BRACEWAY SEES A LIGHT
Braceway had discovered long ago that the man who attempts good work as a
detective must depend almost as much on his ability to make friends as he
does on his capacity for sifting evidence.
"I'm a good worker," he was in the habit of saying, "but I'm not half as
good working alone as I am when I have the help of all the men and women
who are witnesses in a case or connected with it in some other way. I
need all the cooperation I can get."
This was one reason why Roddy, when he entered Braceway's room, felt sure
immediately that he would receive only kindly treatment. He had shown
signs of fear on entering the room, and in his extremely black face his
singularly white eyeballs had rolled around grotesquely.
But Braceway put him at ease with a smile.
"What have you been trying to do, Roddy?" was his first good-humoured
question. "Think you've got sense enough to fool all the white folks?"
"Who, boss? Me, boss?" the boy returned, disavowing with a grin any
pretense to intelligence. "Naw, suh, boss. You knows I ain' got no sense.
I ain' nevuh tried to fool nobody."
"Didn't you tell the chief of police you were awake all of Monday night
when you were on duty in the lobby and didn't you say the only thing you
did was to carry up Mr. Morley's bags?"
"Yas, suh, boss; an' dat was de truth--nothin' but de truth, boss. Gawd
knows----"
Braceway took from his pocket a crisp, new one-dollar bill and smoothed
it out on his knee.
"Now, listen to me, Roddy," he said, this time unsmiling. "Mr. Keene has
just told me he wouldn't fire you, even if you did go to sleep Monday
night. There's nothing for you to be afraid of; and this dollar note is
yours as soon as you tell me the truth, the real truth, about what you
saw and what you missed seeing Monday night. If you don't tell me, I'll
have you arrested."
Roddy's eyes, which had shone with a rather greasy glitter at the sight
of the money, rolled rapidly and whitely in their sockets at the mention
of arrest.
"'Deed, boss, you ain' gwine to have no cause to 'res' me, no cause
whatsomever. You knows how 'tis, boss. Us coloured folks, we got a gif,
jes' a natchel gif', foh nappin' an' sleepin'. Boss, dar ain' no nigger
in dis town whut would have kep' wide awake--_wide_--all dat Monday night
nor any yuther night."
"Very well. Think now. Try to remember. Were you asleep at all before
midnight?"
"Naw, suh, boss. Naw, suh!"
"Not at all?"
Roddy began to wilt again.
"Well, it might uv been dis way, boss, possibilly. 'Long 'bout 'leven I
kinder remembuhs jes' a sort uv nap, mo' like a slip, boss." He coughed
and spoke desperately: "You see, boss, when it gits a little quiet at
night, seems to me, why, right den, ev'y nigger I knows is got a hinge in
his neck. 'Pears like he jes' gotter let his haid drap furward. Dar ain'
no use talkin', boss, dat hinge wuks ovuhtime. I 'spec' mine done it,
too, jes' like you say, 'long 'bout 'leven. Yas, suh, I reckon dat's
right."
"How about the time between midnight and two in the morning? Was the
hinge working then?"
"Aw, boss," replied Roddy with something like reproach, "you knows 'tain'
no queshun uv a hinge arftuh midnight. Arftuh midnight, boss, de screws
drap right outen' de hinge, an' dar ain' no mo' hinge. You jes' natchelly
keeps your haid down an' don' lif' it no mo'. Naw, suh, dar ain' no hinge
to he'p you dat late, _on_less--_on_less somebody hit you or stab you."
Braceway became stern. His eyes snapped.
"Didn't you carry Mr. Morley's grips up to his room for him that night,
room number four hundred and twenty-one?"
"Yas, suh."
"What time was that?"
"Dat wuz jes' five minutes arftuh two, boss."
"Had you been asleep during the two hours before that?"
"I hates to say it, boss, but I wuz, almos' completely."
"Then, how did you wake yourself up thoroughly enough to know that it was
exactly five minutes past two?"
"Lemme see, suh. Possibilly, 'twuz bekase uv whut I seen 'long about
ha'fpas' one--possibilly, boss."
"So you hadn't been asleep for two hours?"
"Almos', suh. It wuz dis way: you see, boss, de bellboys' bench is right
unduh de big clock in de lobby, off to de right uv de desk. I happen' dat
night to let my haid slide ovuh 'g'in de glass case uv de clock, an when
it stahted out to hit de ha'fpas' bell, it rattled an' whizzed, an' it
jarred me. Golly, boss! I woke up an', when I seed how it wuz rainin'
outside, I thought lightnin' had hit me. It skeered me--an' dat is one
good way to wake up a nigger at night--skeer 'im, an' you don' have to
stab him. I sorter hollered.
"I got up an' went to de main entrance, jes' to make de night clerk think
I wuz on de job in case he woke up. I looked down de street tow'rd de
post-office, an' I seed a man goin' in dar.
"'Bless de Lawd!' I says to myse'f. 'White people ain' got much to
do--goin' to de post-office dis time uv night.' An' I went on back to de
bellboys' bench and stahted in niggerin' it once mo'e."
"Niggering it?"
"Yas, boss; you know, dat means quick sleepin'. 'Peared to me I ain' no
mo'e got my eyes shut when I wakes up ag'in, an' right dar in de lobby is
dat same man what I seed gwine to de post-office."
"What waked you up?"
"I don' know, boss. I can' no mo'e figger dat out den I kin fly. Dat wuz
de fust time in my life dat I done wake up at night when onmolested."
"How did you know the man you saw in the lobby was the one you had seen
going into the post-office?"
"Dey wuz de same, boss; dat's all. Had de same buil', same long raincoat
on, an' same thick beard. He had done pass' me by an' wuz on his way up
de stairs 'stead uv waitin' foh me to run de elevatuh. 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.
"You want me to believe that, when you saw this man two blocks away at
half-past one in the morning, you noticed he wore a beard? Wasn't it
too dark?"
"Naw, suh. Dem post-office lights is pow'ful, boss. I seed de beard all
right, an' I seed it once mo'e when he wuz on de stairs."
"What did he do after he had looked back at you while he was going
upstairs?"
"Nothin', boss. He seed I wuz lookin' at him, an' he jes' went on up an'
out uv sight, in a hurry, like."
"What time was that?"
"Dat wuz twenty-six minutes uv two."
"How do you know that? You'd gone back to sleep, hadn't you?"
"Yas, suh, a little niggerin'. But, when I woke up dat way widout no
reason, I kinder jumped. I wuz afeer'd dat clock might be goin' to jar me
ag'in, an' I took a look at it. Dat wuz how I seed de time. It wuz
twenty-six minutes uv two."
"What did you do then?"
"Nothin', boss; jes' went on niggerin' it. Dat is, I went on till de
night clerk giv' me a kick on de shins and tole me to take Mistuh
Morley's bags up to fo'-twenty-one. I done tole you dat was five minutes
arftuh two. Den, when we got up to de room, I says to him: 'I thought you
wuz in dis hotel half-hour ago, boss, when you had a beard.'
"An' right off de bat I wuz sorry I said dat. He look' at me kinder mad
an' he said: 'Whut you talkin' 'bout, boy? You mus' be talkin' in yore
sleep!'
"I come on back downstairs. He didn' have to say no mo'e. I tell you,
boss, when a white man tell me I been talkin' in my sleep, I _is_ been
talkin' in my sleep--dar ain' no argufyin' 'bout it--I _is_ been doin'
dat ve'y thing."
"But you thought Mr. Morley, the man with the grips, was the one you had
seen going up the stairs and, also, the one you had seen going into the
post-office--and, when you saw him on the stairs and on the street, he
wore a beard? Is that it?"
"I ain' thought nothin' 'bout it, boss. I knowed it."
"What did you think about his shaving off the beard at that time in the
morning?" Braceway urged, fingering the dollar bill. "Didn't you think
it was queer?"
"I tryin' to tell you, suh, I ain' done no thinkin' 'bout dat. He done
said I wuz talkin' in my sleep, an' I is a prudent nigger."
"Did he have a gold tooth, Roddy?"
"Naw, suh," said Roddy, "but he did look rich 'nough to have one.
Leastways I ain' seen he had one."
"Have you seen the man with the beard since?"
"Naw, suh. I jes' tole you, boss, he done shave it off."
"And Mr. Morley?"
"Yas, suh, I done seen him. He's in de hotel now. He's de same man."
"Did he wear rubber overshoes when he had the beard, and when he didn't
have it?"
"Yas, suh--bofe times."
"Has he said anything to you since Monday night?"
"Naw, suh."
"Did you see anybody else that night--Monday night?"
"Naw, suh."
"Do you remember anything else about how the bearded man looked?"
"Naw, suh, 'cep' he look' jes' like dis Mistuh Morley; dat's all I know,
boss."
Braceway got to his feet.
"All right, Roddy," he said heartily; "you're a good boy. Here's your
dollar."
Roddy rolled his white eyeballs toward the ceiling and bent his black
face floorward.
"Gawd bless you, boss! You is one good----"
"And here's another dollar, if you can keep your mouth shut about this
until I tell you to open it. Can you do that?"
Roddy conveyed the assurance of his ability to remain dumb until a
considerable time after the sounding of Gabriel's trump.
"See that you do. If you don't, I might have to arrest you after all."
When the negro had gone, Braceway stood at the window and, with glance
turned toward the street, saw nothing of what was passing there. He was
reviewing the facts--or possible facts--that had just come to him.
Restlessness took hold of him. He fell to pacing the length of the room
with long, quick strides. It seemed that, in the labour of forcing his
brain to its highest activity, he called on every fibre and muscle of his
physique. His cheeks were flushed; his eyes, hard and brilliant, snapped.
He was thinking--thinking, going over every particle of the evidence he
had drawn from Roddy, trying to estimate its value when compared with
everything else he had learned about the case. His stride grew more
rapid; his breathing was faster.
The murder, the men and women connected with it, the stories they had
told, all these flashed on the screen of his mind and hung there until he
had judged them to their smallest detail.
What could Abrahamson have meant by indicating a belief that the man with
the gold tooth looked like George Withers?
Was the boy Roddy wide enough awake that night to have formed any real
opinion as to the resemblance of the bearded man and Henry Morley?
The trip to the post-office--did that explain the disappearance of the
stolen jewelry? Had Morley mailed it at once to himself, or somebody
else, in Washington?
Withers had returned to the Brevord early Monday night. That must have
been before half-past twelve. Although the night clerk and the bellboy
had been asleep at the time and had not seen him, there was no room for
doubt of his return as he had described it.
And why should Morley, wearing the disguise, have waked up Roddy and
assured himself, by the look flung over his shoulder, that the negro saw
him on the stairs?
Or had that been Morley, after all? What reason, what motive----
Suddenly, with the abruptness of a horse thrown back on his haunches, he
stood stock still in the middle of the room, his brilliant eyes staring
at the wall, his breathing faster than ever, as he considered the idea
that had flashed upon him. The idea grew into a theory. It had never
occurred to him before, and yet it was right. It must be. He had it! For
the first time, he felt sure of himself, was convinced that he held a
safe grasp on the case.
He strode to the window and struck the sill with his fist. The tenseness
went out of his body. He breathed a long sigh of relief. He had seen
through the mist of puzzling facts and contradictory clues. The rest
would be comparatively plain sailing.
Some of Braceway's friends were in the habit of laughing at him because,
when he was sure of having solved a criminal puzzle, he always could
be seen carrying a cane. The appearance of the cane invariably foretold
the arrest of a guilty man.
He went now to the corner near the bureau and picked up the light
walking-stick he had brought to Furmville strapped to his suitcase. He
lingered, twirling the cane in his right hand. His thoughts went to the
interview he and Bristow had had that morning with Fulton, whose white
hair and deep-lined face were very clear before him. He recalled the old
man's words:
"She wept bitterly. I can hear her weeping now. She had a dash, a spirit,
a joyous soul. This man none of you has been able to find has been in
Enid's life for a good many years."
Braceway's eyes softened.
Well, there was no need to worry now. Things were coming his way. The old
man would have his revenge. He put on his hat, deciding to go down for a
late lunch. When he looked at his watch, he whistled. He had promised to
be at the railroad station to see the funeral party off for Atlanta on
the four o'clock train; and it was now half-past three. He hurried out.
For the first time in his life, he had been guilty of taking a course
which might lead to serious results, or to no results at all. He had
permitted personal considerations to make "blind spots" in his brain.
Because of a warm friendship for George Withers, he had rushed to
conclusions which took no account of the dead woman's husband. He had
forgotten that the faces of Morley and Withers were shaped on similar
lines. If any other detective had done that, Braceway would have been the
first to censure him.
As he had expected, he found Withers and Mr. Fulton far ahead of train
time. They had been passed through the gates and were standing on the
platform. Braceway noticed that, of the two, the father was standing the
ordeal with greater fortitude and calmness. Withers was nervous,
fidgety, and seemed to find it impossible to stand in any one place. He
drew Braceway to one side.
"I've got something to tell you, Brace," he said in a low tone, his voice
tremulous. "I didn't want to tell you for--for her sake. I thought it
might cause useless talk, scandal. But you're working your head off for
me, and you've a right to know about it."
"Don't worry, George," Braceway reassured him. "Things are coming out all
right. Don't talk if you don't feel like it."
He said this because he was suddenly aware of the quality of suffering
he saw in the man's eyes. It was so evident, so striking, that he felt
surprised. Perhaps, he thought, he might have exaggerated things when he
had told Bristow that Enid had subjected her husband to incessant
disappointments and regrets. Withers now was mourning; in fact, he
appeared overwhelmed, crushed.
"It's this," Withers hurried on: "I was up there that night in front of
the house until--until after one o'clock. You know I told you I was on
the porch just across the road and went back to the hotel as soon as
Campbell had turned his machine and gone home. That wasn't quite correct.
I waited, because Enid didn't turn out the lights in the living room. It
struck me as strange.
"I waited, and I fell asleep. That seems funny--a husband infuriated with
his wife and trying to find out what she is doing to deceive him goes
to sleep while he's watching! But that's exactly what I did.
"When I awoke, the lights were still on in the living room. I looked at
my watch, and, although I couldn't see very well, I made out it was after
one. I suppose I'd been asleep for half an hour at least. You see, I had
had a hard night on the sleeper and a terrific day, and----"
"Sure. I understand that," Braceway consoled him. "Did you see anything,
George?"
"Yes; I saw something all right," he struggled with the words. "As I
looked up, a figure was silhouetted against the yellow window shade. It
was a man's figure. It was after one in the morning, and a man was there
with----"
His voice failed him altogether. Braceway, a perplexed look in his eyes,
studied him uneasily.
"The silhouette was quite plain. There was the clear-cut shadow of him
from the waist up. It was so plain that I could see he was wearing
a cap. I could see the visor of it, you know; a long visor. He was a
well-built man, good shoulders, and so on.
"As I got to my feet, the lights were turned off. I went across the
street. I don't think I ran. It was raining. I was going to kill him.
That was all I was thinking about. I was going to kill him, and I wanted
to catch him unawares. I wasn't armed, and I was going to choke him to
death."
The train gates were opened, and passengers began to stream past them
toward the train. Withers lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. Braceway
noticed the unpleasant sound of it.
"He did what I expected; came down the steps without a sound. I didn't
even hear him close the door. I can't say I saw him. It was pitch dark,
and I sensed where he was. I was conscious of all his movements. When he
reached the bottom step, I closed with him. I couldn't trust to hitting
at him. It was too dark.
"I put out my hands to get his throat, but I misjudged things. I caught
him by the waist. He had on a raincoat. I could tell it by the feel of
the cloth. And I couldn't get a good hold of him. While I struggled with
him, he got me by the throat. He was a powerful man, a dozen times
stronger than I am.
"We swayed around there for a few minutes, a few seconds--I don't know
which. We didn't make any noise. I couldn't do a thing. He choked me
until I thought my head would burst open.
"When he realized I was all in, he gave me a shove that made me reel down
the walk a dozen steps. He didn't stop to see what I did. He ran. That
is, I suppose he ran. I didn't hear him, and I didn't see him again. He
disappeared--completely."
Braceway looked at his watch. It was five minutes before train time.
"What did you do then?"
"Nothing."
"Where did you go, then? What did you think? Speed up, George! I want to
get all this before you go."
"Yes," said Withers, a little catch in his throat; "I thought you ought
to know about it. I--I stood there a moment, there in the rain, dazed,
trying to get my breath. I'd intended going in to have it out with Enid.
But I didn't. I suppose I knew, if I did, I'd kill her. And I guess now
I would have.
"You see, I hadn't the faintest notion that anything had happened to her;
had hurt her, I mean. I got myself in hand. I didn't do anything. I went
back to the hotel. I planned to have a last talk with her later in the
day."
"Tell me," Braceway asked with undisguised eagerness, "did this man wear
a beard?"
"I think so. I've been thinking about that all day. I think he did, but
I'm not sure."
"But you saw the plain silhouette, the outline of his head and body!"
"Yes. He might have had a beard, and again he might not. He was heavily
built, with a short, thick neck, and, in the attitude he was in,
foreshortened by the light being above him, a strong chin might have
been magnified, might have cast a shadow like that of a beard."
"And when you were struggling with him? How about that? Didn't you get
close to his face?"
"Yes; but he was taller than I was--I don't know--I can't remember. But I
think he had the beard, all right."
"He didn't make any noise on the steps, you say. Did he have rubber
shoes?"
"I don't know. My guess would be that he did."
The conductor began to shout, "All aboard!"
They started toward the Atlanta pullman.
"I wouldn't have told you--I can't see that any of this could affect the
final result--but for the fact that something might have come up to
embarrass you," Withers explained, still with the unpleasant, rattling
whisper. "It might have led you to think I hadn't been frank with you."
He had his foot on the first step of the car. The porter was evidently
anxious to get aboard and close the vestibule door.
"What do you mean?" Braceway caught him by the sleeve.
"Somehow," Withers leaned down to whisper, "in the struggle, I think, I
dropped--I lost my watch. Somebody must have picked it up, you know."
"Damn!" exploded Braceway angrily. "Why didn't----"
The train began to move. The porter put his hand to Withers' elbow and
hurried him up the steps.