 CHAPTER XIV. A CONSESSION It is true. There seems to be something extraordinary in the coincidence. Thus Mr. Brotherson, in the presence of the Inspector. But that is all there is to it, he easily proceeded. I knew Miss Shaliner, 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 ground so flimsy as those you advance would savor a persecution, would it not? The Inspector, surprised by this unexpected attack, regarded the speaker with an interest rather augmented 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 Inspector'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 explanations as the situation, which you yourself as characterized as remarkable, seems to call for. I'm ready, but what am I called upon to explain? 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 Hick 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. Besides I am a man of the people. I like the working-class, and am willing to be thought one of them. I can find a time to talk to a hard-pushed mechanic as easily as to such members of the money-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 caused 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 Hick Street. But why make use of one name as a gentleman of leisure and quite a different one as the honest workman? Ah! There you touch upon my real secret. I have a reason for keeping my identity quiet till my invention is completed. A reason connected with your anarchistic tendencies? 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 ensuring it. I have too much at stake. My invention is dearer to me than the overthrow of present institutions. Nothing must stand in the way of its success. Not even the satisfaction of inspiring terror and minds shot 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 successfully. The social agitator, the political demagogue, the orator whose honeyed tones had rung with biting invective in the ears of the United Brotherhood of the All, the plain 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 removed from the main issue. You say that you are ready, nay more, or even eager to answer all questions. You will probably be anxious then to explain away a discrepancy between your word and your conduct, which has come to our attention. You were known to have expressed the intention of spending the afternoon of Mrs. Spott's death in New York, and were supposed to have done so, yet you were certainly 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 even admitted to this unofficial examination. I have never confided to anyone the story of my doings on that unhappy afternoon, 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 naturally I returned, and equally naturally, when I heard what had happened followed the crowd into the court and sew up into 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. Do you mind telling us where you went in New York? Not at all. I went shopping. I wanted a certain 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 Gryppus. It's oddity struck me. There was nothing left of the inspector but to dismiss him. He had answered all questions willingly, and was a countenance inexpressive of Gile. He even indulged in a parting shot on his own account, as full of frank acceptance of the situation as it was fearless in its 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 knowledge 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 anyone, without the gift of complete invisibility, make a leap over fifteen feet from the sill of a fourth-story window onto an adjacent fire escape, without attracting the attention of some of the many children playing down below. He was halfway out the door, but his name quickly spoken by the inspector drew him back. 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 few to take of the matter. Miss Shaliner'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 it sparkle when he was gone. Now what do you think, Grace? The old man rose and came out of his corner. This. I am up against the hardest proposition of my lifetime. Nothing in the man's appearance 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 work on than we have here. A murder had been committed by an inventum spring contained in a toy puzzle. I worked upon the conscience of the suspect in that case by bringing constantly 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's not innocent as the day, he's as hard as unquarried marble. He might be confronted by 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. Possibly, it will be a terrible disappointment to sweetwater. That's nothing. And to me. That's different. I'm disposed to consider you, Grace, after all these years. Thank you. I have done the state some service. What do you want? You say the mine is unworkable. 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 a changed idea, success might be his, and both time, effort, and outlay justify. The outlay? I am thinking of the outlay. Mr. Shaliner will see to that. I have his word, that no reasonable amount will daunt him. But this brotherson is suspicious. He has an inventor secret to hide, if none other. We can't saddle him with a guy of sweetwater's appearance and abnormal equatiousness. Not readily, I own, but time will bring counsel. Are you willing to help the boy, to help me, and possibly yourself, by this venture in the dark? The department shan't lose money by it. That's all I can promise. But it's a big one. Grace, 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 contrary, 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. CHAPTER 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. Damn 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 Hick 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 awfully in my way, Mr. Greis. 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 deucid 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 brother-son, 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 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. Sweet water! We'd better give the task to another 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 assume. My health will be not good for the next few weeks, I'm sure of that. But I'll be a model workman, neat and conscientious, with just the 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 sham's. 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 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 sure 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 business. 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 recognize you, even if he didn't. Now I will give you a piece of good news. There 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. Shaliner 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, to exuberant perhaps. If you ever want them, I cannot give them to you tonight, and wouldn't if I could. Don't go to Mr. Shaliner. You must never be seen at his hotel. And don't come to me, but to the little house in West 29th Street, where they will be kept for you, tied up in a package with your name on it. By the way, what name are you going to work under? My mother's, Zugg. Good, I'll remember. You can always write, or even telephone to 29th 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 remain so. One side is bound to rise. Which? That is the question, Mr. Grice. CHAPTER XVI. There was a new tenant in this Hick Street tenement. He arrived late one afternoon, and was shown two rooms. One in the rear building had another in the front one. Both were on the fourth floor. He demirited 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 belongings the next day. He smiled, as he said this, and the janitor, who had rarely seen such a change, but 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 himself, he cast a look at his surroundings and imperceptibly sighed. Then he brightened again, and sitting down in his solitary chair, he turned his eyes on the window, which uncurtained and, without shade, stared open mouth, as it were, at the opposite wall, rising high across the court. In that wall a 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 in that unallumined window? Was there no memory of the time, when in a previous contemplation of those dismal pains 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. He 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 in went out. At the same instant the window opposite sprang into view as the lamp was lit within, and for several moments the whole interior remained visible, the books, the work table, the cluttered furniture, and, most interesting 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 Continent's opposite. But his was the absorption of watchfulness, that of the other of introspection. Mr. Brotherson, we will no longer call him, done, 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 honor on the large central table. He was not touching it, not at this moment, but that his thoughts were with it, that his old mind was concentrated 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 rearrange a thread or twirl a wheel, his disappointment found utterance 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 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 solarity and precision which usually accompanied 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 abstraction, he equally displayed serenity and a complete satisfaction with the present, if not with the future. Had he mistaken his man, after all, was his instinct for the first time in his active career wholly at fault? He had succeeded in getting a glimpse of his quarry and 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 countenance under much more telling and productive circumstances than these. He would await these opportunities 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 hardworking 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 room, but a decided one in the place where sweet water sat. Objects which had been totally indistinguishable even to his penetrating eye could now be seen in the 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. Darkness 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 brilliance 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 anxious to see mirrored in another's discomforture than in his own. Was it to escape any lack of concentration which those 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 disapproves? 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 hearty detective experienced that involuntary stagnation of the blood which follows an inner shock. He felt that he had been recognized. 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. Either he had been transfixed by this glimpse of his enemy on watch, or, daring thought, had seen enough of sepulchral suggestion in the wand faced looking back from this fatal window to shake him from his composure and let loose the grinning devil of remorse from its iron prison-house. If so, the movement was a memorable one, and the hazard quite worthwhile. 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's savoured of shock, if not fear. If it were fear, then had he roused in a motion which might rebound upon himself in sharp reprisal? Death had been known to strike people standing where he stood—mysterious death of a species quite unrecognisable. What warranty had he that it would not strike him, and now? None. Yet it was Brotherson who moved first. With the shrug of the shoulder plainly visible to man opposite, he turned away from the window, and without lowering the shade, began gathering up his papers 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 death to the woman or harm to himself. Nor did morning light bring counsel, as 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 remarked, 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, and drawing off, just loud enough for the woman to hear. Something unpleasant, I'm sure. Then he ran downstairs. 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. Here's the money. Have my things moved to-day, will ye? But you're moving out after one night's stay. We'll 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 going front into the little dark room. I'll get the boss to let me off at half-past four. So that 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 the middle room on the fourth floor of the front building, which, oddly perhaps, chanced to be next door to the one he had held under watch the night before. The first page of his adventure in the Hick Street Tenement had been turned, and he was ready to start upon another. End of Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Of Initials Only This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Initials Only by Anna Catherine Green Book II As Seen by Detective Sweetwater Chapter 17 In Which a Book Plays a Leading Part When Mr. Brotherson came in that night he noticed that the door of the room adjoining his own stood open. He did not hesitate, making immediately for it he took a glance inside, then spoke up with a ringing intonation. Hello! Coming to live in this hole? The occupant, a young man, evidently workman and somewhat sickly if one could judge from his complexion, turned around from some tinkering 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 could have so lighted his eye as he took in the other's 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 from near or far his presence always caused surprise, and surprised with what the young man showed as he answered briskly. Yes, this is to me 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 our lander Brotherson's. As he asked this question it took some effort on the part of the other to hold his 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 to the window in Shupra's repair shop. Everyone 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 am an A1 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 Shupra's shop. Do you remember me? No, sir. I'm sorry to be impolite, 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 humor. 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 other man curled disdainfully. 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. Yes, they told me so this morning. Was that the first you've heard of it? Sure! the word almost jumped at the questioner. Do you suppose I'd have taken the room if—but here the intruder with a disdainful grunt turned and went out, discussed in every feature, plain, unmistakable, downright, discussed, 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 neighboring 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 when they were put on a 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 could he manage to get near him, at the door of his mind, of his heart? Sweetwater steered all night from his miserable cot into the darkness of that separating closet with no result. 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 butched 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 have come to see how you are, said Brotherson. I noticed that you did not look well last night. Won't you come in and share my pot of coffee? 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 go to the shop. Then he thought, what an opportunity I'm missing. Have I any right to turn tail because he plays his game from the outset with trumps? No, I have 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 and 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 drafty. And waiting till Sweetwater did so, he led the way back to his own room. Brotherson's manner expressed perfect ease. Sweetwater's not. He knew himself changed in lurks, 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 today, so we'll have to hurry a bit, was Brotherson's first remark as they seated themselves at the table. Do you like your coffee plain or with milk in it? Plain? Gosh! What pictures! Where do you get them? You must have a lot of coin. Sweetwater was staring at the row of photographs, mostly of a very high order attacked 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 have enough for that kind of thing, was his host's reply, but the tone was reserved and Sweetwater did not presume again along this line. Instead 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. Brotherson'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 which led him to empty out the contents of a small file which he took down from a shelf. He had told Mr. Grice 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 newspaper 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 figures 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 the 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 enemy of men and women who spread themselves over a dozen big rooms and think themselves ill-used if 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 tonight. In the best bedroom, sir, I'm ambitious I am. A poor joke, though they both laughed. There Mr. Brotherson passed on and sweetwater listened till he was sure that his two attentive neighbor 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 ear, but not without frequent pauses and much attention given to the possible return of those departed footsteps. He remembered that Mr. Brotherson had a way of coming back on unexpected errands 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. 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 from the ash pit. His next move was to test the depth of the partition 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 himself of the nature of this obstacle he gently moved the tip of his finger to and fro over what was certainly the edge of a book. This proved that his calculations had been correct, and that the openings 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 striking 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 careful to assure himself that all the volumes at this exact point stood far enough forward to afford room behind them for the chips and plaster he must necessarily push through with his auger, and also important 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 heartbeat should give me some clue 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 had always 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 impersonal. In consequence Sweetwater suddenly found himself quite well and on one evening, when he was sure that his neighbor 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 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 until it reached his boots. His inscrutable and ever-disappointing neighbor was not indulging in self- communing of any kind. He was reciting poetry, and what was worse poetry which he only half remembered and was trying to recall. An incredible occupation for a man waited 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 expectation. The hole which in the darkness of a closet was always faintly visible, even when the light was not very strong in the adjoining room, had suddenly become a bright and shining loophole with a suggestion 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 hundreds 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 rustling 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 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. Brotherson's voice again. Then it was in triumphant repetition of the lines which had escaped his memory. They were a great word 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. Grice, 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 and bitter irony from his irate neighbors' 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 reading of poetry. All 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, 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 neighbor might look up and catch sight of this hole bored in the backing of the shelves before him. Could the man who had been guilty of submitting him to this outrage stand the strain of waiting indefinitely for the moment 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 ought 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 realize 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, sitting down on the edge of his cot, gave himself up to thought. He deserved this misschance. Had he profited properly by Mr. Grice's teaching 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 thousandth 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 discolor the opening he had made that it would look like an ancient rat hole instead of showing a clean bore, he would have some answer to give Brotherson when he came to question him in regard to it. But now the whole thing seemed up. He had shown himself a fool and by good rites 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 plans. 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 endeavored to account for his presence at Brotherson's door. My lamp smells so, and I have made such a mess of my work today that I have just stepped in for a chat. If I am not wanted, say so. I don't want to bother you. But you do look pleasant here. I hope the thing I am 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 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 supposed, 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 manner gave proof of the fact, though usually averse to visitors, especially when employed as at present on his precious model, he quite warmed toward 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, offhand, whether it's an airship you're planning or a hydraulic machine or—or he stopped with a laugh and turned toward the bookshelves. Now, here's what I like. These books just take my eye. Look at them, then. I like to see a man interested 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 Sweetwater's gay rejoinder. But when he felt that communicating wire in his hand and experienced for the first time the full influence of the other's eye, it took all his hardyhood to hide the hypnotic thrill it gave him. Though he smiled and chatted, he could not help asking himself between wiles what had killed the poor washerwoman across the court and what had killed Michelleiner. Something visible or something invisible, something which gave warning of attack or something which struck in silence. He found himself 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 followed the sharp, short instructions which fell with cool precision from the other's lips. A hundred steps, 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 lit into another portion of the wall. Sweetwater, taking advantage of the moment, sidled towards the shelf where that empty space still gaped with a tell-tale hole at the back. He 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 completely, and 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 humor from his eyes as he prepared to refuse the glass which Brotherson now brought forward. None of that, he said, you mustn't tempt me. The doctor has shut down all kinds of spirits 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 toward Sweetwater. Do you want it, he asked? Sweetwater was too taken aback to answer immediately. This was a move he did not understand. Wanted he? What he wanted was to see it put back in its place on the shelf. Did Brotherson suspect 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 testified 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 despised volume restored to its shelf. It still lay where its owner had pushed it, when, with some awkwardly muttered thanks, the discomfited detective withdrew to his own room. End of Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Of Initials Only This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Initials Only by Anna Catherine Green Book 2 As Seen by Detective Sweetwater Chapter 18 What Am I To Do 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 reassured by the sight, he awaited his opportunity and as soon as a suitable one presented itself, prepared the hole for inspection by breaking away its edges and begrimming it well with plaster and old dirt. This done he left matters to arrange themselves, 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 distracted mind or a heavily burdened soul. Indeed, he was so calm in all these ways, so precise and so self-contained that Sweetwater often wondered what had become of the fiery agitator an eloquent propagandist 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 success swallowed up all lesser emotions. Worthy invention to prove a failure, but there was small hope of this. The man was of too well-poised a mind to overestimate his work or miscalculate its place among modern improvements. Soon he would reach the goal of his desires. He praised, fitted, made much of by the very people he now professedly scorned. There was no thoroughfare for Sweetwater here. Another road must be found, some secret, strange and unforeseen method of reaching a soul inaccessible to all ordinary or even extraordinary impressions. Would a knight a thought reveal such a method? Knight, 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 creeped from their hiding places in the dismal hours of universal quiet and lips which are dumb to the most subtle of questionnaires 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 Sweetwater reasoned. No doubt, but his conclusions were the same and as he continued to brood over them he saw a chance, a feels chance possibly, but feels sometimes win where wise men fail. A breaching these depths he still believed in notwithstanding his failure to sell them. Addressing a letter to his friend in 29th street he awaited reply in the shape of a small package he had ordered sent to the corner drugstore. When it came he carried it home in a state of mingled hope and misgiving. Was he about to cap his fortnight of disappointment by another signal failure? In 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 elements 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 anyone 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 feelings 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 interrupted by visitors. Some big event was on the socialistic world and his presence was eagerly demanded by one brotherhood after another. Sweetwater posted at his loophole 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 inexhaustible but he showed himself relieved when the hour grew too late for further interruption. He began to whistle a token that all was going well with 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 pacing of the floor. This was not usual with him nor did he often indulge himself in playing on the piano as he did tonight beginning with a few heavenly strains and ending with a bang that made the keyboard jump. Certainly something was amiss in the quarter where peace had hit the two reigned undisturbed had the depths began to heave or were physical causes alone responsible for these unwanted evolutions of feeling. The question was immaterial either would form an excellent preparation for the coop planned by Sweetwater and when after an hour of uncertainty perfect silence greeted him from his neighbour's room hope had soared again on exultant wing far above all former discouragements. Mr Brotherson's bed was in a remote corner from the loophole made by Sweetwater but in the stillness now providing 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'd 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 host to his loophole. 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 corridors at the Hotel Claremont drowning Ms Charner'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 Ms Charner'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 drain located or even to be thought real but its echo still lingered in Brotherson's otherwise unconscious 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 another silence broken at last by the sound of his body falling back upon the bed and the troubled ejaculation of good God rung from his lips no torture could have forced him to complaint under any daytime conditions Sweetwater continued to listen but he had heard all and after some 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 pure aisle 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 Australian music indissolubly associated with the death of Miss Chalena been so completely forced back into the circumstances and environment of that moment that his mind had taken up 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 Sartog an uplifted hand heard the music the crash of that great finale and decided without 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 woken 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 way so far into the mystic labyrinth he had sworn to pierce he rested in happy unconsciousness till morning when could it be was it he who was dreaming now or was the event of the night a mere fast of his own imagining Mr. Brotherson was whistling in his room gaily and with ever increasing verb 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 Sweetwater caught the mellow but in different notes sounding from those lips a brass he dragged forth the music box he held hidden in his coat pocket and flinging it on the floor stamped upon it the man is too strong for me he cried his heart is granted he meets my every move what am I to do now End of Chapter 19 Chapter 19 of Initials Only This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Akesha Wood Initials Only by Anna Catherine Green Book 2 as seen by Detective Sweetwater Chapter 19 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 permanently His opinion was not changed in regard to his neighbor's secret guilt a demeanor of this sort suggested bravado rather than bravery to the ever suspicious 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 tantalizingly eluded him his work at the bench suffered that week he made two mistakes but by Saturday night he had satisfied himself that he had reached the point where he would be justified in making news of Miss Chandler's letters so he telephoned his wishes to New York and awaited the promised developments with an anxiety we can only understand by realizing 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 disappoint them? he did not think so women possess a marvelous adaptability for this kind of work and this one was French which made the case still more helpful 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 a sweet art or hoped for? the man who could mock the terrors of the night by a careless repetition of a strained 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 Sweetwater 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 wet man Sweetwater hastened to satisfy himself on this point by laying his ear to the partition instantly the whole conversation became audible and errant oh yes I have an errant explained the evidently unwelcome intruder in her broken English this is my brother Pierre my name is Celeste Celeste Letru I understand English very 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 le convence he knows nothing of these business Sweetwater in the darkness of his closet laughed in his gleeful appreciation great with his comment just great she has thought of everything or Mr. Grice has meanwhile the girl was proceeding with increased volubility What is this business, monsieur? I have something to sell so you Americans speak something you will want much vers secret vers precious a souvenir from the tomb, monsieur will you give ten? no that is too little fifteen dollars for it it is worth oh more much more to the true lever Pierre, you are you have the right to look for it Mr. Grice is a very good man this duration uttered in Chopra command 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 accompanied them his own name never heard but once before in this house undoubtedly caused a silence which almost reached the point of embarrassment before he broke it with a harsh remark your French may be good but it does not go with me yet it is 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 this sentimental trash with which you offer it oh 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 monde monsieur that I was Michelino's maid near her when people were not near her the very day she died a pause then an angry exclamation from someone 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 ah so many things oh many things the girl proceeded with an admirable mixture of suggestion 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 have to say it monsieur that you are a very good friend after that week in Linux well his utterance of this word was vigorous 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 this it's mon sur ce temps that no one can hear I wouldn't have any party 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 michelino called that she had no response for your very ardent passion but these words were uttered sort of voice and with telling pauses but I know very much better than that she was very proud she had a right she was no poor girl like me but she spent hours hours in writing led by she she never sinned I saw one just once for a little minute what you could breathe so short is that and began to sherry or your English for that and ended with words oh very much like these you may never see these lines which was very interesting very so and made one want to see what she did with letters she wrote and never mail so I watched and looked and one day I see them she had a little every box over nice very pretty I thought it was juice you kept locked up so tight but no no no it was letters these letters I heard them rattle rattle not once but many times you believe me monsieur I believe you have taken every advantage possible to spy upon your mistress I believe that yes from interest monsieur from great interest self-interest as monsieur pleases but it was strange very strange for a grand arm like that to write letters sheets on sheets and they not send them never I dreamed of those letters I could not help it no and when she died so quick with no words from anyone no word at all I thought of this writing so secret serves the heart and when I noticed or thought about this box or or the key she kept shut tight or always tight in her little gold purse ah monsieur do you want to see those letters ask the girl with a gulp evidently his appearance frightened her or had her acting reach this point of extreme finish I had never a chance to put him back and and they're his all his and so beautiful ah just like poetry I don't consider them mine I have an a particle of confidence in you or in your story you are a thief self-convicted or you're an agent of the police whose motives I neither understand nor care to investigate take up your bag and go I have an a sense worth of interest in its contents she started to her feet sweetwater heard her chair great on the painted floor as she pushed it back and rising the brother rose to but more calmly brother son 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 common common working with the hands living with men and women working with the hands that you had sold syndrome what you will of the good and the great and that you would give your eyes for her words she's fine she's spiritual so like the verse the poet 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 an almost ungovernable anger take back this letter as you call it and leave my room never you will not read but you shall you shall be hold the naza one two three four madly they flew from her hand madly she continued her vituperative attack beast beast that she should pour after innocent heart to you you add another one to your money muscular of a common street of a common house it would be dead pia it would be dead je m'oublie de vous faire pia et c'est le bête il refuse de le toucher mais il faut qu'il le touche c'est juste le lezez de la plancher va bien je me moque de lui kenyai l'homme de pouple tu as fait le people a loud slam the scurring of feet through the hall accompanied by the slower and heavier tread of the so-called brother than silence and such silence that sweet water fancied he could catch the sound of brothersons 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 spiritual yet the odds were that she had never read them much less abstracted them the minks the ready resourceful wily daring minks but had she imposed on brotherson as the silence continued sweet water began to doubt he understood quite well the importance of his neighbor's first movement where he to tear those letters into shreds he might be thus tempted all depended on the strength of his present mood and the real nature of the secret which lay buried in his heart was that a heart as flinty as it seemed was there no place for doubt or even for curiosity in its impenetrable 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 unaccustomed impulses possibly weighing deeds and consequences 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 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 chance to be propitious and it not only attracted the attention of sweet water 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 success of wrestling's as he bundled them up in his hand then came another silence then the lifting of a stove lid sweet water had not been wrong in his secret apprehension his identification with his unimpressionable neighbor'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 resolved into a vanishing puff of smoke but the lid was thrust back and the letters remained in hand mortal strength had 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 sweet water heard the man within move with characteristic energy to the door turned the key and stepped back again to his place at the table he knew that the danger moment had passed and that those letters were about to be read not casually but seriously as indeed their contents merited this caused sweet water to feel serious himself upon what results might he calculate what would happen to this hearty soul when the fact he so scornfully repudiated was born in upon him and he saw that the disdain which had antagonized 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 fervor 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 retained for her memory impossible to tell the balance of probability hung even sweetwater recognized this and clung breathless to his loophole feign 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 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 hindu but for one full moment in which your thoughts are with me as wholly as minor with you i feel that the bond between us unseen by the world and possibly not wholly recognized by ourselves is instinct with the same power which links together the eternities it seems to have always been to have known no beginning only a budding and a fluorescence the visible product of a hidden but always present reality a month ago when 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 inside into each other's soul and the miracle was wrought we had met and henceforth 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 not a head but life best do i ease my heart in the silence which conditions impose upon us someday 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 and today did the other as will appear on reading my friend i said that i could not write to you that we must wait you were willing but there is much to be accomplished 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 recognize your worth and the way will be clear despite the obstacles 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 heartfelt approval is it a folly a woman's weak evasion of the strong silence of man you must say so someday but somehow i doubt it i doubt it the creaking of a chair the man within and seated himself there was no other sound a soul and 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 wrestling again of the unfolding sheet the following was read and then the fourth and last dearest did you think i'd never seen you till that day we met in linux i'm going to tell you a secret a great great secret such a one is a woman hardly whispers to her own heart one day in early summer i was sitting in st bartholomew's church on fifth avenue waiting for the services to begin it was early and the congregation was assembling while idly watching the people coming in i saw a gentleman passed 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 graylock 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 love bettered his outward attractions making the ideal of my foolish girl had seen as unsubstantial and evanescent as a dream in the glowing noon tide 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 and 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 manner you have never thought of end of chapter 19 recording by acacia wood chapter 20 of initial solely this is a liberal box recording all liberal box recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit liberal box dot org initials only by anna catherine green book two as seen by detective sweetwater chapter 20 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 itself might come but that should not force him to leave his posts so long as his neighbor remained behind 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 clattering upon iron that smothered exclamation and the laugh which ended it anger and determination rung 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 unrelenting purpose poor edith challen as touching words had met a different fate from any which she in her ignorance of this man's nature and nature to which she had ascribed untold perfections could possibly have conceived as sweetwater thought of this he stirred nervously 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 started back surprised and apprehensive brother sent 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 neighbor in a state of such rage as few men could meet without quailing even were they of his own stature physical vigor and prowess and sweetwater was a small man however disappointments such as he had just experienced brings with it a desperation which often outdoes courage and the detective smiling with an air of go surprise shouted out well what's the matter now has the machine busted or tumbled into the fire or sailed away to land's 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 recognized 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 neighbor 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 and defend myself i will by god 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 sweet water 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 in a nickel to himself allowing brotherson 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 between the two rooms then with a laugh almost as bitter in tone as that which rung from brotherson'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 about we too 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 tonight the frown had come back to the forehead of the indignant man who confronted him so you listened he cried listen when you weren't sneaking under my eye a fine occupation for a man who can dovetail a corner like an adept i wish i had let you join the brotherhood you were good enough to mention they would know how 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 should consider it necessary to call into exercise such extraordinary talents i'm not good at conodrums i was given a task to perform and i performed it with sweet water's dirty reply then slowly with his eye fixed directly upon his antagonist i guess they felt you were man and so did i until i heard you burn those letters fortunately we had copies letters fury thicken the speaker's voice and lent a savage claim to his eye forgeries make beliefs miss chalner never wrote the drivel you dare to designate as letters it was concocted at police headquarters they made me tell my story and then they found someone who could wield the poetic pen i'm obliged to them for the confidence they show in my credulity i credit miss chalner with such words as have been given me to read here today 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 exonerate miss chalner from all possible charts of sentimentality yet she certainly wrote those letters we had them from mr chalner 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 recognized 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 that he had to acknowledge that as a foe he was invulnerable and therefore admirable 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 would have to acknowledge that they were written to another 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 here to fall the labor will be all yours and the indifferent smile with a satirical play of feature which could hardly be called a smile he nodded and left the room end of chapter 20 book 2 chapter 21 of initials only this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org initials only by Anna Catherine Green book 2 as seen by detective sweetwater chapter 21 a change it's all up i've 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 listening 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 denyther as he was putting his supper dishes away a messenger boy knocked at his door and handed him a note it was for mr grease and ran thus steal off if you can and as soon as you can and meet me in 29th street a discovery has been made which alters the whole situation end of book 2 chapter 21 recording by logan macammon chapter 22 of initials only this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org initials only by Anna Catherine Green book 2 as seen by detective sweetwater chapter 22 ob 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 a no he did not 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 think we manufactured those letters on purpose struck him i knew we had a reputation for finesse but i didn't know it ran that high he denies everything says she would never have written such letters to him even goes so far as 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 right but a hitch of the shoulder conveyed sweet waters disgust his uniform grilled nature was strangely disturbed but mr grises was not the faint smile with which he smoothed with an easy surping movement the already polished top of his ever-present cane conveyed a secret complacency which called up a flash of discomfort you're to his greatly irritated companion he says that does he you found him on the whole tolerably straightforward a a hard nut but hard nuts are usually sound ones come now prejudice aside what 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 squealing out i can't i hate the fella i hate anyone 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 is 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 it is to be hoped that the slap he gave his breast at this point carried off some of his superfluous emotion you can't account for a feeling mr grice 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 argument as that you found no evidence against him no a 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 chalena had another lover only another i thought there were half a dozen at least another whom she favored the letters found in her possession not the one she wrote herself but those which were written to her over the signature ob were not all from the same hand experts have been busy with them for a week and their reports are unanimous the ob who wrote the threatening lines acknowledged to by orlando broderson was not the ob who penned all of those love letters the similarity in the writing misled us at first but once the doubt was raised by mr chalena's discovery of an illusion in one of them which pointed to another writer than mr broderson and experts had no difficulty in reaching the decision i have mentioned two ob but isn't that incredible mr grace yes it is incredible but the incredible is not the impossible the man you've been shadowing denies that these expressive effusions of miss chalena were meant for him let us see then if we can find the man they were meant for the second ob second ob yes sweet waters face instantly lit up do you mean that i after my egregious failure am not to be kept on the dunce of 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 can't be squeezed out of a millstone the superintendent how does he feel about it he was the first one to mention you and the inspector is glad to see us on a new tank a pause during which the eagle light in the young detective's eye clouded over presently he remarked how will the finding of another ob alter mr broderson's position he still will be the one person on the spot known to have cherished a grievance against the victim of this mysterious killing from my mind this discovery of a more favored 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 broderson by locating the second ob mr crisis eyes twinkled that won't make your task any more excellent his file the loop with us throw out is as likely to catch broderson as his rival it all depends upon the sort of man we find in the second ob and whether in some way unknown to us he gave a cause for the sudden and overwhelming rush of despair which alone supports this general theory of suicide the prospect grows pleasing where am i to look for my man 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 clue i see it's a short journey i have before me it'll bring the color to your cheeks oh i'm not kicking you will start tomorrow wish it were today and you will first inquire not for ob that's too indefinite but for a young girl by the name of dorris scott she holds the clue or rather she is the clue that this second ob another woman no a child well i won't say child exactly she must be 16 dorris scott she lives in derby derby is a small place you will have no trouble in finding this child it was to her miss chalena's last letter was addressed the one i begin to see no you don't sweetwater your fear is as blind as your hat nobody sees we're just feeling along a thread ob's letters the real ob i mean now the maniest effusions possible he's no more of a milkshop than this brother son 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 except that he knew dorris he writes in one of them dorris is learning to embroider it's like a fairy weaving a cobweb dorris isn't a very common name she must be the same little girl to whom miss chalena wrote from time to time was this letter signed ob yes they all are the only difference between his letters and brothersons is this brothersons retain the date and address a second ob'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 dorris if i remember rightly miss chalena's letter to this child was free from all mystery quite it is as open as the day that is why it has been mentioned to showing the freedom of miss chalena's mind five minutes before that fate or thrust sweet water took up the shoot mr grice pushed towards him and reread these lines dear little dorris 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 college in derby that my little friend is as happy with harsh winds blowing from the mountains as she was on the summer 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 in my mind affectionately your friend either a chalena that to a child of 16 just so dorris spells something beside dorris yet there is a dorris remember that ob says in one of his letters dorris is learning to embroider yes i remember that so you must first find dorris very good sir and as miss chalena'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 sweet waters eyes slowly rose till i rested on mr gross'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 gross smile but there was more age wisdom and sympathy for youthful enthusiasm in that smile than there was a confidence or hope end of chapter 22