THE REVELATION
Braceway and Maria Fulton had upon their faces that expression which
announces a happy understanding between lovers. The light of surrender
was in her eyes, contented surrender to the man who, because of his love,
had asserted his mastery of her. And his voice, as he spoke to her, was
all a vibrant tenderness. He realized that he had found and finally made
certain his happiness, had done so at the very moment of making public
his greatest professional triumph.
For his visit to her he had stolen a half-hour from the rush of work that
had devolved upon him since reaching Furmville a few hours ago. He found
her as he had expected; she fulfilled his prophecy that, in following her
own ideals, she would take her place in the world as a fascinating
personality, a lovable woman.
But, while he studied and praised her new charm, he was conscious, more
keenly so than ever before, that his success would affect her greatly,
would challenge all her strength and courage. And yet, even if it hurt
her, it had to be done. It was his duty, and the consequences would have
to take care of themselves.
Although, in her turn, she regarded him with the fine intuition of the
woman who loves, she got no intimation of his worry. He had determined
not to burden her with the details in advance. If what he was about to do
should link her dead sister with a pitiless scandal, she would meet it
bravely.
Unless he had been confident of that, he could not have loved her. His
task was to hand over to justice the guilty man, and not even his concern
for the woman he would marry could interfere with his seeing the thing
through.
After it was all over, he would come back to comfort her. Their new
happiness would counter-balance all. So he thought, with confidence.
A glance through the window showed him Greenleaf and Abrahamson coming
slowly up Manniston Road. It was eight o'clock. A few moments later he
and Mr. Fulton joined them on the sidewalk. They went at once to No. 9.
Bristow received them in his living room, the table still littered with
newspaper clippings on the Loutois kidnapping.
"If the rest of you don't mind," Braceway suggested, "we'd better close
the windows. We've a lot of talking to do, and we might as well keep
things to ourselves."
The effect of alertness which he always produced was more evident now
than ever. He kept his cane and himself in continual motion. While the
four other men seated themselves, he remained standing, facing them, his
back to the empty fire-place.
"Each of you," he said, "is vitally interested in what I've come here to
say. I asked you to have this conference because it affects each of us
directly."
His eyes shone, his chin was thrust forward, every ligament in his body
was strung taut. And yet, there was nothing of the theatric about him.
If he felt excitement, it was suppressed. Determination was the only
emotion of which he gave any sign.
"First, however," he supplemented in his light, conversational tone, "how
about you?" He indicated with a look Greenleaf and Bristow. "Have you
anything new, anything additional?"
With the windows shut, it was noticeably warm and close in the room.
Taking off his coat, he tossed it to the chair which had been placed for
him. In his white shirt, with dark trousers belted tightly over slender
hips, he looked almost boyish.
"No," Bristow answered. "The chief and I went over everything yesterday.
We couldn't find a single reason for changing our minds."
"About Carpenter?"
"Yes."
"You mean that's your position, yours and the chiefs," Braceway said
seriously. "As a matter of fact, the negro's not guilty."
"You mean that's your position," Bristow quoted back to him, his smile
indulgent.
"Yes. Carpenter's not guilty, and Morley's not guilty."
Mr. Fulton, who had the chair immediately on the lame man's left, was
frankly curious and anxious.
"Before you go any further, Braceway," he interrupted testily, "can you
tell us where George Withers is?"
"I can say this much," replied Braceway after a pause: "for reasons best
known to himself, Withers refused to join us here. He could have done so
if he had wished."
What he said sounded like a direct accusation of Withers. Fulton eyed him
incredulously. Bristow took off his coat and settled himself more
comfortably in his chair; he was in for a long story, he thought, and, as
he had expected last night, the dead woman's husband, not Morley, was to
be incriminated.
Greenleaf, lolling back in a rocker near the folding doors of the dining
room, gazed at the ceiling, making a show of lack of interest.
Abrahamson, nearest the porch door, was the only auditor thoroughly
absorbed in the detective's story and at the same time unreservedly
credulous.
"But you know where he is?" Fulton persisted.
"Yes; approximately."
The Jew's sparkling eyes darted from the speaker to the faces of the
others. A pleased smile lifted the corners of his mouth toward the great,
hooked nose. He anticipated unusually pleasant entertainment.
"But I don't want to waste your time," Braceway continued, taking
peculiar care in his choice of words. "When I began work on this case,
I thought either the negro or Morley might be the murderer. I changed
my mind when I came to think about the mysterious fellow, the man with
the brown beard and the gold tooth, the individual who was clever enough
to appear and disappear at will, to vanish without leaving a trace so
long as he operated at night or in the dusk of early evening.
"I agreed with Mr. Fulton that he was the murderer. Not only that, but he
had remarkable ability which he employed for the lowest and most criminal
purposes. I first suspected his identity right after my interviews last
Wednesday with Roddy, the coloured bellboy, and Mr. Abrahamson, the pawn
broker."
"Excuse me," Bristow interposed; "but wasn't it Abrahamson who told you
the bearded man looked like Withers?"
Greenleaf grinned, appreciating the lame man's intention to take the wind
out of Braceway's sails by giving credit to Abrahamson for the
information.
"Yes, he told me that," Braceway answered, as if nettled by the
interruption; and added: "Let me finish my statement, Bristow. You can
discuss it all you please later on. But I'd prefer to get through with it
now.
"Having suspected the identity of the disguised man, I was confronted
with two jobs. One was to prove the identity beyond question; the other
was to show, by irrefutable evidence, that the disguised man committed
the murder. As I said, my theory took shape in my mind that afternoon in
my room in the Brevord Hotel. Everything I've done since then, has been
for the purpose of getting the necessary facts.
"I have those facts now."
He looked at Greenleaf and Bristow, making it plain that he expected
their hostility to anything he had to say.
"My suspicion grew out of my belief that I must find the man who had
blackmailed Mrs. Withers in Atlantic City and Washington, and, for the
third time, here in Furmville. The blackmailer was the only one who had
had access to the victim on the three different occasions of which we
know; the work was all by the same hand. Find the blackmailer, and I had
the murderer.
"I know now who he is.
"Five years ago there was a striking sort of individuality that had
impressed itself on the minds of a good many men in Wall Street, New York
City. Although penniless at the outset of his career, and in fact never
really rich, he had made a good deal of money now and then; and had spent
it as fast as he got it.
"He was brilliant, thoroughly unscrupulous, absolutely without honour. He
did the 'Great White Way' stunt--the restaurants, the roof gardens, a
pretty actress at times, jewels and champagne. Because of his uncertain
habits, he never had an office of his own. He always operated through
others. His earning power was a gift of judging the market and knowing
when to 'bear' and when to 'bull.'
"This gift was no fabulous thing. It was real in a majority of the times
he tried to use it, and because of it he was able to live high and put up
a good front. This was the situation up to five years ago. Observe the
man's character and the pleasure he took in running crooked.
"With a little study and the usual amount of industry and concentration,
he could have been a power in the financial world. That, however, did
not appeal to him. He liked the excitement of crime, the perverted
pleasure of playing the crook.
"Early in nineteen-thirteen, a little more than five years ago, the crash
came. He was arrested, charged with the embezzlement of thirty-three
hundred dollars from the firm which employed him. The name of the firm
was Blanchard and Sebastian. He had stolen more than the amount
mentioned, but the specific charge on which action was taken was the
theft of the thirty-three hundred.
"This man's name was Splain.
"There was a delay of a few hours in arranging for his bail so that he
wouldn't have to spend the night in prison. While in his cell, he
remarked:
"'This kind of a place doesn't suit me. It's as cold as charity. I'll be
out of here in an hour or so, and, if they ever get me into a cell again,
they'll have to kill me first. Once is enough.'
"He made good his boast. They didn't get him into one again. He jumped
his bail ten days before the date set for his trial. Since then the
police have, so far as they know, never laid eyes on him. They had a
photograph of him, of course, an adequate description: high aquiline
nose; firm, compressed mouth; black and unusually piercing eyes; black
hair; all his features sharp-cut; broad shoulders, and slender, athletic
figure. Those are some of the details I recall. In----"
Fulton cried out. It was like the shrill, indefinite protest of a child
against pain. He put the fingers of his right hand to his forehead,
shielding his face. The description of the fugitive had brought instantly
to his mind the face of George Withers.
"Indulge me for just a few moments more, Mr. Fulton," Braceway said.
"Splain eluded the pursuit. His flight and disappearance were perfectly
planned and carried out, and----"
Bristow again interrupted the recital. On his face was a smile which did
not reach to his eyes. For the past few minutes he had been thinking
faster than he had ever thought in his life, and had made a decision.
"What you've told us," he said calmly, his gaze taking knowledge of no
one but the detective, "is, in effect, a rather flattering sketch of a
part of my own life."
Greenleaf, with jaw dropped and thinking powers paralyzed, stared at him.
Fulton leaned forward as if to spring.
Only Abrahamson, his smile broadening, his cavernous eyes alight, was
free from surprise. He had now the air of greatly enjoying the
performance he had been invited to see.
Braceway, his shoulders flung back, his figure straight as a poplar,
watching Bristow with intense caution, grew suddenly into heroic mould.
The red glow from the setting sun streamed through the window to his
face, emphasizing the ardour in his eyes. He took a step forward, became
dominant, menacing.
His white-clad arm shot out so that he pointed with accusing finger to
the imperturbable Bristow.
"That man there," he declared, a crawling contempt in his voice, "is the
thief and the murderer!"
For a heavy moment the incredible accusation stunned the entire group.
"Mr. Braceway," said Bristow, looking now at Fulton and Greenleaf, "is
suffering a delusion."
The two men, however, afforded him no support. They kept their eyes on
Braceway. They gave the effect of falling away from some evil contagion.
"Because," Bristow continued, "I have been the innocent victim of trumped
up charges of embezzlement by the crookedest man in a crooked business,
he accuses me of murder when----"
"Shut up!" commanded Braceway, dropping his hand to his side.
He flashed the pawn broker a quick glance.
Abrahamson leaned over and rapped with his knuckles on the door to the
porch. It opened, admitting two policemen in uniform.
"I took the liberty, chief," Braceway apologized, "of requesting them to
be here. I knew you'd want them to do the right thing, and promptly."
Greenleaf gulped, nodded acquiescence. Stunned as he was, the detective's
manner forced him into believing the charge.
Bristow's smile had faded. But, save for a pallor that wiped from his
checks their usual flush, there was no evidence of the conflict within
him. So far as any notice from him went, the policemen did not exist.
One of them stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder.
He ignored it
"Perhaps," he said, sarcasm in his voice, his eyes again on Braceway,
"it will occur to you that I've a right to know why this outrage is
committed."
Once more he commanded Greenleaf with his eyes.
"The chief of police will hardly sanction it without some excuse, without
a shadow of evidence."
"Yes," Greenleaf complied waveringly. "Er--, that is--er--I suppose
you're certain about this, Mr. Braceway?"
"Let's have it! Let's have it all!" demanded Fulton, articulate at last,
his clenched hands shaken by the palsy of rage.
Bristow, with a careless motion, brushed away the policeman's hand.
"By all means," he said, imperturbable still; "I demand it. I'm not
guilty of murder. Not by the wildest flight of the craziest fancy can any
such charge be substantiated."
Greenleaf, noting his iron nerve, his freedom from the slightest sign of
panic, was dumbfounded, and believed in his innocence again.
"I have the proofs," Braceway said to the chief. "Do you want them here,
and now?"
"It might be--er--as well, and--and fair, you know. Yes."
Abrahamson swung the porch door shut. The two policemen stood back of
Bristow's chair. Greenleaf, still bewildered, laid a calming hand on
Fulton's shoulder. The old man was shaking like a leaf.
"All right," agreed Braceway. "I can give you the important points in a
very few minutes; the high lights."