Books: Initials Only
A >>
Anna Katharine Green >> Initials Only
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 | 5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19
A tirade against the rich and a loud call to battle could be gleaned
from the few sentences they had heard. But its virulence and pointed
attack was not that of the second-rate demagogue or business agent,
but of a man whose intellect and culture rang in every tone, and
informed each sentence.
Sweetwater, in whom satisfaction was fast taking the place of
impatience and regret, pushed the window to before asking George
this question:
"Did you hear the voice of the man whose action attracted, your
attention outside the Clermont?"
"No."
"Did you note just now the large shadow dancing on the ceiling over
the speaker's head?"
"Yes, but I could judge nothing from that."
"Well, he's a rum one. I shan't open this window again till he
gives signs of reaching the end of his speech. It's too cold."
But almost immediately he gave a start and, pressing George's arm,
appeared to listen, not to the speech which was no longer audible,
but to something much nearer--a step or movement in the adjoining
yard. At least, so George interpreted the quick turn which this
impetuous detective made, and the pains he took to direct George's
attention to the walk running under the window beneath which they
crouched. Someone was stealing down upon the house at their left,
from the alley beyond. A big man, whose shoulder brushed the
window as he went by. George felt his hand seized again and pressed
as this happened, and before he had recovered from this excitement,
experienced another quick pressure and still another as one, two,
three additional figures went slipping by. Then his hand was
suddenly dropped, for a cry had shot up from the door where the
sentinel stood guard, followed by a sudden loud slam, and the noise
of a shooting bolt, which, proclaiming as it did that the invaders
were not friends but enemies to the cause which was being vaunted
above, so excited Sweetwater that he pulled the window wide open
and took a bold look out. George followed his example and this was
what they saw:
Three men were standing flat against the fence leading from the
shed directly to the porch. The fourth was crouching within the
latter, and in another moment they heard his fist descend upon the
door inside in a way to rouse the echoes. Meantime, the voice in
the audience hall above had ceased, and there could be heard
instead the scramble of hurrying feet and the noise of overturning
benches. Then a window flew up and a voice called down:
"Who's that? What do you want down there?"
But before an answer could be shouted back, this man was drawn
fiercely inside, and the scramble was renewed, amid which George
heard Sweetwater's whisper at his ear:
"It's the police. The chief has got ahead of me. Was that the man
we're after--the one who shouted down?"
"No. Neither was he the speaker. The voices are very different."
"We want the speaker. If the boys get him, we're all right; but if
they don't--wait, I must make the matter sure."
And with a bound he vaulted through the window, whistling in a
peculiar way. George, thus left quite alone, had the pleasure of
seeing his sole protector mix with the boys, as he called them, and
ultimately crowd in with them through the door which had finally
been opened for their admittance. Then came a wait, and then the
quiet re-appearance of the detective alone and in no very, amiable
mood.
"Well?" inquired George, somewhat breathlessly. "Do you want me?
They don't seem to be coming out."
"No; they've gone the other way. It was a red hot anarchist
meeting, and no mistake. They have arrested one of the speakers,
but the other escaped. How, we have not yet found out; but I
think there's a way out somewhere by which he got the start of
us. He was the man I wanted you to see. Bad luck, Mr. Anderson,
but I'm not at the end of my resources. If you'll have patience
with me and accompany me a little further, I promise you that I'll
only risk one more failure. Will you be so good, sir?"
IX
THE INCIDENT OF THE PARTLY LIFTED SHADE
The fellow had a way with him, hard to resist. Cold as George was
and exhausted by an excitement of a kind to which he was wholly
unaccustomed, he found himself acceding to the detective's request;
and after a quick lunch and a huge cup of coffee in a restaurant
which I wish I had time to describe, the two took a car which
eventually brought them into one of the oldest quarters of the
Borough of Brooklyn. The sleet which had stung their faces in the
streets of New York had been left behind them somewhere on the
bridge, but the chill was not gone from the air, and George felt
greatly relieved when Sweetwater paused in the middle of a long
block before a lofty tenement house of mean appearance, and
signified that here they were to stop, and that from now on, mum
was to be their watchword.
George was relieved I say, but he was also more astonished than ever.
What kind of haunts were these for the cultured gentleman who spent
his evenings at the Clermont? It was easy enough in these days of
extravagant sympathies, to understand such a man addressing the
uneasy spirits of lower New York--he had been called an enthusiast,
and an enthusiast is very often a social agitator--but to trace him
afterwards to a place like this was certainly a surprise. A tenement
--such a tenement as this--meant home--home for himself or for
those he counted his friends, and such a supposition seemed
inconceivable to my poor husband, with the memory of the gorgeous
parlour of the Clermont in his mind. Indeed, he hinted something
of the kind to his affable but strangely reticent companion, but
all the answer he got was a peculiar smile whose humorous twist he
could barely discern in the semi-darkness of the open doorway into
which they had just plunged.
"An adventure! certainly an adventure!" flashed through poor
George's mind, as he peered, in great curiosity down the long hall
before him, into a dismal rear, opening into a still more dismal
court. It was truly a novel experience for a business man whose
philanthropy was carried on entirely by proxy--that is, by his
wife. Should he be expected to penetrate into those dark,
ill-smelling recesses, or would he be led up the long flights of
naked stairs, so feebly illuminated that they gave the impression
of extending indefinitely into dimmer and dimmer heights of decay
and desolation?
Sweetwater seemed to decide for the rear, for leaving George, he
stepped down the hall into the court beyond, where George could see
him casting inquiring glances up at the walls above him. Another
tenement, similar to the one whose rear end he was contemplating,
towered behind but he paid no attention to that. He was satisfied
with the look he had given and came quickly back, joining George
at the foot of the staircase, up which he silently led the way.
It was a rude, none-too-well-cared-for building, but it seemed
respectable enough and very quiet, considering the mass of people
it accommodated. There were marks of poverty everywhere, but no
squalor. One flight--two flights--three--and then George's
guide stopped, and, looking back at him, made a gesture. It
appeared to be one of caution, but when the two came together at
the top of the staircase, Sweetwater spoke quite naturally as he
pointed out a door in their rear:
"That's the room. We'll keep a sharp watch and when any man, no
matter what his dress or appearance comes up these stairs and
turns that way, give him a sharp look. You understand?"
"Yes; but-"
"Oh, he hasn't come in yet. I took pains to find that out. You
saw me go into the court and look up. That was to see if his
window was lighted. Well, it wasn't."
George felt non-plussed.
"But surely," said he, "the gentleman named Brotherson doesn't live
here."
"The inventor does."
"Oh!"
"And--but I will explain later."
The suppressed excitement contained in these words made George
stare. Indeed, he had been wondering for some time at the manner
of the detective which showed a curious mixture of several opposing
emotions. Now, the fellow was actually in a tremble of hope or
impatience;--and, not content with listening, he peered every few
minutes down the well of the staircase, and when he was not doing
that, tramped from end to end of the narrow passage-way separating
the head of the stairs from the door he had pointed out, like one
to whom minutes were hours. All this time he seemed to forget
George who certainly had as much reason as himself for finding the
time long. But when, after some half hour of this tedium and
suspense, there rose from below the faint clatter of ascending
footsteps, he remembered his meek companion and beckoning him to
one side, began a studied conversation with him, showing him a
note-book in which he had written such phrases as these:
Don't look up till he is fairly in range with the light.
There's nothing to fear; he doesn't know either of us.
If it is a face you have seen before;--if it is the one we are
expecting to see, pull your necktie straight. It's a little on one
side.
These rather startling injunctions were read by George, with no very
perceptible diminution of the uneasiness which it was only natural
for him to feel at the oddity of his position. But only the demand
last made produced any impression on him. The man they were waiting
for was no further up than the second floor, but instinctively
George's hand had flown to his necktie, and he was only stopped from
its premature re-arrangement by a warning look from Sweetwater.
"Not unless you know him," whispered the detective; and immediately
launched out into an easy talk about some totally different business
which George neither understood, nor was expected to, I dare say.
Suddenly the steps below paused, and George heard Sweetwater draw
in his breath in irrepressible dismay. But they were immediately
resumed, and presently the head and shoulders of a workingman
of uncommon proportions appeared in sight on the stairway.
George cast him a keen look, and his hand rose doubtfully to his
neck and then fell back again. The approaching man was tall, very
well-proportioned and easy of carriage; but the face--such of it
as could be seen between his cap and the high collar he had pulled
up about his ears, conveyed no exact impression to George's mind,
and he did not dare to give the signal Sweetwater expected from him.
Yet as the man went by with a dark and sidelong glance at them both,
he felt his hand rise again, though he did not complete the action,
much to his own disgust and to the evident disappointment of the
watchful detective.
"You're not sure?" he now heard, oddly interpolated in the stream
of half-whispered talk with which the other endeavoured to carry
off the situation.
George shook his head. He could not rid himself of the old
impression he had formed of the man in the snow.
"Mr. Dunn, a word with you," suddenly spoke up Sweetwater, to the
man who had just passed them. "That's your name, isn't it?"
"Yes, that is my name," was the quiet response, in a voice which
was at once rich and resonant; a voice which George knew--the
voice of the impassioned speaker he had heard resounding through
the sleet as he cowered within hearing in the shed behind the
Avenue A tenement. "Who are you who wish to speak to me at so
late an hour?"
He was returning to them from the door he had unlocked and left
slightly ajar.
"Well, we are--You know what," smiled the ready detective,
advancing half-way to greet him. "We're not members of the
Associated Brotherhood, but possibly have hopes of being so. At
all events, we should like to talk the matter over, if, as you
say, it's not too late."
"I have nothing to do with the club--"
"But you spoke before it."
"Yes."
"Then you can give us some sort of an idea how we are to apply for
membership."
Mr. Dunn met the concentrated gaze of his two evidently unwelcome
visitors with a frankness which dashed George's confidence in
himself, but made little visible impression upon his daring
companion.
"I should rather see you at another time," said he. "But--" his
hesitation was inappreciable save to the nicest ear--"if you will
allow me to be brief, I will tell you what I know--which is very
little."
Sweetwater was greatly taken aback. All he had looked for, as he
was careful to tell my husband later, was a sufficiently prolonged
conversation to enable George to mark and study the workings of the
face he was not yet sure of. Nor did the detective feel quite easy
at the readiness of his reception; nor any too well pleased to accept
the invitation which this man now gave them to enter his room.
But he suffered no betrayal of his misgivings to escape him, though
he was careful to intimate to George, as they waited in the doorway
for the other to light up, that he should not be displeased at his
refusal to accompany him further in this adventure, and even advised
him to remain in the hall till he received his summons to enter.
But George had not come as far as this to back out now, and as soon
as he saw Sweetwater advance into the now well-lighted interior, he
advanced too and began to look around him.
The room, like many others in these old-fashioned tenements, had a
jog just where the door was, so that on entering they had to take
several steps before they could get a full glimpse of its four walls.
When they did, both showed surprise. Comfort, if not elegance,
confronted them, which impression, however, was immediately lost in
the evidences of work, manual, as well as intellectual, which were
everywhere scattered about.
The man who lived here was not only a student, as was evinced by a
long wall full of books, but he was an art-lover, a musician, an
inventor and an athlete.
So much could be learned from the most cursory glance. A more
careful one picked up other facts fully as startling and impressive.
The books were choice; the invention to all appearance a practical
one; the art of a high order and the music, such as was in view,
of a character of which the nicest taste need not be ashamed.
George began to feel quite conscious of the intrusion of which they
had been guilty, and was amazed at the ease with which the detective
carried himself in the presence of such manifestations of culture
and good, hard work. He was trying to recall the exact appearance
of the figure he had seen stooping in the snowy street two nights
before, when he found himself staring at the occupant of the room,
who had taken up his stand before them and was regarding them while
they were regarding the room.
He had thrown aside his hat and rid himself of his overcoat, and
the fearlessness of his aspect seemed to daunt the hitherto dauntless
Sweetwater, who, for the first time in his life, perhaps, hunted in
vain for words with which to start conversation.
Had he made an awful mistake? Was this Mr. Dunn what he seemed an
unknown and careful genius, battling with great odds in his honest
struggle to give the world something of value in return for what it
had given him? The quick, almost deprecatory glance he darted at
George betrayed his dismay; a dismay which George had begun to share,
notwithstanding his growing belief that the man's face was not
wholly unknown to him even if he could not recognise it as the one
he had seen outside the Clermont.
"You seem to have forgotten your errand," came in quiet, if not
good-natured, sarcasm from their patiently waiting host.
"It's the room," muttered Sweetwater, with an attempt at his
old-time ease which was not as fully successful as usual. "What
an all-fired genius you must be. I never saw the like. And in
a tenement house too! You ought to be in one of those big new
studio buildings in New York where artists be and everything you
see is beautiful. You'd appreciate it, you would."
The detective started, George started, at the gleam which answered
him from a very uncommon eye. It was a temporary flash, however,
and quickly veiled, and the tone in which this Dunn now spoke was
anything but an encouraging one.
"I thought you were desirous of joining a socialistic fraternity,"
said he; "a true aspirant for such honours don't care for beautiful
things unless all can have them. I prefer my tenement. How is it
with you, friends?"
Sweetwater found some sort of a reply, though the thing which this
man now did must have startled him, as it certainly did George.
They were so grouped that a table quite full of anomalous objects
stood at the back of their host, and consequently quite beyond their
own reach. As Sweetwater began to speak, he whom he had addressed
by the name of Dunn, drew a pistol from his breast pocket and laid
it down barrel towards them on this table top. Then he looked up
courteously enough, and listened till Sweetwater was done. A very
handsome man, but one not to be trifled with in the slightest degree.
Both recognised this fact, and George, for one, began to edge
towards the door.
"Now I feel easier," remarked the giant, swelling out his chest.
He was unusually tall, as well as unusually muscular. "I never
like to carry arms; but sometimes it is unavoidable. Damn it, what
hands!" He was looking at his own, which certainly showed soil.
"Will you pardon me?" he pleasantly apologised, stepping towards a
washstand and plunging his hands into the basin. "I cannot think
with dirt on me like that. Humph, hey! did you speak?"
He turned quickly on George who had certainly uttered an ejaculation,
but receiving no reply, went on with his task, completing it with a
care and a disregard of their presence which showed him up in still
another light.
But even his hardihood showed shock, when, upon turning round with
a brisk, "Now I'm ready to talk," he encountered again the clear
eye of Sweetwater. For, in the person of this none too welcome
intruder, he saw a very different man from the one upon whom he had
just turned his back with so little ceremony; and there appeared
to be no good reason for the change. He had not noted in his
preoccupation, how George, at sight of his stooping figure, had made
a sudden significant movement, and if he had, the pulling of a
necktie straight, would have meant nothing to him. But to Sweetwater
it meant every thing, and it was in the tone of one fully at ease
with himself that he now dryly remarked: "Mr. Brotherson, if you
feel quite clean; and if you have sufficiently warmed yourself, I
would suggest that we start out at once, unless you prefer to have
me share this room with you till the morning."
There was silence. Mr. Dunn thus addressed attempted no answer; not
for a full minute. The two men were measuring each other--George
felt that he did not count at all--and they were quite too much
occupied with this task to heed the passage of time. To George,
who knew little, if anything, of what this silent struggle meant to
either, it seemed that the detective stood no show before this Samson
of physical strength and intellectual power, backed by a pistol just
within reach of his hand. But as George continued to look and saw
the figure of the smaller man gradually dilate, while that of the
larger, the more potent and the better guarded, gave unmistakable
signs of secret wavering, he slowly changed his mind and, ranging
himself with the detective, waited for the word or words which should
explain this situation and render intelligible the triumph gradually
becoming visible in the young detective's eyes.
But he was not destined to have his curiosity satisfied so far. He
might witness and hear, but it was long before he understood.
"Brotherson?" repeated their host, after the silence had lasted to
the breaking-point. "Why do you call me that?"
"Because it is your name."
"You called me Dunn a minute ago."
"That is true."
"Why Dunn if Brotherson is my name?"
"Because you spoke under the name of Dunn at the meeting to-night,
and if I don't mistake, that is the name by which you are known here."
"And you? By what name are you known?"
"It is late to ask, isn't it? But I'm willing to speak it now, and
I might not have been so a little earlier in our conversation. I
am Detective Sweetwater of the New York Department of Police, and
my errand here is a very simple one. Some letters signed by you have
been found among the papers of the lady whose mysterious death at
the hotel Clermont is just now occupying the attention of the New
York authorities. If you have any information to give which will
in any way explain that death, your presence will be welcome at
Coroner Heath's office in New York. If you have not, your presence
will still be welcome. At all events, I was told to bring you. You
will be on hand to accompany me in the morning, I am quite sure,
pardoning the unconventional means I have taken to make sure of
my man?"
The humour with which this was said seemed to rob it of anything
like attack, and Mr. Brotherson, as we shall hereafter call him,
smiled with an odd acceptance of the same, as he responded:
"I will go before the police certainly. I haven't much to tell,
but what I have is at their service. It will not help you, but I
have no secrets. What are you doing?"
He bounded towards Sweetwater, who had simply stepped to the window,
lifted the shade and looked across at the opposing tenement.
"I wanted to see if it was still snowing," explained the detective,
with a smile, which seemed to strike the other like a blow. "If it
was a liberty, please pardon it."
Mr. Brotherson drew back. The cold air of self-possession which he
now assumed, presented such a contrast to the unwarranted heat of
the moment before that George wondered greatly over it, and later,
when he recapitulated to me the whole story of this night, it was
this incident of the lifted shade, together with the emotion it had
caused, which he acknowledged as being for him the most inexplicable
event of the evening and the one he was most anxious to hear
explained.
As this ends our connection with this affair, I will bid you my
personal farewell. I have often wished that circumstances had made
it possible for me to accompany you through the remaining intricacies
of this remarkable case.
But you will not lack a suitable guide.
BOOK II
AS SEEN BY DETECTIVE SWEETWATER
X
A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION
At an early hour the next morning, Sweetwater stood before the
coroner's desk, urging a plea he feared to hear refused. He wished
to be present at the interview soon to be held with Mr. Brotherson,
and he had no good reason to advance why such a privilege should be
allotted him.
"It's not curiosity," said he. "There's a question I hope to see
settled. I can't communicate it--you would laugh at me; but it's
an important one, a very important one, and I beg that you will let
me sit in one of the corners and hear what he says. I won't bother
and I'll be very still, so still that he'll hardly notice me. Do
grant me this favour, sir."
The coroner, who had had some little experience with this man,
surveyed him with a smile less forbidding than the poor fellow
expected.
"You seem to lay great store by it," said he; "if you want to sort
those papers over there, you may."
"Thank you. I don't understand the job, but I promise you not to
increase the confusion. If I do; if I rattle the leaves too loudly,
it will mean, 'Press him further on this exact point,' but I doubt
if I rattle them, sir. No such luck."
The last three words were uttered sotto voce, but the coroner heard
him, and followed his ungainly figure with a glance of some
curiosity, as he settled himself at the desk on the other side of
the room.
"Is the man--" he began, but at this moment the man entered, and Dr.
Heath forgot the young detective, in his interest in the new arrival.
Neither dressed with the elegance known to the habitues of the
Clermont, nor yet in the workman's outfit in which he had thought
best to appear before the Associated Brotherhood, the newcomer
advanced, with an aspect of open respect which could not fail to
make a favourable impression upon the critical eye of the official
awaiting him. So favourable, indeed, was this impression that that
gentleman half rose, infusing a little more consideration into his
greeting than he was accustomed to show to his prospective witnesses.
Such a fearless eye he had seldom encountered, nor was it often his
pleasure to confront so conspicuous a specimen of physical and
intellectual manhood.
"Mr. Brotherson, I believe," said he, as he motioned his visitor to
sit.
"That is my name, sir."
"Orlando Brotherson?"
"The same, sir."
"I'm glad we have made no mistake," smiled the doctor. "Mr.
Brotherson, I have sent for you under the supposition that you were
a friend of the unhappy lady lately dead at the Hotel Clermont."
"Miss Challoner?"
"Certainly; Miss Challoner."
"I knew the lady. But--" here the speaker's eye took on a look as
questioning as that of his interlocutor--"but in a way so devoid
of all publicity that I cannot but feel surprised that the fact
should be known."
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 | 5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19