Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 218, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 September 1913 — INITIALS ONLY [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

INITIALS ONLY

By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN

AUTHOR OP “TOE LEAVENWORTH CASE** ‘'THE FILIGREE BAUTIHE HOUSE OFTUEWHISPERING PINES ILLUSTRATIONS 5Y CHARLES/W. ROSSER ssgsg&s? iia n

But here the intruder, with a disdainful grunt, turned and went out, disgust in every feature —plain, unmistakable, 'downright disgust, and nothing more! This was what gave Sweetwater his second bad night; this and a certain discovery he made. He had counted on hearing what went on in the neighboring room through the partition running back of his own closet. But he could hear nothing, unless it was the shutting down of a window, a loud sneeze, or the rattling of coals aB they were put on the fire. And these possessed no significance. What he wanted was to catch the secret sigh, the muttered word, the involuntary movement. He was too far removed from this man still. How should he manage to get nearer him —at the door of his mind—of his heart? Sweetwater stared all night from his miserable cot Into the darkness of that separating closet, and with no result. His task looked hopeless; no wonder that he could get no rest. Next morning he felt 111, but he fose all the same, and tried to get his own breakfast. He had but partially succeeded and was sitting op the edge of his bed In wretched discomfort, when the very man he was thinking of appeared at his door. “I’ve come to see how you are,” said Brotherson. “I noticed that you didn’t look well last night. Won’t you come in and share my pot of coffee?” “I —I can’t eat," mumbled Sweetwater, for once In his life thrown completely off his balance. “You’re very kind, but I’ll manage all right. I’d rather. I’m not quite dressed, you see, and I must get to the shbp.” Then he thought—" What an opportunity I’m losing. Have I any right to turn tail because he plays his game from the outset with trumps? No, I’ve a small trump somewhere about me to lay on this trick. It isn’t an ace, but It’ll show I’m not chicane.” And smiling, though not with his usual cheerfulness, Sweetwater added, “Is the coffee all made? I might take a drop of that. But you mustn’t ask me to eat—l just couldn’t.” “Yes, the coffee is made and it isn’t bad either. You’d better put on your coat; the hall’s draughty.” And waiting till Sweetwater did so, he led the way back to his own room. Brotherson’s manner expressed perfect ease, Sweetwater’s not. He knew himself changed In looks, In bearing, in feeling, even; but was he changed enough to deceive this man on the very spot where they had confronted each other a few days before in a keen' moral struggle ? “I’m going out myself today, so we’ll have to hurry a bit,” was Brotherson’s first remark as they seated themselves at table. “Do you like yoqr coffee plain or with milk In it?” “Plain. Gosh! what pictures! Where do you get ’em? You_ must have a lot of coin.” Sweetwater was staring at the row of photographs, mostly of a very high order, tacked along the wall separating the two rooms. They were unframed, but they were “mostly copies of great pictures, and the effect was rather imposing in contrast to the shabby furniture and the otherwise homely fittings. “Yes, I’ve enough for that kirid of thing,” was his host’s reply. But the tone was reserved, and Sweetwater did not presume again along this line. Instead, he looked well at the books piled upon the shelves under these photographs, and wondered aloud at their number and at the man who could waste such a lot of time tn reading them. But he made no more direct remarks.

between him and the street. Then her took up his auger again and shut himself up in his closet. There was nothing peculiar about this closet. It was just an ordinary one with drawers and shelves on one' side, and an open space on the other for the hanging up of clothes. Very few clotheß hung there at present; but It was in this portion of the closet that he stopped and began to try the wall of Brotherson’s room, with the butt end of the tool he carried. The sohnd seemed to satisfy him, for very soon he was boring a hole at a point exactly level with his ear. “Neat as well as useful,” was the gay comment with which Sweetwater surveyed his work, then, laid his ear to the hole. Whereas previously he could barely hear the rattling of coals from the coal-scuttle, he was now able to catch the sound of an ash falling into the ash-pit. His next move was to test the depth of the partition by Inserting his finger in the hole he made. He found it stopped by some obstacle before It had reached half its length, and anxious to satisfy himself of the nature of the obstacle, he gently moved the tip of his finger to and fro over what was certainly the edge of a book. This proved that his calculations had been correct and that the opening so accessible on his side, was completely veiled on the other by the books he had seen packed on the

shelves. He had even been careful to assure himself that all the volumes at this exact point stood far enough forward to afford room behind them for the chips and plaster he must necessarily push through with his auger, and also —important consideration —for the free passage of the sounds by whjch he hoped to profit. But It was days before he could trust himself so far. Meanwhile their acquaintance ripened, though with no very satisfactory results. The detective found himself led into telling stories of his early home-life to keep pace with the man who always had something of moment and solid interest to impart. This was undesirable, for instead of calling out a corresponding confidence from Brotherson, it only seemed to make his conversation more coldly impersonal. In consequence, Sweetwater suddenly found himself quite well and one evening, when he was sure that his neighbor was at home, he slid softly Into his closet and laid his ear to the opening he had made there. The result was unexpected. Mr. Brotherson was pacing the floor, and talking softly to himself. At first, the cadence and full music of the tones conveyed nothing to our far from literary detective. The victim of his secret machinations was expressing himself in words, words — that was the point which counted with him. But as he listened longer and gradually took in the sense of these words, his heart went down lower and lower till it. reached his boots. His inscrutable hnd ever disappointing neighbor was not indulging in self-communings of any kind. He was reciting poetry, and what was worse, poetry which he only half remembered and was trying to recall — an incredible occupation for a man weighted with a criminal secret. Sweetwater was disgusted, and was withdrawing in high indignation from his vantage-point when something occurred of a startling enough nature, to hold him where he was In almost breathless expectation. The bole which in the darkness of the closet was always faintly visible, even when the light was not very strong in the adjoining room, had suddenly become a bright and shining loop-hole, with a suggestion of movement in the space beyond. The book which had hid this hole on Brotherson’s side had been taken down—the one book In all those hundreds whose removal threatened Sweetwater's schemes, If not himself. For an Instant the thwarted deteo-

Yet there was one cheerful moment. It was when he noticed the careless way in which those books were arranged upon their shelves An idea had come to him. He hid his relief in his cup, as he drained the last drops of the coffee, which really tasted better than he expected. When he returned from work that afternoon it was with an auger under his coat and a conviction which led him to empty out the Contents of a small phial which he took down from a shelf. He had told Mr. Gryce that he was eager for the business because of its difliculties, but that was when he was feeling fine and up to any game which might come his way. Now he felt weak and easily discouraged. This would not do. He must regain his health at all hazards, so he poured out the mixture which had given him such a sickly air. This done and a rude supper eaten, he took up h|s auger. He had heard Mr. Brotherson’s step go by. But next minute he laid it down again in fereat haste and flung a newspaper over it Mr. Brotherson was coming back, had stopped at his door, had knocked and must be let in. “You’re better this evening,” he heard in those kindly tones which ao confused and Irritated him.

) "Yes,” was the surly .admission. Then Mr. Brotherson passed on, sod Sweetwater listened till he was sure that his too attentive neighbor had really gone down the three flights

tive listened for the angry shout or the smothered oath which would naturally follow the discovery by Brotherson of this attempted interference with his privacy. But all was Btill on his side of the wall. A rustling of leaves could be heard, as the inventor searched for the poem he Wanted, but* nothing more. In withdrawing the book, he had failed to notice the hole in the plaster back of it. But he could hardly fail to see it when he came to put the book bock. Meantime, suspense for Sweetwater. It was several minutes before he heard Mr. Brotherson’s voice again, then it was in triumphant repetition of the lines which had escaped his memory. They were great words surely and Sweetwater never forgot them, but the impression which they, made upon his mind, an impression so forcible that he was able to repeat them, months afterward to Mr. Gryce, did not prevent him from noting the tone in which they were uttered, nor the thud which followed as the book was thrown down upon the floor. “Fool!” The word rang out in hitter irony from his irate neighbor’s lips. “What does he know of woman! Woman! Let him court a rich one and see—but that’s all over and done with. No more harping on that string, and no more reading of poetry. I’ll never— ’’ The rest was lost In his throat and was quite unintelligible to the anxious listener.

Self-revealing words, which an Instant before would have aroused Sweetwater’s deepest Interest! But they had suddenly lost all force for the unhappy listener. The sight of that hole dtill shining brightly before his eyes had distracted his thoughts and roused his liveliest apprehensions. If that book should be allowed to lie where it had fallen, then he was in for a period of uncertainty he shrank from contemplating. Any moment his neighbor might look up and catch sight of this hole bored in the backing of the shelves before him. Could the man who had been guilty of submitting him to this outrage stand the strain of waiting indefinitely for the moment of discovery? He doubted it, if the suspense lasted too long. Shifting his position, he placed his eye where his ear had been. He could see very little. The space before him, limited as it was to the width of the one volume withdrawn, precluded his seeing slught by what, lay directly before him. Happily, it was in this narrow line of vision that Mr. Brotherson stood. He had resumed work upon his model and was so placed that while his face was not visible, his hands were, and as Sweetwater watched these hands and noticed the delicacy of their manipulation, he was enough of a workman to realize that work sd fine called for an undivided attention. He need not fear the gaze shifting, while those hands moved as warily as they did now. Relieved for the moment, he left his post and, sitting down on the edge of his cot, gave himself up to thought. Suddenly he started upright. He would go meet his fate—be present in the room itself when the discovery was made which threatened to upset all his plans. He was not ashamed of his calling, and Brotherson would think' twice before attacking him when once convinced that he had the department back of him. ’’Excuse me, comrade,” were the words with which he endeavored to account for his presence at Brotherson’s door. “My lamp smells so, and I’ve made such a mess of my work today that I’ve Just stepped in for a chat. If I’m not wanted, say so. I’d like a big room like this, and a lot of books, and—and pictures.” "Look at them, then. I like to see a man interested in books. Only, I thought if you knew how to handle wire, I would get you to hold this end while I work with the other.”

want you again. Will you come if I call you?” "Won’t I?” was the gay retort, as the detective, thus released, stooped for the book still lying on the floor. “Paolo and Francesca,” he read, from the back, as he laid it on the table. “Poetry?” he queried. “Rot." scornfully returned the other, as he moved to take down a bottle and some glasses from a cupboard let into another portion of the wall. Sweetwater, taking advantage of the moment, sidled towards the shelf where that ompty space still gaped with the tell-tale hole at the back. He could easily have replaced the missing book before Mr. Brotherson turned. But the Issue was too doubtful. He, was dealing with no absentminded' fool, and It behooved him to avoid above all things calling attention to the book or to the place on the shelf where it belonged. But there was one thing he could do and did. Reaching out a finger as deft as Brotherson’s own, he pushed a second volume Into the place of the, one that was gone. This veiled'the auger-hole completely; a fact which so entirely relieved his mind that his old smile came back like sunshine to his lips, and it was only by a distinct effort that he kept the dancing humor from his eyes as he prepared to refuse the glass which Brotherson now brought forward: “Nonp of that!” said he. “You mustn’t tempt me. The doctor has shut down on all kinds of spirits for two months more, at least. But don’t let me hinder you. I can bear to Bmell the stuff. My turn will come again some day.” . But Brotherson did not drink. Setting dowit the glass he carried, he took up the book lying near, weighed it In his hand and laid it down again, with an air of thoughtful Inquiry. Then he suddenly pushed it towards Sweetwater. “Do you want it?” he asked. Sweetwater was too taken aback to answer immediately. This was a move he did not understand. Want it, he? What he wanted was to see it put back in its place on the shelf. Did Brotherson suspect this? The supposition was Incredible; yet who could read a mind so mysterious? Sweetwater, debating the subject, decided that the risk of adding to any such possible suspicion was less to be dreaded than the continued threat offered by that unoccupied space so near the hole which testified so unmistakably of the means he had taken to Bpy upon- this suspected man’s privacy. So, after a moment of awkward silence, not out of keeping with the character he had assumed, he calmly refused the present as he had the glass. Unhappily he waß not rewarded by seeing the despised volume restored to its shelf. It still lay where itß owner had pushed it, when, with some

“I guess I know enough for that,” was Sweetwater’s gay rejoinder. But when he felt that communicating wire ■in his hand and experienced for the first time the full influence of the other’s eye, it took all his hardihood to hide the hypnotic thrill it gave him. He found himself gazing long and earnestly at this man’s hand, and wondering if death lay' under it. It was a strong hand, a deft, clean-cut member, formed to respond to the sllghest hint from the powerful brain controlling it. But was this its whole story. Had he said all when he had said this?

awkwardly muttered thanks, the diw comflted detective withdrew to hit own room. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

Fascinated by the question, Sweetwater died a hundred deaths in his awakened fancy, as he followed the sharp, short instructions which fell with cool precision from the other's lips. A hundred deaths, I say, but with no betrayal of his folly. The anxiety he showed was that of one eager to please, which may explain why on the conclusion of his task, Mr. Brotherson gave him one of his infrequent smiles and remarked, as he buried the model under i& cover, handy and you're quiet at your job. Who knows but what I shall

This Proved That His Calculations Had Been Correct.

"None of That!" He Said.