IX. THE INCIDENT OF THE PARTLY LIFTED SHADE
The fellow had a way with him, hard to resist. Cold as George wasand exhausted by an excitement of a kind to which he was whollyunaccustomed, he found himself acceding to the detective's request; andafter a quick lunch and a huge cup of coffee in a restaurant which Iwish I had time to describe, the two took a car which eventually broughtthem into one of the oldest quarters of the Borough of Brooklyn. Thesleet which had stung their faces in the streets of New York had beenleft behind them somewhere on the bridge, but the chill was not gonefrom the air, and George felt greatly relieved when Sweetwater pausedin the middle of a long block before a lofty tenement house of meanappearance, and signified that here they were to stop, and that from nowon, 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 spenthis evenings at the Clermont? It was easy enough in these days ofextravagant sympathies, to understand such a man addressing the uneasyspirits of lower New York--he had been called an enthusiast, and anenthusiast is very often a social agitator--but to trace him afterwardsto a place like this was certainly a surprise. A tenement--such atenement as this--meant home--home for himself or for those he countedhis friends, and such a supposition seemed inconceivable to my poorhusband, with the memory of the gorgeous parlour of the Clermont inhis mind. Indeed, he hinted something of the kind to his affable butstrangely reticent companion, but all the answer he got was a peculiarsmile whose humorous twist he could barely discern in the semi-darknessof the open doorway into which they had just plunged.
"An adventure! certainly an adventure!" flashed through poor George'smind, 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 trulya novel experience for a business man whose philanthropy was carriedon entirely by proxy--that is, by his wife. Should he be expected topenetrate into those dark, ill-smelling recesses, or would he be led upthe long flights of naked stairs, so feebly illuminated that they gavethe impression of extending indefinitely into dimmer and dimmer heightsof decay and desolation?
Sweetwater seemed to decide for the rear, for leaving George, he steppeddown the hall into the court beyond, where George could see him castinginquiring glances up at the walls above him. Another tenement, similarto the one whose rear end he was contemplating, towered behind but hepaid no attention to that. He was satisfied with the look he had givenand came quickly back, joining George at the foot of the staircase, upwhich he silently led the way.
It was a rude, none-too-well-cared-for building, but it seemedrespectable enough and very quiet, considering the mass of people itaccommodated. 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, Sweetwaterspoke 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 matterwhat 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 gointo 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 livehere."
"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 thedetective 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 ofthe staircase, and when he was not doing that, tramped from end to endof the narrow passage-way separating the head of the stairs from thedoor he had pointed out, like one to whom minutes were hours. All thistime he seemed to forget George who certainly had as much reason ashimself for finding the time long. But when, after some half hour ofthis tedium and suspense, there rose from below the faint clatter ofascending footsteps, he remembered his meek companion and beckoninghim to one side, began a studied conversation with him, showing him anote-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 expectingto see, pull your necktie straight. It's a little on one side.
These rather startling injunctions were read by George, with no veryperceptible diminution of the uneasiness which it was only natural forhim to feel at the oddity of his position. But only the demand last madeproduced any impression on him. The man they were waiting for was nofurther up than the second floor, but instinctively George's handhad flown to his necktie, and he was only stopped from its prematurere-arrangement by a warning look from Sweetwater.
"Not unless you know him," whispered the detective; and immediatelylaunched out into an easy talk about some totally different businesswhich George neither understood, nor was expected to, I dare say.
Suddenly the steps below paused, and George heard Sweetwater draw in hisbreath in irrepressible dismay. But they were immediately resumed, andpresently the head and shoulders of a workingman of uncommon proportionsappeared in sight on the stairway.
George cast him a keen look, and his hand rose doubtfully to hisneck and then fell back again. The approaching man was tall, verywell-proportioned and easy of carriage; but the face--such of it ascould be seen between his cap and the high collar he had pulled up abouthis ears, conveyed no exact impression to George's mind, and he did notdare to give the signal Sweetwater expected from him. Yet as the manwent by with a dark and sidelong glance at them both, he felt his handrise again, though he did not complete the action, much to his owndisgust and to the evident disappointment of the watchful detective.
"You're not sure?" he now heard, oddly interpolated in the stream ofhalf-whispered talk with which the other endeavoured to carry off thesituation.
George shook his head. He could not rid himself of the old impression hehad formed of the man in the snow.
"Mr. Dunn, a word with you," suddenly spoke up Sweetwater, to the manwho had just passed them. "That's your name, isn't it?"
"Yes, that is my name," was the quiet response, in a voice which wasat once rich and resonant; a voice which George knew--the voice of theimpassioned speaker he had heard resounding through the sleet as hecowered within hearing in the shed behind the Avenue A tenement. "Whoare 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 slightlyajar.
"Well, we are--You know what," smiled the ready detective, advancinghalf-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 totalk 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 formembership."
Mr. Dunn met the concentrated gaze of his two evidently unwelcomevisitors 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--" hishesitation was inappreciable save to the nicest ear--"if you will allowme 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 hewas careful to tell my husband later, was a sufficiently prolongedconversation to enable George to mark and study the workings of the facehe was not yet sure o
f. Nor did the detective feel quite easy at thereadiness of his reception; nor any too well pleased to accept theinvitation which this man now gave them to enter his room.
But he suffered no betrayal of his misgivings to escape him, though hewas careful to intimate to George, as they waited in the doorway for theother to light up, that he should not be displeased at his refusal toaccompany him further in this adventure, and even advised him to remainin the hall till he received his summons to enter.
But George had not come as far as this to back out now, and as soonas he saw Sweetwater advance into the now well-lighted interior, headvanced too and began to look around him.
The room, like many others in these old-fashioned tenements, had a jogjust where the door was, so that on entering they had to take severalsteps before they could get a full glimpse of its four walls. When theydid, both showed surprise. Comfort, if not elegance, confronted them,which impression, however, was immediately lost in the evidences ofwork, manual, as well as intellectual, which were everywhere scatteredabout.
The man who lived here was not only a student, as was evinced by a longwall full of books, but he was an art-lover, a musician, an inventor andan athlete.
So much could be learned from the most cursory glance. A more carefulone picked up other facts fully as startling and impressive. The bookswere choice; the invention to all appearance a practical one; the art ofa high order and the music, such as was in view, of a character ofwhich the nicest taste need not be ashamed. George began to feel quiteconscious of the intrusion of which they had been guilty, and was amazedat the ease with which the detective carried himself in the presenceof such manifestations of culture and good, hard work. He was trying torecall the exact appearance of the figure he had seen stooping in thesnowy street two nights before, when he found himself staring at theoccupant of the room, who had taken up his stand before them and wasregarding them while they were regarding the room.
He had thrown aside his hat and rid himself of his overcoat, and thefearlessness of his aspect seemed to daunt the hitherto dauntlessSweetwater, who, for the first time in his life, perhaps, hunted in vainfor words with which to start conversation.
Had he made an awful mistake? Was this Mr. Dunn what he seemed anunknown and careful genius, battling with great odds in his honeststruggle to give the world something of value in return for what ithad given him? The quick, almost deprecatory glance he darted atGeorge betrayed his dismay; a dismay which George had begun to share,notwithstanding his growing belief that the man's face was not whollyunknown to him even if he could not recognise it as the one he had seenoutside the Clermont.
"You seem to have forgotten your errand," came in quiet, if notgood-natured, sarcasm from their patiently waiting host.
"It's the room," muttered Sweetwater, with an attempt at his old-timeease which was not as fully successful as usual. "What an all-firedgenius 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 Yorkwhere artists be and everything you see is beautiful. You'd appreciateit, you would."
The detective started, George started, at the gleam which answered himfrom a very uncommon eye. It was a temporary flash, however, and quicklyveiled, and the tone in which this Dunn now spoke was anything but anencouraging one.
"I thought you were desirous of joining a socialistic fraternity," saidhe; "a true aspirant for such honours don't care for beautiful thingsunless 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 mannow did must have startled him, as it certainly did George. They were sogrouped that a table quite full of anomalous objects stood at theback of their host, and consequently quite beyond their own reach. AsSweetwater 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 towardsthem on this table top. Then he looked up courteously enough, andlistened till Sweetwater was done. A very handsome man, but one not tobe trifled with in the slightest degree. Both recognised this fact, andGeorge, for one, began to edge towards the door.
"Now I feel easier," remarked the giant, swelling out his chest. He wasunusually tall, as well as unusually muscular. "I never like to carryarms; but sometimes it is unavoidable. Damn it, what hands!" He waslooking at his own, which certainly showed soil. "Will you pardon me?"he pleasantly apologised, stepping towards a washstand and plunging hishands 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 careand a disregard of their presence which showed him up in still anotherlight.
But even his hardihood showed shock, when, upon turning round with abrisk, "Now I'm ready to talk," he encountered again the clear eye ofSweetwater. For, in the person of this none too welcome intruder, he sawa very different man from the one upon whom he had just turned his backwith so little ceremony; and there appeared to be no good reason for thechange. He had not noted in his preoccupation, how George, at sight ofhis stooping figure, had made a sudden significant movement, and if hehad, 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 onefully 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 meshare this room with you till the morning."
There was silence. Mr. Dunn thus addressed attempted no answer; not fora full minute. The two men were measuring each other--George felt thathe did not count at all--and they were quite too much occupied withthis task to heed the passage of time. To George, who knew little, ifanything, of what this silent struggle meant to either, it seemed thatthe detective stood no show before this Samson of physical strength andintellectual power, backed by a pistol just within reach of his hand.But as George continued to look and saw the figure of the smaller mangradually dilate, while that of the larger, the more potent and thebetter guarded, gave unmistakable signs of secret wavering, he slowlychanged his mind and, ranging himself with the detective, waited forthe word or words which should explain this situation and renderintelligible the triumph gradually becoming visible in the youngdetective's eyes.
But he was not destined to have his curiosity satisfied so far. He mightwitness and hear, but it was long before he understood.
"Brotherson?" repeated their host, after the silence had lasted to thebreaking-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, andif 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, andI might not have been so a little earlier in our conversation. I amDetective Sweetwater of the New York Department of Police, and my errandhere is a very simple one. Some letters signed by you have been foundamong the papers of the lady whose mysterious death at the hotelClermont is just now occupying the attention of the New Yorkauthorities. If you have any information to give which will in any wayexplain that death, your presence will be welcome at Coroner Heath'soffice in New York. If you have not, your presence will still bewelcome. At all events, I was told to bring you. You will be on handto accompany me in the morning, I am quite sure, pardoning theunconventional means I have taken to make sure of my man?"
The humour with which this was said seemed to rob it of anything likeattack, and Mr. Brotherson, as we shall hereafter call him, smiled withan odd acceptance of the same, as he responded:
"I will go before the police certainly. I haven't much to tell, but whatI have is at their service. It will not h
elp 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 aliberty, please pardon it."
Mr. Brotherson drew back. The cold air of self-possession which he nowassumed, presented such a contrast to the unwarranted heat of themoment before that George wondered greatly over it, and later, when herecapitulated to me the whole story of this night, it was this incidentof the lifted shade, together with the emotion it had caused, which heacknowledged as being for him the most inexplicable event of the eveningand the one he was most anxious to hear explained.
As this ends our connection with this affair, I will bid you my personalfarewell. I have often wished that circumstances had made it possiblefor me to accompany you through the remaining intricacies of thisremarkable case.
But you will not lack a suitable guide.
BOOK II. AS SEEN BY DETECTIVE SWEETWATER