But if he saw,and if he heard these suggestions from the past,he was not less alive to the exactions of the present,for,as his glance flew back across the court,his finger suddenly moved and the flame it controlled sputtered and went out.At the same instant,the window opposite sprang into view as the lamp was lit within,and for several minutes the whole interior remained visible -the books,the work-table,the cluttered furniture,and,most interesting of all,its owner and occupant.It was upon the latter that the newcomer fixed his attention,and with an absorption equal to that he saw expressed in the countenance opposite.
But his was the absorption of watchfulness;that of the other of introspection.Mr.Brotherson -(we will no longer call him Dunn even here where he is known by no other name)-had entered the room clad in his heavy overcoat and,not having taken it off before lighting his lamp,still stood with it on,gazing eagerly down at the model occupying the place of honour on the large centre table.
He was not touching it,-not at this moment -but that his thoughts were with it,that his whole mind was concentrated on it,was evident to the watcher across the court;and,as this watcher took in this fact and noticed the loving care with which the enthusiastic inventor finally put out his finger to re-arrange a thread or twirl a wheel,his disappointment found utterance in a sigh which echoed sadly through the dull and cheerless room.Had he expected this stern and self-contained man to show an open indifference to work and the hopes of a lifetime?If so,this was the first of the many surprises awaiting him.
He was gifted,however,with the patience of an automaton and continued to watch his fellow tenant as long as the latter's shade remained up.When it fell,he rose and took a few steps up and down,but not with the celerity and precision which usually accompanied his movements.Doubt disturbed his mind and impeded his activity.He had caught a fair glimpse of Brotherson's face as he approached the window,and though it continued to show abstraction,it equally displayed serenity and a complete satisfaction with the present if not with the future.Had he mistaken his man after all?Was his instinct,for the first time in his active career,wholly at fault?
He had succeeded in getting a glimpse of his quarry in the privacy of his own room,at home with his thoughts and unconscious of any espionage,and how had he found him?Cheerful,and natural in all his movements.
But the evening was young.Retrospect comes with later and more lonely hours.There will be opportunities yet for studying this impassive countenance under much more telling and productive circumstances than these.He would await these opportunities with cheerful anticipation.Meanwhile,he would keep up the routine watch he had planned for this night.Something might yet occur.
At all events he would have exhausted the situation from this standpoint.
And so it came to pass that at an hour when all the other hard-working people in the building were asleep,or at least striving to sleep,these two men still sat at their work,one in the light,the other in the darkness,facing each other,consciously to the one,unconsciously to the other,across the hollow well of the now silent court.Eleven o'clock!Twelve!No change on Brotherson's part or in Brotherson's room;but a decided one in the place where Sweetwater sat.Objects which had been totally indistinguishable even to his penetrating eye could now be seen in ever brightening outline.The moon had reached the open space above the court,and he was getting the full benefit of it.But it was a benefit he would have been glad to dispense with.Darkness was like a shield to him.He did not feel quite sure that he wanted this shield removed.With no curtain to the window and no shade,and all this brilliance pouring into the room,he feared the disclosure of his presence there,or,if not that,some effect on his own mind of those memories he was more anxious to see mirrored in another's discomfiture than in his own.
Was it to escape any lack of concentration which these same memories might bring,that he rose and stepped to the window?Or was it under one of those involuntary impulses which move us in spite of ourselves to do the very thing our judgment disapproves?
No sooner had he approached the sill than Mr.Brotherson's shade flew way up and he,too,looked out.Their glances met,and for an instant the hardy detective experienced that involuntary stagnation of the blood which follows an inner shock.He felt that he had been recognised.The moonlight lay full upon his face,and the other had seen and known him.Else,why the constrained attitude and sudden rigidity observable in this confronting figure,with its partially lifted hand?A man like Brotherson makes no pause in any action however trivial,without a reason.Either he had been transfixed by this glimpse of his enemy on watch,or daring thought!
had seen enough of sepulchral suggestion in the wan face looking forth from this fatal window to shake him from his composure and let loose the grinning devil of remorse from its iron prison-house?
If so,the movement was a memorable one,and the hazard quite worth while.He had gained -no!he had gained nothing.He had been the fool of his own wishes.No one,let alone Brotherson,could have mistaken his face for that of a woman.He had forgotten his newly-grown beard.Some other cause must be found for the other's attitude.It savoured of shock,if not fear.If it were fear,then had he roused an emotion which might rebound upon himself in sharp reprisal.Death had been known to strike people standing where he stood;mysterious death of a species quite unrecognisable.
What warranty had he that it would not strike him,and now?None.
