XV. THAT'S THE QUESTION
"How many times has he seen you?"
"Twice."
"So that he knows your face and figure?"
"I'm afraid so. He cannot help remembering the man who faced him in hisown room."
"That's unfortunate."
"Damned unfortunate; but one must expect some sort of a handicap in agame like this. Before I'm done with him, he'll look me full in the faceand wonder if he's ever seen me before. I wasn't always a detective. Iwas a carpenter once, as you know, and I'll take to the tools again. Assoon as I'm handy with them I'll hunt up lodgings in Hicks Street. Hemay suspect me at first, but he won't long; I'll be such a confoundedgood workman. I only wish I hadn't such pronounced features. They'vestood awfully in my way, Mr. Gryce. I don't like to talk about myappearance, but I'm so confounded plain that people remember me. Whycouldn't I have had one of those putty faces which don't mean anything?It would have been a deuced sight more convenient."
"You've done very well as it is."
"But I want to do better. I want to deceive him to his face. He'sclever, this same Brotherson, and there's glory to be got in making afool of him. Do you think it could be done with a beard? I've never worna beard. While I'm settling back into my old trade, I can let the hairgrow."
"Do. It'll make you look as weak as water. It'll be blonde, of course."
"And silky and straggling. Charming addition to my beauty. But it'lltake half an inch off my nose, and it'll cover my mouth, which means alot in my case. Then my complexion! It must be changed naturally. I'llconsult a doctor about that. No sort of make-believe will go with thisman. If my eyes look weak, they must really be so. If I walk slowlyand speak huskily, it must be because I cannot help it. I can bear theslight inconvenience of temporary ill-health in a cause like this; andif necessary the cough will be real, and the headache positive.
"Sweetwater! We'd better give the task to another man--to someoneBrotherson has never seen and won't be suspicious of?"
"He'll be suspicious of everybody who tries to make friends with himnow; only a little more so with me; that's all. But I've got to meetthat, and I'll do it by being, temporarily, of course, exactly the manI seem. My health will not be good for the next few weeks, I'm sure ofthat. But I'll be a model workman, neat and conscientious with just asuspicion of dash where dash is needed. He knows the real thing when hesees it, and there's not a fellow living more alive to shams. I won't bea sham. I'll be it. You'll see."
"But the doubt. Can you do all this in doubt of the issue?"
"No; I must have confidence in the end, and I must believe in his guilt.Nothing else will carry me through. I must believe in his guilt."
"Yes, that's essential."
"And I do. I never was surer of anything than I am of that. But I'llhave the deuce of a time to get evidence enough for a grand jury. That'splainly to be seen, and that's why I'm so dead set on the business. It'ssuch an even toss-up."
"I don't call it even. He's got the start of you every way. You can'tgo to his tenement; the janitor there would recognise you even if hedidn't."
"Now I will give you a piece of good news. They're to have a new janitornext week. I learned that yesterday. The present one is too easy. He'llbe out long before I'm ready to show myself there; and so will thewoman who took care of the poor washerwoman's little child. I'd not haverisked her curiosity. Luck isn't all against us. How does Mr. Challonerfeel about it?"
"Not very confident; but willing to give you any amount of rope.Sweetwater, he let me have a batch of letters written by his daughterwhich he found in a secret drawer. They are not to be read, oreven opened, unless a great necessity arises. They were written forBrotherson's eye--or so the father says--but she never sent them; tooexuberant perhaps. If you ever want them--I cannot give them to youto-night, and wouldn't if I could,--don't go to Mr. Challoner--you mustnever be seen at his hotel--and don't come to me, but to the littlehouse in West Twenty-ninth Street, where they will be kept for you,tied up in a package with your name on it. By the way, what name are yougoing to work under?"
"My mother's--Zugg."
"Good! I'll remember. You can always write or even telephone toTwenty-ninth Street. I'm in constant communication with them there, andit's quite safe."
"Thanks. You're sure the Superintendent is with me?"
"Yes, but not the Inspector. He sees nothing but the victim of a strangecoincidence in Orlando Brotherson."
"Again the scales hang even. But they won't remain so. One side is boundto rise. Which? That's the question, Mr. Gryce."