XX. CONFUSION
In his interest in what was going on on the other side of the wall,Sweetwater had forgotten himself. Daylight had declined, but in thedarkness of the closet this change had passed unheeded. Night itselfmight come, but that should not force him to leave his post so long ashis neighbour remained behind his locked door, brooding over the wordsof love and devotion which had come to him, as it were from the otherworld.
But was he brooding? That sound of iron clattering upon iron!That smothered exclamation and the laugh which ended it! Anger anddetermination rang in that laugh. It had a hideous sound which preparedSweetwater for the smell which now reached his nostrils. The letterswere burning; this time the lid had been lifted from the stove withunrelenting purpose. Poor Edith Challoner's touching words had met,a different fate from any which she, in her ignorance of this man'snature,--a nature to which she had ascribed untold perfections--couldpossibly have conceived.
As Sweetwater thought of this, he stirred nervously in the darkness,and broke into silent invective against the man who could so insult thememory of one who had perished under the blight of his own coldnessand misunderstanding. Then he suddenly started back surprised andapprehensive. Brotherson had unlocked his door, and was coming rapidlyhis way. Sweetwater heard his step in the hall and had hardly timeto bound from his closet, when he saw his own door burst in and foundhimself face to face with his redoubtable neighbour, in a state of suchrage as few men could meet without quailing, even were they of his ownstature, physical vigour and prowess; and Sweetwater was a small man.
However, disappointment such as he had just experienced brings with it adesperation which often outdoes courage, and the detective, smiling withan air of gay surprise, shouted out:
"Well, what's the matter now? Has the machine busted, or tumbled intothe fire or sailed away to lands unknown out of your open window?"
"You were coming out of that closet," was the fierce rejoinder. "Whathave you got there? Something which concerns me, or why should your facego pale at my presence and your forehead drip with sweat? Don't thinkthat you've deceived me for a moment as to your business here. Irecognised you immediately. You've played the stranger well, but you'vea nose and an eye nobody could forget. I have known all along that Ihad a police spy for a neighbour; but it didn't faze me. I've nothing toconceal, and wouldn't mind a regiment of you fellows if you'd onlyplay a straight game. But when it comes to foisting upon me a parcel ofletters to which I have no right, and then setting a fellow like you tocount my groans or whatever else they expected to hear, I have a rightto defend myself, and defend myself I will, by God! But first, let me besure that my accusations will stand. Come into this closet with me. Itabuts on the wall of my room and has its own secret, I know. What is it?I have you at an advantage now, and you shall tell."
He did have Sweetwater at an advantage, and the detective knew it anddisdained a struggle which would have only called up a crowd, friendlyto the other but inimical to himself. Allowing Brotherson to drag himinto the closet, he stood quiescent, while the determined man who heldhim with one hand, felt about with the other over the shelves and alongthe partitions till he came to the hole which had offered such a happymeans of communication between the two rooms. Then, with a laughalmost as bitter in tone as that which rang from Brotherson's lips, heacknowledged that business had its necessities and that apologies fromhim were in order; adding, as they both stepped out into the rapidlydarkening room:
"We've played a bout, we two; and you've come out ahead. Allow me tocongratulate you, Mr. Brotherson. You've cleared yourself so far as I amconcerned. I leave this ranch to-night."
The frown had come back to the forehead of the indignant man whoconfronted him.
"So you listened," he cried; "listened when you weren't sneaking undermy eye! A fine occupation for a man who can dove-tail a corner like anadept. I wish I had let you join the brotherhood you were good enough tomention. They would know how to appreciate your double gifts and howto reward your excellence in the one, if not in the other. What did thepolice expect to learn about me that they should consider it necessaryto call into exercise such extraordinary talents?"
"I'm not good at conundrums. I was given a task to perform, and Iperformed it," was Sweetwater's sturdy reply. Then slowly, with his eyefixed directly upon his antagonist, "I guess they thought you a man.And so did I until I heard you burn those letters. Fortunately we havecopies."
"Letters!" Fury thickened the speaker's voice, and lent a savage gleamto his eye. "Forgeries! Make believes! Miss Challoner never wrote thedrivel you dare to designate as letters. It was concocted at PoliceHeadquarters. They made me tell my story and then they found some onewho could wield the poetic pen. I'm obliged to them for the confidencethey show in my credulity. I credit Miss Challoner with such words ashave been given me to read here to-day? I knew the lady, and I knowmyself. Nothing that passed between us, not an event in which wewere both concerned, has been forgotten by me, and no feature of ourintercourse fits the language you have ascribed to her. On the contrary,there is a lamentable contradiction between facts as they were and thefancies you have made her indulge in. And this, as you must acknowledge,not only proves their falsity, but exonerates Miss Challoner from allpossible charge of sentimentality."
"Yet she certainly wrote those letters. We had them from Mr. Challoner.The woman who brought them was really her maid. We have not deceived youin this."
"I do not believe you."
It was not offensively said; but the conviction it expressed wasabsolute. Sweetwater recognised the tone, as one of truth, and inwardlylaid down his arms. He could never like the man; there was too muchiron in his fibre; but he had to acknowledge that as a foe he wasinvulnerable and therefore admirable to one who had the good sense toappreciate him.
"I do not want to believe you." Thus did Brotherson supplement hisformer sentence. "For if I were to attribute those letters to her, Ishould have to acknowledge that they were written to another man thanmyself. And this would be anything but agreeable to me. Now I am goingto my room and to my work. You may spend the rest of the evening or thewhole night, if you will, listening at that hole. As heretofore, thelabour will be all yours, and the indifference mine."
With a satirical play of feature which could hardly be called a smile,he nodded and left the room.