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Updated: May 10, 2025
"Do you happen to know that a man, clumsily disguised and answering to your description, pawned some of the Withers jewelry in Baltimore today?" Braceway asked. "Did he?" He looked blank. "Yes. What do you know about it?" "I've already told you: not a thing." Braceway, recognizing the futility for the present of prolonging this line of inquiry, paused, looking at him thoughtfully.
He lost no time, but crossed over to the leather settee on which the young man sat. Morley looked haggard and frightened, and, although he held a newspaper in front of him, was gazing into space. Braceway decided to "take a chance." He had a great respect for his intuitions.
"I'm glad you said that," Bristow declared; "very glad, because I'm thinking of going into it myself." "You are?" Braceway appeared surprised; or his emotion might have been sympathy for a man driven to the choice of a new profession in life. "Yes. I was talking about it to Greenleaf this afternoon. I realize I'd be foolish if I didn't that this case has given me a lot of publicity.
In spite of his stoutness, he had the same long, slender fingers, easy to grasp with, and the same mechanical Punch-and-Judy smile. When he greeted the detective, his voice was like a slow, thin stream that had run over ice. "I'm not on a pleasant mission, Mr. Beale," Braceway began. "It's something in the line of duty." The bank president looked at the card which had been handed to him.
There flashed across his mind a passage he had read in something by George Bernard Shaw: that nobody ever loses a friend or relative by death without experiencing some measure of relief. "Yes; I see what you mean," he assented; "its an instance of submerged personality something of that sort." "Mr. Braceway is working with you, isn't he?" she asked suddenly. "Why, yes," he replied, surprised.
Nothing no power on earth nobody can ever make me believe that Enid was murdered by the negro. It doesn't fit in with what has gone before." "If there's any way to find this man, we'll do it," Bristow assured him. Braceway sprang to his feet. "You can bet your last dollar on that, Mr. Fulton," he said heartily, "If he's to be found, we'll get him." The old man got to his feet.
"Correctly; I'm with you," agreed Bristow, still with the mental reservation that he would deal with Withers as he saw fit. "One thing more," added Braceway, and Bristow was surprised to see that he looked a trifle embarrassed; "I want you to handle all the talk that has to be had with Miss Maria Fulton. I'll be frank with you; I have to be.
Now, what are we to do? Even now, we haven't the proof on him any real proof." "Suppose," said Braceway, "we let him leave Furmville, let him go back to Washington, with the hope that he does pawn the stuff he's stolen?" "And suppose," Bristow added, "we get a detailed description of all the jewelry Mrs.
"I learned long ago that no man is at heart either grateful, or honest, or unselfish." With a turn of the roller, he flicked that off the machine and, without raising his head, passed it to Braceway. The detective glanced at it long enough to get its meaning and handed it to Fulton. When it was offered to Greenleaf, he shook his head. The chiefs rage had reached its high point.
You see, as I've already told you, there may be some family scandal in this, something the husband wants to keep quiet. Braceway will be satisfied as soon as we show him that the only thing we want is to present the evidence against the negro; that we take no interest in private scandals.
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