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Updated: June 19, 2025
"Good, then let it be to-morrow. A taxicab, Sweetwater. The subway for the young. I can no longer manage the stairs." "It is true; there seems to be something extraordinary in the coincidence." Thus Mr. Brotherson, in the presence of the Inspector. "But that is all there is to it," he easily proceeded.
Brotherson usually goes first." "Very well; send up Jim. Tell him I have some orders to give him." The old man bowed and went out. Meanwhile, Mr. Slater had exchanged some words with the two officials, and now approached me with an expression of extreme consideration. They were about to excuse me from further participation in this informal inquiry. This I saw before he spoke.
But he was not destined to have his curiosity satisfied so far. He might witness and hear, but it was long before he understood. "Brotherson?" repeated their host, after the silence had lasted to the breaking-point. "Why do you call me that?" "Because it is your name." "You called me Dunn a minute ago." "That is true." "Why Dunn if Brotherson is my name?"
This time his bitterness did not pass unrebuked by the coroner: "Remember the grey hairs of the only Challoner who can hear you, and respect his grief." Mr. Brotherson bowed. "I have finished," said he. "I shall have nothing more to say on the subject." And he drew himself up in expectation of the dismissal he evidently thought pending. But the coroner was not done with him by any means.
Brotherson left the room, the curiosity to which he had yielded once before, led him to cast a glance of penetrating inquiry behind him full at Sweetwater, and if either felt embarrassment, it was not the hunted but the hunter. But the feeling did not last. "I've simply met the strongest man I've ever encountered," was Sweetwater's encouraging comment to himself.
You are a thief self-convicted; or you're an agent of the police whose motives I neither understand nor care to investigate. Take up your bag and go. I haven't a cent's worth of interest in its contents." She started to her feet. Sweetwater heard her chair grate on the painted floor, as she pushed it back in rising. The brother rose too, but more calmly. Brotherson did not stir.
The balance of probability hung even. Sweetwater recognised this, and clung, breathless, to his loop-hole. Fain would he have seen, as well as heard. Mr. Brotherson read the first letter, standing.
His friend a seemingly candid and open-minded gentleman explained these contradictions by saying that Mr. Brotherson was a humanitarian and spent much of his time in the slums.
Spotts, and then identified Brotherson as the man whose window fronted hers from the opposite tenement, a diversion might have been created and the outcome been different. But I feared the experiment. I'm not sufficiently in with the Chief as yet, nor yet with the Inspector.
Brotherson to send his little friend to her hotel if ever we came to New York." "That was some time ago?" "We were there in June." "And you have corresponded ever since with Miss Challoner?" "She has been good enough to write, and I have ventured at times to answer her." The suspicion which might have come to some men found no harbour in Sweetwater's mind.
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