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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　tip　all　lesser　emotions。　Were　the　invention　to　prove　a　failure　…　but　there　was　small　hope　of　this。　　The　man　was　of　too　well…poised　a　mind　to　over…estimate　his　work　or　miscalculate　its　place　among　modern　improvements。　　Soon　he　would　reach　the　goal　of　his　desires；　be　praised；　feted；　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　night　of　thought　reveal　such　a　method？　　Night！　　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；　creep　from　their　hiding…places　in　the　dismal　hours　of　universal　quiet；　and　lips　which　are　dumb　to　the　most　subtle　of　questioners　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　fool's　chance；　possibly；　（but　fools　sometimes　win　where　wise　men　fail）　of　reaching　those　depths　he　still　believed　in；　notwithstanding　his　failure　to　sound　them。

Addressing　a　letter　to　his　friend　in　Twenty…ninth　Street；　he　awaited　reply　in　the　shape　of　a　small　package　he　had　ordered　sent　to　the　corner　drug…store。　　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；　end　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　any　one　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　in　the　socialistic　world；　and　his　presence　was　eagerly　demanded　by　one　brotherhood　after　another。　　Sweetwater；　posted　at　his　loop…hole；　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　to…night；　beginning　with　a　few　heavenly　strains　and　ending　with　a　bang　that　made　the　key…board　jump。　　Certainly　something　was　amiss　in　the　quarter　where　peace　had　hitherto　reigned　undisturbed。　　Had　the　depths　begun　to　heave；　or　were　physical　causes　alone　responsible　for　these　unwonted　ebullitions　of　feeling？

The　question　was　immaterial。　　Either　would　form　an　excellent　preparation　for　the　coup　planned　by　Sweetwater；　and　when；　after　another　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　loop…hole　made　by　Sweetwater；　but　in　the　stillness　now　pervading　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　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　haste；　to　his　loop…hole。


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　of　the　Hotel　Clermont；　drowning　Miss　Challoner'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！　　　Miss　Challoner'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　strain　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！〃　wrung　from　lips　no　torture　could　have　forced　into　complaint　under　any　daytime　conditions。

Sweetwater　continued　to　listen；　but　he　had　heard　all；　and　after　some　few　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；　puerile　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　a　strain　of　music　indissolubly　associated　with　the　death　of　Miss　Challoner；　been　so　completely　forced　back　into　the　circumstances　and　environment　of　that　moment　that　his　mind　had　taken　up　and　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　startled　and　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　wakened　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　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　w