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I wouldn' nevuh seed his beard dat time, but he turn' 'roun' when he wuz nigh to de top uv de stairs an' look back at me. Den I seed foh a fac' dat he wuz de same as de yuther man I jes' done seed." Braceway gave no sign of how highly he valued the negro's words. Seated by the window, the dollar bill still on his knee, he kept his gaze on Roddy, holding him to his narrative.
Bristow put up his hand, demanding attention. When Braceway ignored the gesture, he leaned back, smiling, derisive. "Morley's embezzlement and its consequences gave me a happy excuse for keeping on this fellow's trail while he was busy perfecting the machinery for Perry's destruction. The man's self-assurance, his conceit " "I've had enough of this!"
"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. "I forgot that." He took the typewritten pages roughly from Fulton, and in a bold, free hand wrote at the bottom of each: "Thomas F. Splain."
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.
"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!
Braceway said yesterday he knew nothing of Withers' whereabouts." Beneath the Washington dispatch was one from Atlanta: "Inquiry made here today failed to disclose where George S. Withers, husband of the victim of the brutal crime at Furmville, N. C., is now. He left this city the morning Mrs.
Understand now: it wasn't directly connected with the murder, but something that would make it pretty hot for Withers. And here was the laugh: while Morley didn't know it, I did. Braceway had made the trip to gag Morley, to see that he didn't uncover something which, after all, Morley didn't know and I did! "It was this: about nine months ago Mrs.
On the way back to the hotel, Bristow asked: "What about Withers' story of his struggle the 'big, strong man' who flung him down the walk?" "There must have been another, a third man who came down the steps," Braceway answered quietly. "An assumption," observed Bristow, "which rather strains my credulity." Braceway said nothing.
Bristow limped to the typewriter and sat down. Braceway opened the drawer of the typewriter stand and saw that it contained nothing but sheets of yellow "copy" paper cut to one-half the size of ordinary letter paper. Every trace of agitation had left Bristow. Colour crept back into his cheeks. Braceway and Greenleaf watched him closely.
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."
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