 CHAPTER 41 THE CLOCK IN THE HOTEL OFFICE STREK III Orlando Brotherson counted the strokes, then went on writing. His transom was partly open, and he had just heard a step go by his door. This was nothing new. He had already heard it several times before that night. It was Mr. Chaloner's step, and every time it passed, he had rustled his papers, or scratched vigorously with his pen. "'He is keeping watch for Oswald,' was his thought. They fear a sudden end to this. No one, not the son of my mother, knows me. Do I know myself?' Four o'clock. The light was still burning, the pile of letters he was writing increasing. Five o'clock. A rattling shade betrays an open window. No other sound disturbs the quiet of the room. It is empty now, but Mr. Chaloner, long since satisfied that all was well, goes by no more. Silence has settled upon the hotel, that heavy silence which precedes the dawn. There was silence in the streets also. The few who were abroad crept quietly along. An electric storm was in the air, and the surcharged clouds hung heavy and low, biting the moment of outbreak. A man who had left a place of many shadows for the more open road paused and looked up at these clouds, then went calmly on. Suddenly the shriek of an approaching train tears through the valley. Has it a call for this man? No. Yet he pauses in the midst of the street he is crossing and watches, as the child might watch for the flash of its lights at the end of the darken vista. It comes, filling the empty space at which he stares with moving life, engine, baggage car, and a long string of pull-mans. Then all is dark again, and only the noise of its slackening wheels comes to him through the night. It has stopped at the station, a minute longer and it has started again, and the quickly lessening rumble of its departure is all that remains of this vision of man's activity and ceaseless expectancy. When it is quite gone and all is quiet, a sigh falls from the man's lips and he moves on, but this time for some unexplainable reason in the direction of the station. With lowered head he passes along, noting little till he arrives within sight of the depot where some freight is being handled and a trunk or two wheel down the platform. No sight could be more ordinary or unsuggestive, but it has its attraction for him and he looks up as he goes by and follows the passage of that truck down the platform till it has reached the corner and disappeared. Then he sighs again and moves on. A cluster of houses, one of them open and lighted, was all which lay between him now and the country road. He was hurrying past for his step had unconsciously quickened as he turned his back upon the station when he was seized again by that mood of curiosity and stepped up to the door from which a light issued and looked in. A common eating-room lay before him, with rudely spread tables and one very sleepy waiter taking orders from a new arrival who sat with his back to the door. Why did the lonely man on the sidewalk start as his eye fell on the latter's commonplace figure, a hungry man demanding breakfast in a cheap country restaurant. His own physique was powerful while that of the other looked slim and frail. But fear was in the air and the brooding of a tempest affects some temperaments in a totally unexpected manner. As the man inside turns slightly and looks up, the master figure on the sidewalk vanishes and his step, if anyone had been interested enough to listen, rings with a new note as it turns into the country road it has at last reached. But no one heeded. The new arrival munches his role and waits impatiently for his coffee, while without, the clouds pile soundlessly in the sky, one of them taking the form of a huge hand with clutching fingers reaching down into the hollow void beneath. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Initials only by Anna Catherine Green. Book 3. The Heart of Man. Chapter 42. At 6. Mr. Chaliner had been honest in his statement regarding the departure of Sweetwater. He had not only paid and dismissed our young detective, but he had seen him take the train for New York. And Sweetwater had gone away in good faith too, possibly with his convictions and undisturbed, but acknowledging at last that he had reached the end of his resources. But the brain does not lose its hold upon its work as readily as the hand does. He was halfway to New York and had consciously bidden farewell to the whole subject, when he suddenly startled those about him by rising impetuously to his feet. He sat again immediately, but with the light in his small grey eye, which Mr. Grice would have understood and reveled in. The idea for which he had searched industriously for months had come at last, unbidden, thrown up from some remote recess of the mind which had seemingly closed upon the subject forever. I have it, I have it, he murmured, in ceaseless reiteration to himself. I will go back to Mr. Chaliner and let him decide if the idea is worth pursuing. Perhaps an experiment may be necessary. It was bitter cold that night. I wish it were icy weather now, but a chemist can help us out. Good God, if this should be the explanation of the mystery, a less for Orlando and a less for Oswell. But his sympathies did not deter him. He returned to Derby at once, and as soon as he did, presented himself at the hotel and asked for Mr. Chaliner. He was amazed to find that gentleman already up and in a state of agitation that was very disquieting. But he brightened up wonderfully at sight of his visitor, and drawing him inside the room, observed with trembling eagerness. I do not know why you have come back, but never was man more welcome. Mr. Brotherson has confessed. Confessed? Yes, he killed both women, my daughter and his neighbour, the washerwoman, with a- Wait, broken sweet water, eagerly. Let me tell you. And stooping, he whispered something in the other's ear. Mr. Chaliner stared at him amazed, then slowly nodded his head. How came you to think he begun? But sweet water in his great anxiety interrupted him with a quick. Explanations will keep, Mr. Chaliner. What of the man himself? Where is he? That's the important thing now. He was in his room till early this morning, writing letters, but he's not there now. The door is unlocked, and I went in. From the appearances I fear the worst. That is why your presence relieves me so. Where do you think he is? In his hangar in the woods. Where else would he go to? I have thought of that. Shall we start out alone or take witnesses with us? We will go alone. Does Oswald anticipate? He is sure, but he lack strength to move. He lies on my bed in there. Doris and her father are with him. We will not wait a minute. How the storm holds off. I hope it will hold off for another hour. Mr. Chaliner made no reply. He had spoken because he felt compelled to speak. But it had not been easy for him, nor could any trifles move him now. The town was up by this time, and though they chose the least frequented streets, they had to suffer from some encounters. It was a good half hour before they found themselves in the forest and inside of the hangar. One looked that way, and sweet water turned to see what the effect was upon Mr. Chaliner. A murmur of dismay greeted him. The oval of the great lid stood up against the forest background. He has escaped, cried Mr. Chaliner. But sweet water, laying a finger on his lip, advanced and laid his ear against the door. Then he cast a quick look aloft. Nothing was to be seen there. The darkness of storm in the heavens, but nothing more. Yes. Now a flash of vivid and destructive lightning. The two men drew back and their glances crossed. Let us return to the high road, whispered sweet water. We can see nothing here. Mr. Chaliner, trembling very much, wheeled slowly about. Wait. Enjoying sweet water. First, let me take a look inside. Running to the nearest tree, he quickly climbed it, worked himself along a protruding branch and looked down into the open hangar. It was now so dark that details escaped him. But one thing was certain, the airship was not there. Descending, he drew Mr. Chaliner hastily along. He's gone, said he. Let us reach the high ground as quickly as we can. I'm glad that Mr. Oswald Brotherson is not with us, or, or Miss Doris. But this expression of satisfaction died on his lips. At the point where the forest road debauchers into the highway, he had already caught a glimpse of their two figures. They were waiting for news, and the brother spoke up the instant he saw sweet water. Where is he? You've not found him, or you wouldn't be coming alone. He cannot have gone up. He cannot manage it without an assistant. We must seek him somewhere else, in the forest or in our house at home. Ah, the lightning had forked again. He's not in the forest, and he's not in your home, return sweet water. He's aloft. The airship is not in the shed, and he can go up alone now. Then more slowly, but he cannot come down. They strained their eyes in maddening search of the heavens, but the darkness had so increased that they could be sure of nothing. Doris sunk upon her knees. Suddenly the lightning flashed again, this time so vividly and so near that the whole heaven burst into fiery illumination above them, and the thunder crashing almost simultaneously, seemed for a moment to rock the world and bow the heavens towards them. Then a silence, then sweet water's whisper in Mr. Chaliner's ear. Take them away. I saw him. He was falling like a shot. Mr. Chaliner threw out his arms, then steadied himself. Oswald was reeling. Oswald had seen too, but Doris was there. When the lightning flashed again, she was standing, and Oswald was weeping on her bosom. End of chapter 42. End of initials only by Anna Catherine Green.