REBELLION.
May had passed, and June roses were in late bloom. The city was horrid
with the warm sun-filtered air after a summer shower, and Robert Brierly
looked pale and languid as he stepped from an elevator, in one of the
great department houses wherein Ferrars had his bachelor quarters, and
walked slowly to his door.
Possibly it was the warmth of a very warm June, or there may have been
other causes. At any rate Frank Ferrars' face wore an almost haggard
look in spite of the welcoming smile with which he held out his hand to
greet his friend, for friends these two had grown to be during the past
weeks. Friends warm and true and strong, in spite of the fact that the
mystery surrounding the death of Charlie Brierly remained as much of a
mystery as on the day when foolish Peter Kramer led the detective to the
scene of his ghostly encounter.
There were dark lines beneath the keen gray eyes, which, Rob Brierly
had declared, "compelled a man's trust," and the smooth, shaven cheek
was almost hectic, symptoms which, in Ferrars, denoted, among other
things, loss of sleep.
There was a moment of silence, after the men had exchanged greetings,
and it seemed, almost, that each was covertly studying the other, and
then Brierly tossed down his straw hat, and pulling a chair directly in
front of that in which the detective lounged, said, abruptly:
"I shouldn't like to quarrel with you, Ferrars, but I've something on my
mind, and I'm here to have it out with you."
"Oh! Then I am in it?" the detective spoke nonchalantly, carelessly
almost, and as the other seemed hesitating for a word, he added: "Give
us the first round, old man. I'm apprehensive."
"H--m! You look it. Ferrars, do you know that for weeks, ever since my
return from Glenville, in fact, I have been under constant
surveillance?"
"Constant sur----. Excuse me, it's not polite to repeat, Brierly, but
what do you mean?"
"What I say. It's plain enough, somebody is watching me, following me
day and night."
"Pshaw! You don't mean that, man!"
"But I do. And that is not all," he leaned forward and fixed his eyes
upon those of his _vis-a-vis_ as if watching for the effect of his
words. "I have been slowly discovering that I am being
controlled--constrained--in many ways."
"Upon my word!" Ferrars was leaning back in his chair with his face a
mask, expressing nothing but grave attention. "Make it plainer,
Brierly."
"I will. I'll make it so plain that there will be no room for
misunderstanding. When I first came back from Glenville, I did not go
out much, especially evenings, but when I did, I began to fancy that I
was spied upon, followed, and, after a time, I became sure of it."
"Stop! When did you observe this first?"
"I think it was on the third night after my return. I was going down to
the Lyceum Club rooms, when something caused me to glance at a fellow on
the other side of the street. You know my eyes are good!"
"Unusually so."
"Well, I came out in a very short time, alone, and the same fellow was
lounging so close to the entrance that I recognised him at once."
"A bungler, evidently."
"Perhaps. Well, I met two men whom I know, just outside, and they
dragged me back with them. When at last I left the place, I started to
walk home, and when I got upon the quieter streets I soon became
conscious of some one keeping so evenly opposite me across the street,
that I began to watch, and as the fellow glided, as quickly as possible
under a street lamp, I recognised the same man."
"And you have seen him since?"
"Himself or another. A disguise is easy at night. I have been watched,
at any rate, and followed again and again."
"Ah! And could you imagine his motive?"
"No." A look that was almost of anger crossed Brierly's face. "But I
have wondered if it was the same as yours, and Myers, when you have
contrived to keep me from going here and there, or doing this or that,
unless accompanied by one or the other of you two."
He bent forward again after this utterance. His eyes seemed to challenge
an answer.
But it did not come. Ferrars only sat with that look of grave inquiry
still upon his face. He knew the man before him.
"Ferrars," exclaimed Brierly, when he saw that no answer, no defence,
was to be made, "will you look me in the face and say that you, and
Myers also, have not connived to keep me under your eyes? to accompany
me when that was practicable, and to prevent my going when it was not?
I can recall several occasions when----"
He stopped short, checked in his utterance by a sudden, subtle change in
the face of Ferrars, who had not stirred so much as an eyelid, but who
spoke at once quietly, but with a certain tone of finality, of decision.
"Brierly, do you believe that James Myers is your friend, in the full
meaning of the word?"
"I do! It is not that I doubt, or that----"
"And do you believe," went on Ferrars, putting aside his protest with a
peremptory gesture: "do you believe that, while thus far I seem to have
failed in unravelling the mystery in which your brother's death seems
enshrouded, I have given it my most faithful study, my time, thought,
effort and labour? That, in short, I have been true to your interest at
all times?"
"I know it. You have been all that and more. You must hear me, Ferrars.
And I beg that you will answer me. Why am I watched, thwarted, cajoled?
Why do you and Myers fear to let me out of your sight? A few weeks ago
you found, or seemed to find, your chief interest in Glenville; you
looked for clues, for developments, there; and yet, you have not visited
Glenville since you left it so suddenly. Even your own personal interest
has not drawn you there for a single day."
"By my 'personal interest' you mean what, Brierly?"
"You know what I mean. Pardon me, and do not misunderstand me. I could
not fail to see that you were interested in Mrs. Jamieson, and why not?"
While Brierly spoke, the detective arose and began to pace the floor
with lowered eyelids and slow tread. Brierly watching him, was silent a
moment, then he seemed to pull himself together and to speak with
enforced calmness. "Ferrars, do you know what thought has taken
possession of my brain until I cannot shake it off?"
"Assuredly not," going on with his promenade. "But I shall be glad to
hear."
"I have begun to fear--yes, to fear--that you have found some reason for
suspecting me, and that your horribly acute logic has even caused Myers
to doubt too."
"Man!" Ferrars swung about and suddenly faced him. "Much meditation has
surely made you mad. Now, in heaven's name, so far as may be, let us
understand each other. First, you are utterly wrong."
"Ah!"
"Next, you speak of Mrs. Jamieson, and of my 'personal interest.' I
admit, willingly, that I am interested in that lady. But my personal
feelings and interests must be subservient for a time to your business."
"Pardon me."
"And now, I did leave Glenville to follow you, and see that you did not
spoil my plans by any rashness."
"You are talking a puzzle!"
"Let me talk it out then, for you have forced my hand. But for this I
should have gone on as before. And I did not dream that Mr. Myers and I
were playing our game so stupidly, so openly; nor that you, owing to
your present preoccupation, would prove so astute."
"You have not bungled, be sure of that. You have been most wonderfully
keen and clever, but it was this very preoccupation, as you call it, my
abnormal sensitiveness, in fact, which made me study your every word and
set me searching for its hidden meaning; and so I could not fail to see
that you were handling me, hedging me about, for some purpose."
"Ah! You have said the word, Brierly." Ferrars resumed his seat opposite
the other, and his tone became once more composed. "We were trying to
'hedge you about,' to put up a wall between you and the assassin who
killed your brother. Wait! Let me say it all. It is little enough. Do
you remember telling me of an 'assault' upon your brother, made by
footpads, not long before he came to Glenville?"
"Yes."
"It was that which gave me my first real clue. It confirmed one of the
few theories that seem to fit, or cover, the case so far as known; but
it wanted confirmation. I found nothing in Glenville that was in any way
opposed to this theory which I was growing to believe in, but, on the
other hand, I found nothing there to strengthen it. When you left that
place, I meant to follow soon. Meantime I had confided my theory to Mr.
Myers, who promised not to lose sight of you before I should arrive."
"But why? Why?"
"Because I then believed, as I do now, that that attack upon your
brother last summer was the first act in the tragedy which has robbed
you of him. I believed the plot to be far-reaching. It may be a case of
vengeance, a family feud. The motive is yet to be discovered, but I will
admit to you that I have had, from the first, a reason to think that the
affair has not yet ended; and so, as soon as I could, I followed you to
town. It was well that I did so. Before I had been your shadow
forty-eight hours, I had proof that you were being otherwise watched and
followed."
"Great heavens! And that is why----" He stopped short and bowed his
head.
"That is why Myers and I have been such officious friends, why we have
advised, remarked, and why I have tried to trace to his lair the man who
has been your very frequent shadow."
"And you think he is----"
"The assassin himself or his tool."
"Good heavens! And you cannot guess his motive?"
"We might guess, of course, half a dozen motives. What I have hoped to
find was something, some fact in your family history, your father's
life, or your mother's, perhaps, that would fit into one of these
guesses or theories, and make of it a probability."
And then the two went all over the array of possible reasons and
motives, and Brierly again protested his lack of any knowledge which
might serve as the feeblest of guides to the truth.
"There's one other thing," said Brierly, at last. "I want to know if the
new man, whom Myers took on soon after you came to town, is one of your
sleuths? He has annoyed me more than once by his persistent attentions."
Ferrars smiled. "I never supposed you a reader of the penny dreadful,
Brierly," he said, "and 'sleuth' is a word which makes the actual
detective smile, and which is not known to the professional vocabulary.
Hicks is my man; yes. And he has followed you by day and night when you
have not had the company of either Myers or myself."
Robert Brierly threw back his head and folded his arms. After a moment
of silence he got up and stood before the detective.
"Ferrars," he said, "I owe you and my absent friend an abject apology
for my unworthy suspicions, my impatience under restraint. And now, I
beg of you, let this end. I am warned, and I do not think myself a rash
man. I believe I can protect myself, and how can I endure the thought
that I must be hedged about by this constant guardianship, which may
last indefinitely? Withdraw Hicks, and give your own valuable time to
better things. Rather than go about knowing myself so fenced in and
guarded, I will lock myself up in the attic, and remain a recluse and
invisible. Heavens, man! am I so stupid or cowardly a man not to be able
to cope with an enemy whom I know to be in ambush at my very heels?"