XXXII
WITH THE SHADE DOWN
Not many words passed between Sweetwater and myself on our way up theAvenue. He had his "idea" to brood upon, while I was engaged inturning over in my mind various vague conjectures rising out of theargument we had just indulged in. But before reaching the point of ourdestination, I ventured upon one question.
"Have you, during any of your investigations, public or private,learned which of the three sons of Mr. Gillespie is the greatestfavourite with the old family servant, Hewson?"
"No; that is, yes. Why do you ask?"
"Because if it is not Leighton----"
"And it certainly is not."
"Then I advise you to direct your energies towards the one he is knownto like best."
Sweetwater stopped short and surveyed me in very evident surprisebefore venturing upon the following remark:
"I should like to know just why you say that?"
I replied by relating my interview with the butler in the drug-store,and his easy acceptance of Leighton's guilt as implied in the arrestwhich had just taken place.
Sweetwater listened and moved on; but so quickly now I could hardlykeep pace with him.
"If my idea has no will-o'-the-wisp uncertainty in it, and I havelighted upon a way out of this mystery, I will be made for life," hedeclared, as we reached the Gillespie house and he paused for a momentat the foot of the steps. "But there! I'm counting chickens--somethingwhich Mr. Gryce never approves of at any stage of the game." Andrushing up the stoop, he rang the bell, while I waited below with myheart in my mouth, as they say.
Who would respond to the summons; and if we effected anentrance--which I felt to be a matter of some doubt--whom would we belikely to come upon in a visit of this nature? George? Alfred? I didnot like to ask, and Sweetwater did not volunteer to inform me.
The opening of the door cut short my reflections as well as gaveanswer to my last-mentioned doubt. Old Hewson, and Hewson only, openedthe door of this house; and whether this renewed encounter with hispatient figure had something disappointing in it, or whether thesolemn grandeur of the interior thus quietly disclosed to viewproduced an impression of family life that was more than painful underthe circumstances, I experienced a recoil from the errand which hadbrought me there, and would have retreated if I had not recalledHope's interest in this matter, and the joy it would give her to seeLeighton Gillespie proved innocent of the crime for which he was atpresent held in custody.
Meantime, Sweetwater, with an air of perfect nonchalance admirablyassumed, had stepped past Hewson into the house. Evidently he wasaccustomed to go in and out of the place at will, and though the oldservant did not fail to show his indignation at this palpableinfringement upon the family dignity, he did not abate a jot of hisusual politeness or even watch the unwelcome intruder too closely inhis passage down the hall.
But his complaisance did not extend to me. He gave me a look whichdemanded a response.
"Some formality of the law!" I whispered, hoping that the unaccustomedwords would befog the old man sufficiently to cover my ownembarrassment, and answer any doubts he might have as to the purposeof our errand there. And perhaps they did, for, with some mutteredwords, among which I heard this pathetic phrase, "There are so many ofthem!" he crept away and disappeared through the door leading into thedining-room. As he did so, I noted a man sitting on a settee pushedwell into the corner near the study door. I did not know this man; Ionly noted that he sat there very quietly, and that the only movementhe made at our approach was a slight raising and falling of hisfingers on his crossed arms.
We were making for the study behind the stairs, and into this roomSweetwater, after unlocking it with a key he had taken from hispocket, now walked:
"Do you object to visiting this place again?" he asked, striking amatch and reaching up to light the gas.
Of course I answered no, yet it was not quite a pleasant experienceto stand there and watch the light flickering on his face, in a spotwhere I had last seen the one horrid spectacle of my life.
But when the cheerful flame had sprung up, and walls made familiar notby long seeing but close seeing had come into view, I was conscioussimply of a strong desire to know why I had been brought to this roomin such haste and secrecy, and what the "idea" was which had producedso marked an effect upon my singular companion.
He showed no immediate intention of enlightening me. He was engaged incasting a keen glance about him, a glance which seemingly took inevery detail of the well-remembered room; then, as if satisfied thatnothing had been disturbed since his last visit, he advanced to thewindow and pulled down the shade.
"We will not have the curious Mr. Rosenthal giving away _our_secrets," he dryly commented. "And this is our secret, is it not? Youwon't feel called upon to repeat outside what goes on between us inthis room?"
"Certainly not."
The assurance seemed unnecessary, but I did not regret giving it whenI saw how it relieved him of all doubt, and caused his eye to lightenand his manner to grow easy as he went on to say:
"So far as mortal calculation can go, this room has not been enteredby anyone but the police or persons acting under the instructions ofthe police, since the hour when Mr. Gillespie was carried out of it.Consequently we have a right to expect all articles remaining here tobe in the same condition as on that night. This, for instance."
He had taken out the typewriter from a closet built in one of thecorners, and set it as he spoke down in its old place on the edge ofthe desk.
"Ah!" I burst forth. "Your idea is in connection with thistypewriter!"
He frowned, or almost frowned, for he was an amiable fellow; then,giving me a pleading look, observed:
"I am young yet, Mr. Outhwaite, and it is very easy for me to deceivemyself with imaginary results. You will therefore allow me a minute tomyself, and if I find out that I have struck a false trail, or if myidea proves to be one I cannot sustain by facts, I'll sing out and wewill consult as to our next move."
"Shall I step outside?" I asked.
But this he would not listen to.
"All I want," said he, "is for you to look the other way while I stoopover this typewriter."
I naturally felt disposed to humour him, and meanwhile he remained sostill that I was confident he did not touch the instrument. But thecry which impetuously burst from him after a moment of intensestillness startled me so I can never forget it. It was somethingbetween a sob and a shout, and it was so suggestive of triumph that Icould not forbear turning about and rushing up to the instrument overwhich he still stooped.
He greeted me with a look of delight and a rush of confused gestures.
"See, sir; oh, see! How I wish Mr. Gryce were here! Look at the topof that key, sir--the one with the words, 'Shift key' on it. Yes, thatone; that! What is the matter with it? Tell me."
"The face of it is obscured. I can scarcely read the words. There issomething on it. Something like----"
"Paste!" he cried. "The paste that ran out of the bottle and spreadover the desk. You can still see unmistakable signs of it here andhere" (pointing rapidly as he spoke), "for Mr. Gryce would not allow awoman in the room, and nothing has been cleaned since that night. Thepaste is but a dry crust now, but you must remember that it was moistwhen Mr. Gillespie stooped over the table, so that when his fingersgot into it in his struggle to reach the typewriter, he readilytransferred it to the keys. This will be apparent to you if you willscrutinise the exact keys he made use of in writing those last fivewords. Observe the one marked _e_; now this _n_, and now the _o_.There is but a trace of paste on some of them; but it is thick on the_e_, and thicker still on--what key, sir?"
"The one you first drew my attention to; the one marked 'Shift key.'"
"Just so. Now, do you know the use of the 'Shift key?'"
"I do not."
"You press it down when you wish the letter you are writing to be acapital. For instance, I wish to write the capital I. I hold down this'Shift key' with one finger and
strike the key marked _i_ withanother."
"Yes, but----"
"Oh, I know what you are going to say: 'No capital appears in the fivewords we are now considering.' True, sir, but does not this paste onthe 'Shift key' show that he made an effort to write one; that acapital was in his mind even if it did not get on paper? In beginningany communication, one naturally starts with a capital, and you see,sir, that the space between this last hurriedly added phrase and thewords of his unfinished letter is long enough to hold one. But thehaste and agitation of this dying man were such that he did not putenough force into his stroke to bring an impression of this openingcapital. If, therefore, we would read this communicationintelligently, it is imperative upon us to supply this missingcapital. Now, what letter do you think he meant to write there and didnot?"
I blankly shook my head. My thoughts were in a great whirl.
"There is but one," he cried, "which would make any sense; the letterN, sir, the famous letter N. Supply that letter, sir; then tell me howthose words would read. You know them well, or, stay, I have themhere."
And Sweetwater spread before me a copy of the letter as it appearedafter Mr. Gillespie had added the five words which had moulded thewhole course of the investigation up to this point.
But this was an unnecessary precaution on his part. I knew the wordsby heart, and already had prefixed to them the capital N which he hadjust convinced me belonged there, as witness:
"one of my sons he"
"None of my sons he"
"Oh!" I cried, "what a difference!"
Young Sweetwater's face absolutely shone.
"Isn't there?" he cried. "I got that idea while you were talking aboutMiss Meredith. But that is not all. We are not through with ourexperiments yet. A letter prefixed is not enough. We need to affix afew. Can you supply them?"
I stared at him in amazement.
"'_None of my sons he_' fails to make good sense, Mr. Outhwaite. Butlook!"
Replacing the paper in the typewriter, he pressed a few keys, liftedthe carriage, and drew me down to see. Imagine my amazement and theshock given to all my previous convictions when I saw written beforeme these words:
"None of my sons hewson."