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Updated: June 19, 2025
Had he found the true O. B., only to behold another and final seal fall upon this closely folded mystery? In his fear of this possibility, he caught at Doris' hand as she was about to bound away, and eagerly asked: "When was Mr. Brotherson taken ill? Tell me, I entreat you; the exact day and, if you can, the exact hour. More depends upon this than you can readily realise."
But their attention was soon diverted, and so was mine by the entrance of a man in semi-uniform, who was immediately addressed as Clausen. I knew his face. He was one of the doorkeepers; the oldest employee about the hotel, and the one best liked. I had often exchanged words with him myself. Mr. Slater at once put his question: "Has Mr. Brotherson passed your door at any time to-night?" "Mr.
Challoner had more time than he expected in which to wonder and gird himself for whatever suffering or shock awaited him. For, Orlando Brotherson, unlike his usual self, kept him waiting while he collected his own wits, which, strange to say, seemed to have vanished with the girl. But the question finally came. "Mr. Challoner, do you know my brother?" "I have never seen him." "Do you know him?
Of course they were right. But I should greatly have preferred to stay where I was till George came back. However, I met him for an instant in the hall before I took the elevator, and later I heard in a round-about way what Jim and some others about the house had to say of Mr. Brotherson.
Brotherson came to himself he asked if I had heard about any large boxes having arrived at the station shipped to his name. I said that several notices of such had come to the house. At which he requested me to see that they were carried at once to the strange looking shed he had had put up for him in the woods. I thought that they were for him, and I saw to the thing myself.
Even Brotherson could not shut down that lid on words which might have been meant for him, harshly as he had repelled the idea.
It would seem so and with new and overmastering fury. After the hour of triumph comes the hour of reckoning. Orlando Brotherson in his hour of proud attainment stands naked before his own soul's tribunal and the pleader is dumb and the judge inexorable. There is but one Witness to such struggles; but one eye to note the waste and desolation of the devastated soul, when the storm is over past.
Sweetwater imagined the scene saw the figure of Brotherson hesitating at the top of the stairs saw hers advancing from the writing-room, with startled and uplifted hand heard the music the crash of that great finale and decided, without hesitation, that the words he had just heard were indeed the thoughts of that moment. "Edith, you know I promised you " What had he promised?
"What was in that letter?" "Nothing of threat, they say. Only just cheer and expressions of hope. Just like the others, Mr. Brotherson." "And they accuse her of taking her own life? Their verdict is a lie. They did not know her." Then, after some moments of wild and confused feeling, he declared, with a desperate effort at self-control: "You said that some believe this.
Brotherson has asked to go up with him?" It was Oswald who answered. "He has never told me. He has kept his own counsel about that as about everything else connected with this matter. He simply advised me that I was not to bother about him any more; that he had found the assistant he wanted." "Such reticence seems unpardonable. You have displayed great patience, Oswald."
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