第42章 BOOK II:AS SEEN BY DETECTIVE SWEETWATER(21)

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 farce of his own imagining?Mr.Brotherson was whistling in his room,gaily and with ever increasing verve,and the tune which filled the whole floor with music was the same grand finale from William Tell which had seemed to work such magic in the night.As Sweetwater caught the mellow but indifferent notes sounding from those lips of 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 granite;he meets my every move.What am I to do now?"

XIX

THE DANGER MOMENT

For a day Sweetwater acknowledged himself to be mentally crushed,disillusioned and defeated.Then his spirits regained their poise.

It would take a heavy weight indeed to keep them down permanently.

His opinion was not changed in regard to his neighbour's secret guilt.A demeanour 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 tantalisingly 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 use of Miss Challoner's letters.So he telephoned his wishes to New York,and awaited the promised developments with an anxiety we can only understand by realising how much greater were his chances of failure than of success.To ensure the latter,every factor in his scheme must work to perfection.The medium of communication (a young,untried girl)must do her part with all the skill of artist and author combined.Would she disappoint them?He did not think so.Women possess a marvellous adaptability for this kind of work and this one was French,which made the case still more hopeful.

But Brotherson!In what spirit would he meet the proposed advances?

Would he even admit the girl,and,if he did,would the interview bear any such fruit as Sweetwater hoped for?The man who could mock the terrors of the night by a careless repetition of a strain instinct with the most sacred memories,was not to be depended upon to show much feeling at sight of a departed woman's writing.But no other hope remained,and Sweetwater faced the attempt with heroic determination.

The day was Sunday,which ensured Brotherson's being at home.

Nothing would have lured 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.What man?Sweetwater hastened to satisfy himself on this point by laying his ear to the partition.

Instantly the whole conversation became audible."An errand?Oh,yes,I have an errand!"explained the evidently unwelcome intruder,in her broken English."This is my brother Pierre.My name is Celeste;Celeste Ledru.I understand English ver well.I have worked much in families.But he understands nothing.He is all French.He accompanies me for -for the -what you call it?les convenances.He knows nothing of the beesiness."Sweetwater in the darkness of his closet laughed in his gleeful appreciation.

"Great!"was his comment."Just great!She has thought of everything -or Mr.Gryce has."Meanwhile,the girl was proceeding with increased volubility.

"What is this beesiness,monsieur?I have something to sell -so you Americans speak.Something you will want much -ver sacred,ver precious.A souvenir from the tomb,monsieur.Will you give ten -no,that is too leetle -fifteen dollars for it?It is worth -Oh,more,much more to the true lover.Pierre,tu es bete.

Teins-tu droit sur ta chaise.M.Brotherson est un monsieur comme il faut."This adjuration,uttered in sharp reprimand and with but little of the French grace,may or may not have been understood by the unsympathetic man they were meant to impress.But the name which accompanied them -his own name,never heard but once before in this house,undoubtedly caused the silence which almost reached the point of embarrassment,before he broke it with the harsh remark:

"Your French may be good,but it does not go with me.Yet is it more intelligible than your English.What do you want here?What have you in that bag you wish to open;and what do you mean by the sentimental trash with which you offer it?""Ah,monsieur has not memory of me,"came in the sweetest tones of a really seductive voice."You astonish me,monsieur.I thought you knew -everybody else does -Oh,tout le monde,monsieur,that I was Miss Challoner's maid -near her when other people were not -near her the very day she died."A pause;then an angry exclamation from some one.Sweetwater thought from the brother,who may have misinterpreted some look or gesture on Brotherson's part.Brotherson himself would not be apt to show surprise in any such noisy way.

"I saw 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'll have to say it,monsieur,that you were tres bons amis after that week in Lenox.""Well?"His utterance of this word was vigorous,but not tender.