our town on the map ! " 
 
 Why this despondency? Have those two demons 
 seized him again? It would seem so and with new 
 and overmastering fury. After the hour of triumph 
 comes the hour of reckoning. Orlando Brotherson 
 in his hour of proud attainment stands naked before 
 his own soul's tribunal and the pleader is dumb and 
 the judge inexorable. There is but one Witness to 
 such struggles ; but one eye to note the waste and deso- 
 lation of the devastated soul, when the storm is over- 
 past. 
 
 Orlando Brotherson has succumbed; the attack was 
 too keen, his forces too shaken. But as the heavy 
 minutes pass, he slowly re-gathers his strength and 
 rises, in the end, a conqueror. Nevertheless, he
 
 328 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 knows, even in that moment of regained command, 
 that the peace he had thus bought with strain and 
 stress is but momentary; that the battle is on for life : 
 that the days which to other eyes would carry a sense 
 of brilliancy days teeming with work and outward 
 satisfaction would hold within their hidden depths 
 a brooding uncertainty which would rob applause of 
 its music and even overshadow the angel face of Love. 
 
 He quailed at the prospect, materialist though he 
 was. The days the interminable days ! In his 
 unbroken strength and the glare of the noonday sun, 
 he forgot to take account of the nights looming in 
 black and endless procession before him. It was 
 from the day phantom he shrank, and not from the 
 ghoul which works in the darkness and makes a grave 
 of the heart while happier mortals sleep. 
 
 And the former terror seemed formidable enough 
 to him in this his hour of startling realisation, even 
 if he had freed himself for the nonce from its con- 
 trolling power. To escape all further contemplation 
 of it he would work. These letters deserved atten- 
 tion. He would carry them to Oswald, and in their 
 consideration find distraction for the rest of the day, 
 at least. Oswald was a good fellow. If pleasure 
 were to be gotten from these tokens of good-will, 
 he should have his share of it. A gleam of Os- 
 wald's old spirit in Oswald's once bright eye, would 
 go far towards throttling one of those demons whose 
 talons he had just released from his throat; and 
 if Doris responded too, he would deserve his fate, if 
 he did not succeed in gaining that mastery of himself 
 which would make such hours as these but episodes in
 
 NIGHT 329 
 
 a life big with interest and potent with great emo- 
 tions. 
 
 Rising with a resolute air, he made a bundle of his 
 papers and, with them in hand, passed out of his room 
 and down the hotel stairs. 
 
 A man stood directly in his way, as he made for the 
 front door. It was Mr. Challoner. 
 
 Courtesy demanded some show of recognition be- 
 tween them, and Brotherson was passing with his 
 usual cold bow, when a sudden impulse led him to 
 pause and meet the other's eye, with the sarcastic re- 
 mark: 
 
 ' You have expressed, or so I have been tld, some 
 surprise at my choice of mechanician. A man of 
 varied accomplishments, Mr. Challoner, but one for 
 whom I have no further use. If, therefore, you 
 wish to call off your watch-dog, you are at liberty to 
 do so. I hardly think he can be serviceable to either 
 of us much longer." 
 
 The older gentleman hesitated, seeking possibly 
 for composure, and when he answered it was not only 
 without irony but with a certain forced respect : 
 
 " Mr. Sweetwater has just left for New York, Mr. 
 Brotherson. He will carry with him, no doubt, the 
 full particulars of your great success." 
 
 Orlando bowed, this time with distinguished grace. 
 Not a flicker of relief had disturbed the calm serenity 
 of his aspect, yet when a moment later, he stepped 
 among his shouting admirers in the street, his air 
 and glance betrayed a bounding joy for which another 
 source must be found than that of gratified pride. 
 A chain had slipped from his spirit, and though the
 
 330 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 people shrank a little, even while they cheered, it was 
 rather from awe of his bearing and the recognition of 
 that sense of apartness which underlay his smile than 
 from any perception of the man's real nature or of 
 the awesome purpose which at that moment exalted 
 it. But had they known could they have seen into 
 this tumultuous heart what a silence would have 
 settled upon these noisy streets; and in what terror 
 and soul-confusion would each man have slunk away 
 from his fellows into the quiet and solitude of his 
 own home. 
 
 Brotherson himself was not without a sense of the 
 incongruity underlying this ovation ; for, as he slowly 
 worked himself along, the brightness of his look be- 
 came dimmed with a tinge of sarcasm which in its 
 turn gave way to an expression of extreme melan- 
 choly both quite unbefitting the hero of the hour 
 in the first flush of his new-born glory. Had he 
 seen Doris' youthful figure emerge for a moment 
 from the vine-hung porch he was approaching, 
 bringing with it some doubt of the reception awaiting 
 him? Possibly, for he made a stand before he 
 reached the house, and sent his followers back; after 
 which he advanced with an unhurrying step, so that 
 several minutes elapsed before he finally drew up be- 
 fore Mr. Scott's door and entered through the now 
 empty porch into his brother's sitting-room. 
 
 He had meant to see Doris first, but his mind had 
 changed. If all passed off well between himself and 
 Oswald, if he found his brother responsive and wide- 
 awake to the interests and necessities of the hour, 
 he might forego his interview with her till he felt
 
 NIQHT 331 
 
 better prepared to meet it. For call it cowardice or 
 simply a reasonable precaution, any delay seemed 
 preferable to him in his present mood of discourage- 
 ment, to that final casting of the die upon which hung 
 so many and such tremendous issues. It was the first 
 moment of real halt in his whole tumultuous life! 
 Never, as daring experimentalist or agitator, had he 
 shrunk from danger seen or unseen or from threat 
 uttered or unuttered, as he shrank from this young 
 girl's no; and something of the dread he had felt lest 
 he should encounter her unaware in the hall and so 
 be led on to speak when his own judgment bade him 
 be silent, darkened his features as he entered his 
 brother's presence. 
 
 But Oswald was sunk in a bitter revery of his own, 
 and took no heed of these signs of depression. In 
 the re-action following these days of great excitement, 
 the past had re-asserted itself, and all was gloom in 
 his once generous soul. This, Orlando had time to 
 perceive, quick as the change came when his brother 
 really realised who his visitor was. The glad " Or- 
 lando! " and the forced smile did not deceive him, 
 and his voice quavered a trifle as he held out his 
 packet with the words: 
 
 " I have come to show you what the world says 
 of my invention. We will soon be great men," he 
 emphasised, as Oswald opened the letters. " Money 
 has been offered me and Read! read! " he urged, 
 with an unconscious dictatorialness, as Oswald paused 
 in his task. " See what the fates have prepared for 
 us; for you shall share all my honours, as you will 
 from this day share my work and enter into all my
 
 332 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 experiments. Cannot you enthuse a little bit over 
 it? Doesn't the prospect contain any allurement for 
 you? Would you rather stay locked up in this 
 petty town " 
 
 "Yes; or die. Don't look like that, Orlando. 
 It was a cowardly speech and I ask your pardon. 
 I'm hardly fit to talk to-day. Edith " 
 
 Orlando frowned. 
 
 " Not that name ! " he harshly interrupted. 
 " You must not hamper your life with useless memo- 
 ries. That dream of yours may be sacred, but it be- 
 longs to the past, and a great reality confronts you. 
 When you have fully recovered your health, your own 
 manhood will rebel at a weakness unworthy one of 
 our name. Rouse yourself, Oswald. Take ac- 
 count of our prospects. Give me your hand and say, 
 ' Life holds something for me yet. I have a brother 
 who needs me if I do not need him. Together, we 
 can prove ourselves invincible and wrench fame and 
 fortune from the world.' ' 
 
 But the hand he reached for did not rise at his 
 command, though Oswald started erect and faced him 
 with manly earnestness. 
 
 " I should have to think long and deeply," he said, 
 " before I took upon myself responsibilities like these. 
 I am broken in mind and heart, Orlando, and must 
 remain so till God mercifully delivers me. I should 
 be a poor assistant to you a drag, rather than a 
 help. Deeply as I deplore it, hard as it may be for 
 one of your temperament to understand so complete 
 an overthrow, I yet must acknowledge my condition 
 and pray you not to count upon me in any plans you
 
 333 
 
 may form. I know hov/ this looks I know that 
 as your brother and truest admirer, I should respond, 
 and respond strongly, to such overtures as these, but 
 the motive for achievement is gone. She was my 
 all ; and while I might work, it would be mechanically. 
 The lift, the elevating thought is gone." 
 
 Orlando stood a moment studying his brother's 
 face; then he turned shortly about and walked the 
 length of the room. When he came back, he took 
 up his stand again directly before Oswald, and asked, 
 with a new note in his voice: 
 
 " Did you love Edith Challoner so much as that? " 
 
 A glance from Oswald's eye, sadder than any tear. 
 
 " So that you cannot be reconciled? " 
 
 A gesture. Oswald's words were always few. 
 
 Orlando's frown deepened. 
 
 " Such grief I partly understand," said he. " But 
 time will cure it. Some day another lovely face " 
 
 " We'll not talk of that, Orlando." 
 
 " No, we'll not talk of that," acquiesced the in- 
 ventor, walking away again, this time to the window. 
 "For you there's but one woman; and she's a 
 memory." 
 
 " Killed 1 " broke from his brother's lips. " Slain 
 by her own hand under an impulse of wildness and 
 terror! Can I ever forget that? Do not expect it, 
 Orlando." 
 
 " Then you do blame me? " Orlando turned and 
 was looking full at Oswald. 
 
 " I blame your unreasonableness and your over- 
 weening pride." 
 
 Orlando stood a moment, then moved towards the
 
 334 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 door. The heaviness of his step smote upon Os- 
 wald's ear and caused him to exclaim : 
 
 " Forgive me, Orlando." But the other cut him 
 short with an imperative : 
 
 " Thanks for your candour! If her spirit is des- 
 tined to stand like an immovable shadow between 
 you and me, you do right to warn me. But this in- 
 terview must end all allusion to the subject. I will 
 seek and find another man to share my fortunes; 
 (as he said this he approached suddenly, and took 
 his papers from the other's hand) or " Here he 
 hastily retraced his steps to the door which he softly 
 opened. " Or " he repeated But though Oswald 
 listened for the rest, it did not come. While he 
 waited, the other had given him one deeply concen- 
 trated look and passed out. 
 
 No heartfelt understanding was possible between 
 these two men. 
 
 Crossing the hall, Orlando knocked at the door of 
 Doris' little sitting-room. 
 
 No answer, yet she was there. He knew it in 
 every throbbing fibre of his body. She was there and 
 quite aware of his presence; of this he felt sure; yet 
 she did not bid him enter. Should he knock again? 
 Never! but he would not quit the threshold, not if 
 she kept him waiting there for hours. Perhaps she 
 realised this. Perhaps she had meant to open the 
 door to him from the very first, who can tell ? What 
 avails is that she did ultimately open it, and he, meet- 
 ing her soft eye, wished from his very heart that his 
 impulse had led him another way, even if that way 
 had been to the edge of the precipice and over.
 
 NIGHT 335 
 
 For the face he looked upon was serene, and there 
 was no serenity in him; rather a confusion of un- 
 loosed passions fearful of barrier and yearning tu- 
 multuously for freedom. But, whatever his revolt, 
 the secret revolt which makes no show in look or 
 movement, he kept his ground and forced a smile of 
 greeting. If her face was quiet, it was also lovely; 
 
 too lovely, he felt, for a man to leave it, whatever 
 might come of his lingering. 
 
 Nothing in all his life had ever affected him like it. 
 For him there was no other woman in the past, the 
 present or the future, and, realising this taking in 
 to the full what her affection and her trust might be 
 to him in those fearsome days to come, he so dreaded 
 a rebuff he, who had been the courted of women 
 and the admired of men ever since he could remem- 
 ber, that he failed to respond to her welcome and 
 the simple congratulations she felt forced to repeat. 
 He could neither speak the commonplace, nor listen 
 to it. This was his crucial hour. He must find sup- 
 port here, or yield hopelessly to the maelstrom in 
 whose whirl he was caught. 
 
 She saw his excitement and faltered back a step 
 
 a move which she regretted the next minute, for 
 he took advantage of it to enter and close behind 
 him the door which she would never have shut of 
 her own accord. Then he spoke, abruptly, passion- 
 ately, but in those golden tones which no emotion 
 could render other than alluring: 
 
 " I am an unhappy man, Miss Scott. I see that 
 my presence here is not welcome, yet am sure that it 
 would be so if it were not for a prejudice which your
 
 336 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 generous nature should be the first to cast aside, in 
 face of the outspoken confidence of my brother Os- 
 wald. Doris, little Doris, I love you. I have loved 
 you from the moment of our first meeting. Not to 
 many men is it given to find his heart so late, and 
 when he does, it is for his whole life; no second pas- 
 sion can follow it. I know that I am premature in 
 saying this; that you are not prepared to hear such 
 words from me and that it might be wiser for me to 
 withhold them, but I must leave Derby soon, and I 
 cannot go until I know whether there is the least 
 hope that you will yet lend a light to my career 
 or whether that career must burn itself to ashes at 
 your feet. Oswald nay, hear me out Oswald 
 lives in his memories; but I must have an active hope 
 a tangible expectation if I am to be the man I 
 was meant to be. Will you, then, coldly dismiss me, 
 or will you let my whole future life prove to you the 
 innocence of my past? I will not hasten anything; 
 all I ask is some indulgence. Time will do the rest." 
 
 " Impossible," she murmured. 
 
 But that was a word for which he had no ear. He 
 saw that she was moved, unexpectedly so; that while 
 her eyes wandered restlessly at times towards the 
 door, they ever came back in girlish wonder, if not 
 fascination, to his face, emboldening him so that he 
 ventured at last, to add : 
 
 " Doris, little Doris, I will teach you a marvellous 
 lesson, if you will only turn your dainty ear my 
 way. Love such as mine carries infinite treasure 
 with it. Will you have that treasure heaped, piled 
 before your feet? Your lips say no, but your eyes
 
 NIGHT 337 
 
 the truest eyes I ever saw whisper a different 
 language. The day will come when you will find 
 your joy in the breast of him you are now afraid to 
 trust." And not waiting for disclaimer or even a 
 glance of reproach from the eyes he had so wilfully 
 misread, he withdrew with a movement as abrupt as 
 that with which he had entered. 
 
 Why, then, with the memory of this exultant hour 
 to fend off all shadows, did the midnight find him in 
 his solitary hangar in the moonlit woods, a deeply 
 desponding figure again. Beside him, swung the 
 huge machine which represented a life of power and 
 luxury; but he no longer saw it. It called to him 
 with many a creak and quiet snap, sounds to start 
 his blood and fire his eye a week nay, a day ago. 
 But he was deaf to this music now; the call went un- 
 heeded; the future had no further meaning for him, 
 nor did he know or think whether he sat in light or in 
 darkness; whether the woods were silent about him, 
 or panting with life and sound. His demon had 
 gripped him again and the final battle was on. There 
 would never be another. Mighty as he felt himself 
 to be, there were limits even to his capacity for en- 
 durance. He could sustain no further conflict. How 
 then would it end? He never had a doubt himself I 
 Yet he sat there. 
 
 Around him in the forest, the night owls screeched 
 and innumerable small things without a name, skur- 
 ried from lair to lair. 
 
 He heard them not. 
 
 Above, the moon rode, flecking the deepest shad- 
 ows with the silver from her half-turned urn, but
 
 338 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 none of the soft and healing drops fell upon him. 
 Nature was no longer a goddess, but an avenger; 
 light a revealer, not a solace. Darkness the only 
 boon. 
 
 Nor had time a meaning. From early eve to early 
 morn he sat there and knew not if it were one hour 
 or twelve. Earth was his no longer. He roused, 
 when the sun made everything light about him, but 
 he did not think about it. He rose, but was not con- 
 scious that he rose. He unlocked the door and 
 stepped out into the forest; but he could never re- 
 member doing this. He only knew later that he 
 had been in the woods and now was in his room at 
 the hotel; all the rest was phantasmagoria, agony 
 and defeat. 
 
 He had crossed the Rubicon of this world's hopes 
 and fears, but he had been unconscious of the pas- 
 sage.
 
 XXXIX 
 
 THE AVENGER 
 
 " Dear Mr. C hall oner: 
 
 " With every apology for the intrusion, may I request 
 a few minutes of private conversation with you this evening 
 at seven o'clock? Let it be in your own room. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 " ORLANDO BROTH ERSON." 
 
 Mr. Challoner had been called upon to face many 
 difficult and heartrending duties since the blow which 
 had desolated his home fell upon him. 
 
 But from none of them had he shrunk as he did 
 from the interview thus demanded. He had sup- 
 posed himself rid of this man. He had dismissed 
 him from his life when he had dismissed Sweetwater. 
 His face, accordingly, wore anything but a propitia- 
 tory look, when promptly at the hour of seven, Or- 
 lando Brotherson entered his apartments. 
 
 His pleasure or his displeasure was, however, a 
 matter of small consequence to his self-invited visitor. 
 He had come there with a set purpose, and nothing in 
 heaven or earth could deter him from it now. De- 
 clining the offer of a seat, with the slightest of ac- 
 knowledgements in the way of a bow, he took a care- 
 ful survey of the room before saying: 
 
 " Are we alone, Mr. Challoner, or is that man 
 Sweetwater lurking somewhere within hearing?" 
 
 " Mr. Sweetwater is gone, as I had the honour of 
 
 339
 
 340 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 telling you yesterday," was the somewhat stiff reply. 
 " There are no witnesses to this conference, if that is 
 what you wish to know." 
 
 ' Thank you, but you will pardon my insistence if 
 I request the privilege of closing that door." He 
 pointed to the one communicating with the bedroom. 
 " The information I have to give you is not such as I 
 am willing to have shared, at least for the present." 
 
 ' You may close the door," said Mr. Challoner 
 coldly. " But is it necessary for you to give me the 
 information you mention, to-night? If it is of such a 
 nature that you cannot accord me the privilege of 
 sharing it, as yet, with others, why not spare me till 
 you can? I have gone through much, Mr. Brother- 
 son." 
 
 ' You have," came in steady assent as the man 
 thus addressed stepped to the door he had indicated 
 and quietly closed it. " But," he continued, as he 
 crossed back to his former position, " would it be 
 easier for you to go through the night now in antici- 
 pation of what I have to reveal than to hear it at 
 once from my lips while I am in the mood to speak? " 
 
 The answer was slow in coming. The courage 
 which had upheld this rapidly aging man through so 
 many trying interviews, seemed inadequate for the 
 test put so cruelly upon it. He faltered and sank 
 heavily into a chair, while the stern man watching 
 him, gave no signs of responsive sympathy or even 
 interest, only a patient and icy-tempered resolve. 
 
 " I cannot live in uncertainty; " such were finally 
 Mr. Challoner's words. " What you have to say 
 concerns Edith?" The pause he made was infini-
 
 THE AVENGER 341 
 
 tesimal in length, but it was long enough for a quick 
 disclaimer. But no such disclaimer came. " I will 
 hear it," came in reluctant finish. 
 
 Mr. Brotherson took a step forward. His man- 
 ner was as cold as the heart which lay like a stone in 
 his bosom. 
 
 ; ' Will you pardon me if I ask you to rise? " said 
 he. " I have my weaknesses too. (He gave no 
 sign of them.) " I cannot speak down from such a 
 height to the man I am bound to hurt." 
 
 As if answering to the constraint of a will quite 
 outside his own, Mr. Challoner rose. Their heads 
 were now more nearly on a level and Mr. Brother- 
 son's voice remained low, as he proceeded, with quiet 
 intensity : 
 
 " There has been a time and it may exist yet, 
 God knows when you thought me in some un- 
 known and secret way the murderer of your daugh- 
 ter. I do not quarrel with the suspicion; it was justi- 
 fied, Mr. Challoner. I did kill your daughter, and 
 with this hand ! I can no longer deny it." 
 
 The wretched father swayed, following the gesture 
 of the hand thus held out; but he did not fall, nor did 
 a sound leave his lips. 
 
 Brotherson went coldly on : 
 
 " I did it because I regarded her treatment of my 
 suit as insolent. I have no mercy for any such dis- 
 play of intolerance on the part of the rich and the 
 fortunate. I hated her for it; I hated her class, 
 herself and all she stood for. To strike the dealer 
 of such a hurt I felt to be my right. Though a man 
 of small beginnings and of a stock which such as you
 
 342 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 call common, I have a pride which few of your blood 
 can equal. I could not work, or sleep or eat with 
 such a sting in my breast as she had planted there. 
 To rid myself of it, I determined to kill her, and I 
 did. How? Oh, that was easy, though it has 
 proved a great stumbling-block to the detectives, as I 
 knew it would ! I shot her but not with an ordi- 
 nary bullet. My charge was a small icicle made de- 
 liberately for the purpose. It had strength enough 
 to penetrate, but it left no trace behind it. ' A bullet 
 of ice for a heart of ice,' I had said in the torment 
 of my rage. But the word was without knowledge, 
 Mr. Challoner. I see it now; I have seen it for 
 two whole weeks. I did not misjudge her condem- 
 nation of me, but I misjudged its cause. It was 
 not to the comparatively poor, the comparatively 
 obscure man she sought to show contempt, but to 
 the brother of Oswald whose claims she saw in- 
 sulted. A woman I should have respected, not 
 killed. A woman of no pride of station; a woman 
 who loved a man not only of my own class but of my 
 own blood a woman, to avenge whose unmerited 
 death I stand here before you a self-condemned crim- 
 inal. That is but justice, Mr. Challoner. That is 
 the way I look at things. Though no sentimentalist; 
 and dead to all beliefs save the eternal truths of 
 science, I have that in me which will not let me profit, 
 now that I know myself unworthy, by the great suc- 
 cess I have earned. Hence this confession, Mr. 
 Challoner. It has not come easily, nor do I shut my 
 eyes in the least to the results which must follow. 
 But I can not do differently. To-morrow, you may
 
 THE AVENGER 343 
 
 telegraph to New York. Till then I desire to be 
 left undisturbed. I have many things to dispose of 
 in the interim." 
 
 Mr. Challoner, very white by now, pointed to the 
 door before he sank again into his chair. Brother- 
 son took it for dismissal and stepped slowly back. 
 Then their eyes met again and Mr. Challoner spoke 
 his first word : 
 
 " There was another a poor woman she 
 died suddenly and her wound was not unlike that 
 inflicted upon Edith. Did you " 
 
 " I did." The answer came without a tremour. 
 " You may say and so may others that I was less 
 justified in this attack than in the other; but I do not 
 see it that way. A theory does not always work in 
 practice. I wished to test the unusual means I con- 
 templated, and the woman I saw before me across the 
 court was hard-working and with nothing in life to 
 look forward to, so " 
 
 A cry of bitter execration from Mr. Challoner cut 
 him short. Turning with a shrug he was about to 
 lift his hand to the door, when he gave a violent start 
 and fell hastily back before a quickly entering figure 
 of such passion and fury as neither of these men had 
 ever seen before. 
 
 It was Oswald! Oswald, the kindly! Oswald, 
 the lover of men and the adorer of women ! Oswald, 
 with the words of the dastardly confession he had 
 partly overheard searing hot within his brain ! Os- 
 wald, raised in a moment from the desponding 
 invalid to a terrifying ministrant of retributive 
 justice.
 
 344 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 Orlando could scarcely raise his hand before the 
 other's was upon his throat. 
 
 " Murderer! doubly-dyed murderer of innocent 
 women ! " was hissed in the strong man's ears. " Not 
 with the law but with me you must reckon, and may 
 God and the spirit of my mother nerve my arm ! "
 
 XL 
 
 DESOLATE 
 
 THE struggle was fierce but momentary. Oswald 
 with his weakened powers could not long withstand 
 the steady exertion of Orlando's giant strength, and 
 ere long sank away from the contest into Mr. Chal- 
 loner's arms. 
 
 ' You should not have summoned the shade of our 
 mother to your aid," observed the other with a smile, 
 in which the irony was lost in terrible presage. u I 
 was always her favourite." 
 
 Oswald shuddered. Orlando had spoken truly; 
 she had always been blindly, arrogantly trustful of her 
 eldest son. No fault could she see in him; and 
 now 
 
 Impetuously Oswald struggled with his weakness, 
 raised himself in Mr. Challoner's arms and cried in 
 loud revolt: 
 
 " But God is just. He will not let you escape. 
 If He does, I will not. I will hound you to the ends 
 of this earth and, if necessary, into the eternities. 
 Not with the threat of my arm you are my master 
 there, but with the curse of a brother who believed 
 you innocent of his darling's blood and would have 
 believed you so in face of everything but your own 
 word." 
 
 "Peace!" adjured Orlando. "There is no ac- 
 count I am not ready to settle. I have robbed you 
 
 345
 
 346 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 of the woman you love, but I have despoiled myself. 
 I stand desolate in the world, who but an hour ago 
 could have chosen my seat among the best and great- 
 est. What can your curses do after that? " 
 
 " Nothing." The word came slowly like a drop 
 wrung from a nearly spent heart. " Nothing ; noth- 
 ing. Oh, Orlando, I wish we were both dead and 
 buried and that there were no further life for either 
 of us." 
 
 The softened tone, the wistful prayer which would 
 blot out an immortality of joy for the one, that it 
 might save the other from an immortality of retribu- 
 tion, touched some long unsounded chord in Orlan- 
 do's extraordinary nature. 
 
 Advancing a step, he held out his hand the left 
 one. ' We'll leave the future to itself, Oswald, and 
 do what we can with the present," said he. " I've 
 made a mess of my life and spoiled a career which 
 might have made us both kings. Forgive me, Os- 
 wald. I ask for nothing else from God or man. I 
 should like that. It would strengthen me for to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 But Oswald, ever kindly, generous and more ready 
 to think of others than of himself, had yet some of 
 Orlando's tenacity. He gazed at that hand and a 
 flush swept up over his cheek which instantly became 
 ghastly again. 
 
 "I cannot," said he "not even the left one. 
 May God forgive me ! " 
 
 Orlando, struck silent for a moment, dropped his 
 hand and slowly turned away. Mr. Challoner felt 
 Oswald stiffen in his arms, and break suddenly away,
 
 DESOLATE 347 
 
 only to stop short before he had taken one of the half 
 dozen steps between himself and his departing 
 brother. 
 
 ' Where are you going? " he demanded in tones 
 which made Orlando turn. 
 
 " I might say, To the devil," was the sarcastic 
 reply. " But I doubt if he would receive me. No," 
 he added, in more ordinary tones as the other shiv- 
 ered and again started forward, " you will have no 
 trouble in finding me in my own room to-night. I 
 have letters to write and other things. A man 
 like me cannot drop out without a ripple. You may 
 go -to bed and sleep. I will keep awake for two." 
 
 " Orlando ! " Visions were passing before Os- 
 wald's eyes, soul-crushing visions such as in his blame- 
 less life he never thought could enter into his con- 
 sciousness or blast his tranquil outlook upon life. 
 " Orlando ! " he again appealed, covering his eyes in 
 a frenzied attempt to shut out these horrors, " I can- 
 not let you go like this. To-morrow " 
 
 " To-morrow, in every niche and corner of this 
 world, wherever Edith Challoncr's name has gone, 
 wherever my name has gone, it will be known that the 
 discoverer of a practical air-ship, is a man whom they 
 can no longer honour. Do you think that is not hell 
 enough for me; or that I do not realise the hell it will 
 be for you? I've never wearied you or any man with 
 my affection; but I'm not all demon. I would gladly 
 have spared you this additional anguish; but that was 
 impossible. You are my brother and must suffer 
 from the connection whether we would have it so or 
 not. If it promises too much misery and I know
 
 348 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 no misery like that of shame come with me where 
 I go to-morrow. There will be room for two." 
 
 Oswald, swaying with weakness, but maddened by 
 the sight of an overthrow which carried with it the 
 stifled affections and the admiration of his whole life, 
 gave a bound forward, opened his arms and fell. 
 
 Orlando stopped short. Gazing down on his 
 prostrate brother, he stood for a moment with a 
 gleam of something like human tenderness showing 
 through the flare of dying passions and perishing 
 hopes; then he swung open the door and passed 
 quietly out, and Mr. Challoner could hear the laugh- 
 ing remark with which he met and dismissed -the 
 half-dozen men and women who had been drawn to 
 this end of the hall by what had sounded to them like 
 a fracas between angry men.
 
 XLI 
 
 FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING 
 
 THE clock in the hotel office struck three. Orlando 
 Brotherson counted the strokes; then went on writ- 
 ing. His transom was partly open and he had just 
 heard a step go by his door. This was nothing new. 
 He had already heard it several times before that 
 night. It was Mr. Challoner's step, and every time 
 it passed, he had rustled his papers or scratched vigor- 
 ously with his pen. " He is keeping watch for Os- 
 wald," was his thought. " They fear a sudden end 
 to this. No one, not the son of my mother knows 
 me. Do I know myself ? " 
 
 Four o'clock I The light was still burning, the pile 
 of letters he was writing increasing. 
 
 Five o'clock 1 A rattling shade betrays an open 
 window. No other sound disturbs the quiet of the 
 room. It is empty now; but Mr. Challoner, long 
 since satisfied that all was well, goes by no more. 
 Silence has settled upon the hotel; that heavy 
 silence which precedes the dawn. 
 
 There was silence in the streets also. The few who 
 were abroad, crept quietly along. An electric storm 
 was in the air and the surcharged clouds hung heavy 
 and low, biding the moment of outbreak. A man 
 who had left a place of many shadows for the more 
 open road, paused and looked up at these clouds; then 
 went calmly on. 
 
 349
 
 350 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 Suddenly the shriek of an approaching train tears 
 through the valley. Has it a call for this man? 
 No. Yet he pauses in the midst of the street he is 
 crossing and watches, as a child might watch, for the 
 flash >of its lights at the end of the darkened vista. 
 It comes filling the empty space at which he stares 
 with moving life engine, baggage car and a long 
 string of Pullmans. Then all is dark again and only 
 the noise of its slackening wheels comes to him 
 through the night. It has stopped at the station. A 
 minute longer and it has started again, and the quickly 
 lessening rumble of its departure is all that remains 
 of this vision of man's activity and ceaseless expect- 
 ancy. When it is quite gone and all is quiet, a sigh 
 falls from the man's lips and he moves on, but this 
 time, for some unexplainable reason, in the direction 
 of the station. With lowered head he passes along, 
 noting little till he arrives within sight of the depot 
 where some freight is being handled, and a trunk or 
 two wheeled down the platform. No sight could be 
 more ordinary or unsuggestive, but it has its attraction 
 for him, for he looks up as he goes by and follows 
 the passage of that truck down the platform till it 
 has reached the corner and disappeared. Then he 
 sighs again and again moves on. 
 
 A cluster of houses, one of them open and lighted, 
 was all which lay between him now and the country 
 road. He was hurrying past, for his step had un- 
 consciously quickened as he turned his back upon the 
 station, when he was seized again by that mood of 
 curiosity and stepped up to the door from which a 
 light issued and looked in. A common eating-room
 
 FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING 351 
 
 lay before him, with rudely spread tables and one 
 very sleepy waiter taking orders from a new arrival 
 who sat with his back to the door. Why did the 
 lonely man on the sidewalk start as his eye fell on the 
 latter's commonplace figure, a hungry man demand- 
 ing breakfast in a cheap, country restaurant? His 
 own physique was powerful while that of the other 
 looked slim and frail. But fear was in the air, and 
 the brooding of a tempest affects some temperaments 
 in a totally unexpected manner. As the man inside 
 turns slightly and looks up, the master figure on the 
 sidewalk vanishes, and his step, if any one had been 
 interested enough to listen, rings with a new note as 
 it turns into the country road it has at last reached. 
 
 But no one heeded. The new arrival munches his 
 roll and waits impatiently for his coffee, while with- 
 out, the clouds pile soundlessly in the sky, one of them 
 taking the form of a huge hand with clutching fingers 
 reaching down into the hollow void beneath.
 
 XLI 
 
 AT SIX 
 
 MR. CHALLONER had been honest in his statement 
 regarding the departure of Sweetwater. He had not 
 only paid and dismissed our young detective, but he 
 had seen him take the train for New York. And 
 Sweetwater had gone away in good faith, too, possibly 
 with his convictions undisturbed, but acknowledging 
 at last that he had reached the end of his resources. 
 But the brain does not loose its hold upon its work as 
 readily as the hand does. He was halfway to New 
 York and had consciously bidden farewell to the 
 whole subject, when he suddenly startled those about 
 him by rising impetuously to his feet. He sat again 
 immediately, but with a light in his small grey eye 
 which Mr. Gryce would have understood and rev- 
 elled in. The idea for which he had searched in- 
 dustriously for months had come at last, unbidden; 
 thrown up from some remote recess of the mind which 
 had seemingly closed upon the subject forever. 
 
 " I have it. I have it," he murmured in ceaseless 
 reiteration to himself. " I will go back to Mr. Chal- 
 loner and let him decide if the idea is worth pursuing. 
 Perhaps an experiment may be necessary. It was 
 bitter cold that night; I wish it were icy weather now. 
 But a chemist can help us out. Good God! if this 
 should be the explanation of the mystery, alas for 
 Orlando and alas for Oswald ! " 
 
 352
 
 AT SIX 353 
 
 But his sympathies did not deter him. He re- 
 turned to Derby at once, and as soon as he dared, 
 presented himself at the hotel and asked for Mr. Chal- 
 loner. 
 
 He was amazed to find that gentleman already up 
 and in a state of agitation that was very disquieting. 
 But he brightened wonderfully at sight of his visitor, 
 and drawing him inside the room, observed with 
 trembling eagerness: 
 
 " I do not know why you have come back, but 
 never was man more welcome. Mr. Brotherson has 
 confessed " 
 
 " Confessed! " 
 
 ' Yes, he killed both women ; my daughter and his 
 neighbour, the washerwoman, with a " 
 
 " Wait," broke in Sweetwater, eagerly, " let me 
 tell you." And stooping, he whispered something in 
 the other's ear. 
 
 Mr. Challoner stared at him amazed, then slowly 
 nodded his head. 
 
 " How came you to think " he began ; but 
 Sweetwater in his great anxiety interrupted him with 
 a quick: 
 
 " Explanations will keep, Mr. Challoner. What 
 of the man himself? Where is he? That's the im- 
 portant thing now." 
 
 " He was in his room till early this morning writ- 
 ing letters, but he is not there now. The door is 
 unlocked and I went in. From appearances I fear 
 the worst. That is why your presence relieves me 
 so. Where do you think he is? "
 
 354 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 " In his hangar in the woods. Where else would 
 he go to " 
 
 " I have thought of that. Shall we start out alone 
 or take witnesses with us ? " 
 
 " We will go alone. Does Oswald anticipate " 
 
 " He is sure. But he lacks strength to move. He 
 lies on my bed in there. Doris and her father are 
 with him." 
 
 " We will not wait a minute. How the storm 
 holds off. I hope it will hold off for another hour." 
 
 Mr. Challoner made no reply. He had spoken 
 because he felt compelled to speak, but it had not 
 been easy for him, nor could any trifles move him 
 now. 
 
 The town was up by this time and, though they 
 chose the least frequented streets, they had to suffer 
 from some encounters. It was a good half hour be- 
 fore they found themselves in the forest and in sight 
 of the hangar. One look that way, and Sweet- 
 water turned to see what the effect was upon Mr. 
 Challoner. 
 
 A murmur of dismay greeted him. The oval of 
 that great lid stood up against the forest background. 
 
 " He has escaped," cried Mr. Challoner. 
 
 But Sweetwater, laying a finger on his lip, ad- 
 vanced and laid his ear against the door. Then he 
 cast a quick look aloft. Nothing was to be seen 
 there. The darkness of storm in the heavens but 
 nothing more. Yes ! now, a flash of vivid and de- 
 structive lightning ! 
 
 The two men drew back and their glances crossed.
 
 AT SIX 355 
 
 " Let us return to the highroad," whispered 
 Sweetwater; " we can see nothing here." 
 
 Mr. Challoner, trembling very much, wheeled 
 slowly about. 
 
 ' Wait," enjoined Sweetwater. " First let me 
 take a look inside." 
 
 Running to the nearest tree, he quickly climbed it, 
 worked himself along a protruding branch and 
 looked down into the open hangar. It was now so 
 dark that details escaped him, but one thing was cer- 
 tain. The air-ship was not there. 
 
 Descending, he drew Mr. Challoner hastily along. 
 " He's gone," said he. " Let us reach the high 
 ground as quickly as we can. I'm glad that Mr. Os- 
 wald Brotherson is not with us or or Miss Doris." 
 
 But this expression of satisfaction died on his lips. 
 At the point where the forest road debouches into 
 the highway, he had already caught a glimpse of their 
 two figures. They were waiting for news, and the 
 brother spoke up the instant he saw Sweetwater : 
 
 "Where is he? You've not found him or you 
 wouldn't be coming alone. He cannot have gone 
 up. He cannot manage it without an assistant. We 
 must seek him somewhere else; in the forest or in our 
 house at home. Ah I " The lightning had forked 
 again. 
 
 " He's not in the forest and he's not in your 
 home," returned Sweetwater. " He's aloft; the air- 
 ship is not in the shed. And he can go up alone 
 now." Then more slowly: "But he cannot come 
 down."
 
 356 INITIALS ONLY 
 
 They strained their eyes in a maddening search 
 of the heavens. But the darkness had so increased 
 that they could be sure of nothing. 
 
 Doris sank upon her knees. 
 
 Suddenly the lightning flashed again, this time so 
 vividly and so near that the whole heaven burst into 
 fiery illumination above them and the thunder, crash- 
 ing almost simultaneously, seemed for a moment to 
 rock the world and bow the heavens towards them. 
 Then a silence; then Sweetwater's whisper in Mr. 
 Challoner's ear: 
 
 " Take them away ! I saw him ; he was falling 
 like a shot." 
 
 Mr. Challoner threw out his arms, then steadied 
 himself. Oswald was reeling ; Oswald had seen too. 
 But Doris was there. When the lightning flashed 
 again, she was standing and Oswald was weeping on 
 her bosom. 
 
 THE END
 
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