XXV. THE OVAL HUT
That night Dr. Fenton had a visitor. We know that visitor and we almostknow what his questions were, if not the answers of the good doctor.Nevertheless, it may be better to listen to a part at least of theirconversation. Sweetwater, who knew when to be frank and open, as well aswhen to be reserved and ambiguous, made no effort to disguise the natureof his business or his chief cause of interest in Oswald Brotherson. Theeye which met his was too penetrating not to detect the smallest attemptat subterfuge; besides, Sweetwater had no need to hide his errand;it was one of peace, and it threatened nobody--"the more's the pity,"thought he in uneasy comment to himself, as he realised the hopelessnessof the whole situation.
His first word, therefore, was a plain announcement.
"Dr. Fenton, my name is Sweetwater. I am from New York, and representfor the nonce, Mr. Challoner, whose name I have simply to mention, foryou to understand that my business is with Mr. Brotherson whom I amsorry to find seriously, if not dangerously, ill. Will you tell me howlong you think it will be before I can have a talk with him on a subjectwhich I will not disguise from you may prove a very exciting one?"
"Weeks, weeks," returned the doctor. "Mr. Brotherson has been a verysick man and the only hope I have of his recovery is the fact that heis ignorant of his trouble or that he has any cause for doubt or dread.Were this happy condition of things to be disturbed,--were the faintestrumour of sorrow or disaster to reach him in his present weakened state,I should fear a relapse, with all its attendant dangers. What then, ifany intimation should be given him of the horrible tragedy suggestedby the name you have mentioned? The man would die before your eyes. Mr.Challoner's business will have to wait."
"That I see; but if I knew when I might speak--"
"I can give you no date. Typhoid is a treacherous complaint; he has thebest of nurses and the chances are in favour of a quick recovery; butwe never can be sure. You had better return to New York. Later, you canwrite me if you wish, or Mr. Challoner can. You may have confidence inmy reply; it will not mislead you."
Sweetwater muttered his thanks and rose. Then he slowly sat down again.
"Dr. Fenton," he began, "you are a man to be trusted. I'm in a devil ofa fix, and there is just a possibility that you may be able to help meout. It is the general opinion in New York, as you may know, that MissChalloner committed suicide. But the circumstances do not fully bear outthis theory, nor can Mr. Challoner be made to accept it. Indeed, he isso convinced of its falsehood, that he stands ready to do anything, payanything, suffer anything, to have this distressing blight removed fromhis daughter's good name. Mr. Brotherson was her dearest friend, and assuch may have the clew to this mystery, but Mr. Brotherson may not bein a condition to speak for several weeks. Meanwhile, Mr. Challoner mustsuffer from great suspense unless--" a pause during which hesearched the doctor's face with a perfectly frank and inquiringexpression--"unless some one else can help us out. Dr. Fenton, can you?"
The doctor did not need to speak; his expression conveyed his answer.
"No more than another," said he. "Except for what Doris felt compelledto tell me, I know as little as yourself. Mr. Brotherson's delirium tookthe form of calling continually upon one name. I did not know this name,but Doris did, also the danger lurking in the fact that he had yet tohear of the tragedy which had robbed him of this woman to whom he wasso deeply attached. So she told me just this much. That the Edithwhose name rung so continuously in our ears was no other than the MissChalloner of New York of whose death and its tragic circumstances thepapers have been full; that their engagement was a secret one unsharedso far as she knew by any one but herself. That she begged me topreserve this secret and to give her all the help I could when the timecame for him to ask questions. Especially did she entreat me to be withher at the crisis. I was, but his waking was quite natural. He did notask for Miss Challoner; he only inquired how long he had been illand whether Doris had received a letter during that time. She had notreceived one, a fact which seemed to disappoint him; but she carried itoff so gaily (she is a wonderful girl, Mr. Sweetwater--the darling ofall our hearts), saying that he must not be so egotistical as tothink that the news of his illness had gone beyond Derby, that he soonrecovered his spirits and became a very promising convalescent. Thatis all I know about the matter; little more, I take it, than you knowyourself."
Sweetwater nodded; he had expected nothing from the doctor, and was notdisappointed at his failure. There were two strings to his bow, and theone proving valueless, he proceeded to test the other.
"You have mentioned Miss Scott, as the confidante--and only confidanteof this unhappy pair," said he. "Would it be possible--can you make itpossible for me to see her?"
It was a daring proposition; he understood this at once from thedoctor's expression; and, fearing a hasty rebuff, he proceeded tosupplement his request with a few added arguments, urged with suchunexpected address and show of reason that Dr. Fenton's aspect visiblysoftened and in the end he found himself ready to promise that he woulddo what he could to secure his visitor the interview he desired if hewould come to the house the next day at the time of his own morningvisit.
This was as much as the young detective could expect, and havingexpressed his thanks, he took his leave in anything but a discontentedframe of mind. With so powerful an advocate as the doctor, he feltconfident that he should soon be able to conquer this young girl'sreticence and learn all that was to be learned from any one but Mr.Brotherson himself. In the time which must elapse between that happyhour and the present, he would circulate and learn what he could aboutthe prospective manager. But he soon found that he could not enter theWorks without a permit, and this he was hardly in a position to demand;so he strolled about the village instead, and later wandered away intothe forest.
Struck by the inviting aspect of a narrow and little used road openingfrom the highway shortly above the house where his interests were justthen centred, he strolled into the heart of the spring woods till hecame to a depression where a surprise awaited him, in the shape of apeculiar structure rising from its midst where it just fitted, or sonearly fitted that one could hardly walk about it without brushing thesurrounding tree trunks. Of an oval shape, with its door facing theapproach, it nestled there, a wonder to the eye and the occasion ofconsiderable speculation to his inquiring mind. It had not beenlong built, as was shown very plainly by the fresh appearance of theunpainted boards of which it was constructed; and while it boasted of adoor, as I've already said, there were no evidences visible of any otherbreak in the smooth, neatly finished walls. A wooden ellipse with a roofbut no windows; such it appeared and such it proved to be. A mystery toSweetwater's eyes, and like all mysteries, interesting. For what purposehad it been built and why this isolation? It was too flimsy for areservoir and too expensive for the wild freak of a crank.
A nearer view increased his curiosity. In the projection of the roofover the curving sides he found fresh food for inquiry. As he examinedit in the walk he made around the whole structure, he came to a placewhere something like a hinge became visible and further on another. Theroof was not simply a roof; it was also a lid capable of being raisedfor the air and light which the lack of windows necessitated. This wasan odd discovery indeed, giving to the uncanny structure the appearanceof a huge box, the cover of which could be raised or lowered atpleasure. And again he asked himself for what it could be intended? Whatenterprise, even of the great Works, could demand a secrecy so absolutethat such pains as these should be taken to shut out all possibility ofa prying eye. Nothing in his experience supplied him with an answer.
He was still looking up at these hinges, with a glance which took in atthe same time the nearness and extreme height of the trees by whichthis sylvan mystery was surrounded, when a sound from the road on theopposite side of the hollow brought his conjectures to a standstill andsent him hurrying on to the nearest point from which that road becamevisible.
A team was approaching. He could hear the heavy tread of horses wo
rkingtheir laborious way through trees whose obstructing branches swishedbefore and behind them. They were bringing in a load for this shed,whose uses he would consequently soon understand. Grateful for his goodluck--for his was a curiosity which could not stand defeat--he tooka few steps into the wood, and from the vantage point of a concealingcluster of bushes, fixed his eyes upon the spot where the road openedinto the hollow.
Something blue moved there, and in another moment, to his greatamazement, there stepped into view the spirited form of Doris Scott,who if he had given the matter a thought he would have supposed to besitting just then by the bedside of her patient, a half mile back on theroad.
She was dressed for the woods in a blue skirt and jacket and moved likea leader in front of a heavily laden wagon now coming to a standstillbefore the closely shut shed--if such we may call it.
"I have a key," so she called out to the driver who had paused fororders. "When I swing the doors wide, drive straight in."
Sweetwater took a look at the wagon. It was piled high with large woodenboxes on more than one of which he could see scrawled the words: O.Brotherson, Derby, Pa.
This explained her presence, but the boxes told nothing. They were ofall sizes and shapes, and some of them so large that the assistance ofanother man was needed to handle them. Sweetwater was about to offer hisservices when a second man appeared from somewhere in the rear, and thedetective's attention being thus released from the load out of which hecould make nothing, he allowed it to concentrate upon the young girlwho had it in charge and who, for many reasons, was the one person ofsupreme importance to him.
She had swung open the two wide doors, and now stood waiting for horseand wagon to enter. With locks flying free--she wore no bonnet--shepresented a picture of ever increasing interest to Sweetwater. Trulyshe was a very beautiful girl, buoyant, healthy and sweet; as unlikeas possible his preconceived notions of Miss Challoner's humble littleprotegee. Her brown hair of a rich chestnut hue, was in itself a wonder.On no head, even in the great city he had just left, had he seen suchabundance, held in such modest restraint. Nature had been partial tothis little working girl and given her the chevelure of a queen.
But this was nothing. No one saw this aureole when once the eye hadrested on her features and caught the full nobility of their expressionand the lurking sweetness underlying her every look. She herself madethe charm and whether placed high or placed low, must ever attract theeye and afterwards lure the heart, by an individuality which hardlyneeded perfect features in which to express itself.
Young yet, but gifted, as girls of her class often are, with the nicestinstincts and purest aspirations, she showed the elevation of herthoughts both in her glance and the poise with which she awaitedevents. Sweetwater watched her with admiration as she superintendedthe unloading of the wagon and the disposal of the various boxes on thefloor within; but as nothing she said during the process was calculatedto afford the least enlightenment in regard to their contents, hepresently wearied of his inaction and turned back towards the highway,comforting himself with the reflection that in a few short hours hewould have her to himself when nothing but a blunder on his part shouldhinder him from sounding her young mind and getting such answers to hisquestions as the affair in which he was so deeply interested, demanded.