James Hay

“ Braceway turned with his electric quickness to Greenleaf, and, as he did so, Bristow leaned back in his chair, as if determined not to argue further. His face assumed its hard, bleak calm; his cold self-control returned.
"Now, get this!" Braceway's incisive tone whipped Greenleaf to closer attention. "You've an embezzler and murderer in your hands. He admits one crime; I've proved the other. The rest is up to you. Put the irons on him. Throw him into a cell! You'll be proud of it the rest of your life. ”

“ Bristow, in his turn, was silent. Greenleaf took up the inquiry:
"Several times today, while you were asleep or delirious, you said the words: 'When he—say—I—asleep,' Can you explain that for us, Miss Fulton?"
Her pallor deepened. This time terror flourished in her eyes as she turned sharply toward Greenleaf.
"Who says I said that?" she demanded, husky again.
"Things are heard pretty easily in these bungalows," he said. "One of my men heard it."
"Oh, I understand," she replied, a hint of craftiness creeping into her voice. "No; I can't explain it. One can't often explain one's ravings." ”

“ Braceway began, in quick, incisive sentences:
"You're up against it, Morley. You know it as well as we do. And we don't want to trick you or bully you. We're only after the truth. If you'll tell the truth, it will help you and us. Will you give us a straight story?"
"Yes," he answered dully, his hands folded, like a woman's, against his body.
Braceway put more imperiousness into his voice.
"You know you're under arrest for embezzlement, don't you?" ”

“ He was convinced that the other, with his darting, analytical mind, had gone to the secret unerringly.
"Oh, well," he laughed, rising from the table, "if you're so fond of your own ideas, Bristow, you won't be of much use to me in questioning Morley tonight."
"On the contrary," the other returned quickly, "I'm just as anxious as you are to get the truth out of him. As long as one man's story is left vague and indefinite, just that long you run the risk of somebody's coming forward with facts or conjectures to overthrow the theory you've advanced. ”

“ There was for the first time a hint of sharpness in Bristow's voice. "You waited. What did you see?"
For the past few minutes a change had been taking place in the bearing of Withers. It was as if, having recovered slightly from the terrific shock of his wife's death, he was gradually stiffening, gaining the strength necessary to withstand the swift volley of Bristow's questions.
The questioner, sensing this alteration in the other, made his queries all the quicker and more peremptory. He wanted to profit as much as possible from the other's lack of control. ”

“ And, as long as I'm in the business as a professional detective, I don't propose to disregard one scintilla of evidence, one smallest clue. I'll run down every tip and any hunch before I'll quit a case, saying virtually: 'Well, that man, or this man, seems guilty; go ahead and string him up.'
"No innocent man's going to his death as long as I feel there's a chance of the guilty fellow being around and laughing up his sleeve. That's the whole thing in a nutshell. That's why I'm after Morley! That's why I'm going to Washington." ”

“ Be a little more specific, please."
"I mean: what do you and Withers gain by letting Braceway keep this thing before the public?"
Fulton leaned far forward in his chair, his lower lip thrust out, his eyes blazing.
"No, sir!" he exploded. "I'll never call Braceway off! They're gossiping, are they? They can gossip until they're blue in the face. What do I care for public opinion, for gossip, for their leers and whispers? Nothing—not a snap of the finger! To hell with what they say! What I want is vengeance. I'll have it! Call Braceway off? Not while there's breath in me!" ”

“ A few minutes after eight o'clock that morning Mr. Illington, president of the Furmville National Bank, had called at the Brevord to see Mr. Withers, who, still holding his room there, was waiting for the delayed morning train.
Mr. Illington was of the true banker type, fifty years old, immaculately dressed, thin of lip, hard of eye, slow and precise in his enunciation. He had, apparently, estranged himself from any deep, human feeling. The long handling of money had hardened him. ”

“ It was then that I made the first big mistake of my life.
"I lost my temper. Men who can not control their tempers under the most trying circumstances should let crime alone. They will fail.
"I killed her—a foolish result of the folly of yielding to my rage.
"Standing there and looking at her, I pondered, with all the clarity I could command. In a second, I perceived the advisability of throwing the blame upon some other person."
The faces of Braceway and Fulton mirrored to the others the horror of the stuff they were reading. ”

“ I always relied on others—do you see? But now, that influence is gone. I'm my own mistress; and I know it. I can and must do what strikes me as right."
Bristow, close student of human nature that he was, did understand. There flashed across his mind a passage he had read in something by George Bernard Shaw: that nobody ever loses a friend or relative by death without experiencing some measure of relief.
"Yes; I see what you mean," he assented; "its an instance of submerged personality—something of that sort."
"Mr. Braceway is working with you, isn't he?" she asked suddenly. ”

“ Some of Braceway's friends were in the habit of laughing at him because, when he was sure of having solved a criminal puzzle, he always could be seen carrying a cane. The appearance of the cane invariably foretold the arrest of a guilty man.
He went now to the corner near the bureau and picked up the light walking-stick he had brought to Furmville strapped to his suitcase. He lingered, twirling the cane in his right hand. His thoughts went to the interview he and Bristow had had that morning with Fulton, whose white hair and deep-lined face were very clear before him. ”

“ I don't think I had made a sound since leaving the sleeping porch."
Bristow spoke quickly.
"Miss Fulton, who was the man?"
She overcame a momentary reluctance.
"I'm not sure," she said slowly. "I am not sure. I thought it was either Henry Morley or George Withers."
She turned away. A tremor shook her from head to foot.
"Why?" he asked.
"First, the voice," she replied, her face still averted. "It could so easily have been Mr. Morley's high voice lowered to a whisper; or it might have been George Withers'. When he's angry, his deep voice undergoes a curious change; it's horrid." ”

“ I merely confide it to you in a professional way, and——"
"Going to Washington! Man, you're mad—mad! You'll have a hemorrhage or something, and die—die, I tell you!"
"Nevertheless," Bristow insisted, "I must go."
"About this murder?"
"Yes."
"Very well!" snorted Mowbray, rising like a jumping-jack. "Go—go to the North Pole if you wish. I'm through! I can't treat a man who defies my orders and advice. Good morning, sir."
Bristow gave him no answer, and he ran down the steps and threw himself into his car.
"Mistuh Bristow, Lucy's done come," said Mattie, at the living room door. ”

“ Braceway had discovered long ago that the man who attempts good work as a detective must depend almost as much on his ability to make friends as he does on his capacity for sifting evidence.
"I'm a good worker," he was in the habit of saying, "but I'm not half as good working alone as I am when I have the help of all the men and women who are witnesses in a case or connected with it in some other way. I need all the cooperation I can get."
This was one reason why Roddy, when he entered Braceway's room, felt sure immediately that he would receive only kindly treatment. ”

“ Abrahamson lowered his voice and, leaning low on his elbow, thrust his face far over the counter toward Braceway. "It is only an idea, but—it is an idea. I bet you I would not tell anybody else. Such things might get a man into trouble. But I like you, Mr. Braceway. I confide in you. Mr. Withers and that man with the beard and the gold tooth—something in the look of the eyes, something in the build of the shoulders—each reminded me of the other, a little. ”

“ When the chief had gone, Bristow sat down to his delayed dinner. As he ate, he went over the facts so far discovered, and catalogued them:
Perry, the negro—incriminated, probably, by the buttons from his overalls jacket; by the ease with which he could have obtained from Lucy Thomas the kitchen key to No. 5; by the possible motive of robbery; and by the brutal means, choking, employed to inflict death. ”

“ I should never have served the time for embezzlement. A free life is a fine thing. I suspect that death, perhaps, is even finer."
He handed the last page to Braceway, leaned back in his chair, put up his arms and yawned. The glance with which he swept the faces of those before him was arrogant. It had a sinister audacity.
"The confession's complete," Braceway told Greenleaf, clipping his words short. "Take him away. No—wait!" He pulled a pen from his pocket and turned to the prisoner.
"Oh, the signature," Bristow said coolly. ”

“ For nine years he had been studying murder cases and the methods of murderers. People had laughed at his fad, but now he was more pleased with himself as a result of it than ever before. He was still pleasantly aware of the prominence he would enjoy in Furmville because of Greenleaf's having called on him for assistance.
"Every murderer," he had said many times, "makes some mistake, big or little, which will lead to his destruction if the authorities have brains enough to find it." ”

“ Braceway, with a quick gesture, indicated the identity of Morley, and the sleek-looking man, suddenly coming to life, fell into the stream of street-bound passengers.
Braceway went back to the Pullman and rejoined Bristow, who was waiting for him in the stateroom.
In the taxicab on their way to the Willard Hotel, the lame man lay back against the cushion, apparently tired out and making no pretense of interest in anything. Braceway muttered something inaudible.
"What's that?" Bristow asked, opening his eyes.
"I'd been thinking what a pity it is that most criminals are youngsters. ”

“ While they exchanged casual greetings, Braceway lit a cigarette and spun the match, with a droning sound, far out from the porch. He did this, as he did everything else, with a "flaire," with that indefinable something which marks every man who has a strong personality. There was in all his bearing a dash, an electric emphasis.
"What do you think, Mr. Bristow?" He got down to business at once. "Did this negro Perry kill Mrs. Withers?" ”

“ His visit had prevented Withers' meeting the train, and Fulton had gone directly to Manniston Road.
Braceway, going to the hotel on the banker's heels, was admitted by Withers, who broke into a storm of futile, highly coloured profanity.
"Brace," he said, "you'll get the devil who's caused all this, won't you? You know what my life has been! You'll get him if you have to tear up heaven and earth."
"Sure! Sure!" Braceway declared. "Keep yourself together. Let me do the worrying. I'll get him if he's above the sod." ”

“ A fellow like me takes one look at him and sees the disguise. The gold tooth—that was false, fake. When he talked to me, it was all I could do to keep from reaching across the counter and pushing that tooth more firmly into his jaw. Gold is heavy, you see. I was afraid it might drop down on my showcase and break some glass."
Abrahamson laughed. So did Braceway.
"And his beard, Mr. Braceway? That was better. To the ordinary observer, it might have looked natural—but not to me. Oh, yes; he was disguised—too much.—Besides, the other afternoon was not the first time I had seen him—no." ”

“ He had not suffered such an attack of garrulity for the past twenty years. "And Morley, his family, his birth! By George, sir, his blood! Are we to lose all faith in blood?"
"As I wanted to say," Braceway managed to break in, "the murder of Mrs. George S. Withers in Furmville, North Carolina, led——"
This was the crowning blow. Mr. Beale gasped several times in rapid succession, not entirely hiding his slight, cold resemblance to a fish.
"Mrs. Withers!" he got out at last. "The daughter of my old friend, Will Fulton! Fulton, one of our depositors!" ”

“ People are talking disagreeably.
"They're saying that Braceway, employed by you and Withers, is persecuting this bank thief in the hope of building up the murder charge, so that, if the case against Carpenter falls down, Morley will be the logical man to be put on trial. You see?"
"No," Fulton said; "I don't. What do you mean?"
"That you, Withers, and Braceway are afraid Withers may be accused of the murder."
"Ah! They're saying that, are they? And you were going to say—what?"
"Simply this: the negro's the guilty man. The facts speak for themselves, and facts are incontrovertible. ”

“ Braceway left them, their mask-like faces plainly damaged by anxiety; their cool, slow utterance slightly humanized by the realization that they must act at once. In fact, as the detective closed the door of the private office, Mr. Jones was reaching with long, slender fingers for the telephone. They would need the best accountant they could find for the quick work they had promised Braceway. ”

“ Remembering her beauty and charm, her cleverness and lovable qualities, they preferred to think that some one under great emotion, or with a terrific gift for crime, had cut short her brilliant existence.
People, he meditated, find foolish and bizarre means of comforting themselves when overwhelmed by great tragedy. Very well, then; let it go at that. After all, it was not his funeral.
Accompanying Fulton to the sidewalk, he climbed into the automobile and, in a few minutes, was in the library asking for the first volume of the last edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. ”

“ Braceway said seriously. "As a matter of fact, the negro's not guilty."
"You mean that's your position," Bristow quoted back to him, his smile indulgent.
"Yes. Carpenter's not guilty, and Morley's not guilty."
Mr. Fulton, who had the chair immediately on the lame man's left, was frankly curious and anxious.
"Before you go any further, Braceway," he interrupted testily, "can you tell us where George Withers is?"
"I can say this much," replied Braceway after a pause: "for reasons best known to himself, Withers refused to join us here. He could have done so if he had wished." ”