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.

Yet it was Brotherson who moved first. With a shrug of the shoulder
plainly visible to the man opposite, he turned away from the window and
without lowering the shade began gathering up his papers for the night,
and later banking up his stove with ashes.

Sweetwater, with a breath of decided relief, stepped back and threw
himself on the bed. It had really been a trial for him to stand there
under the other's eye, though his mind refused to formulate his fear, or
to give him any satisfaction when he asked himself what there was in the
situation suggestive of death to the woman or harm to himself.

Nor did morning light bring counsel, as is usual in similar cases. He
felt the mystery more in the hubbub and restless turmoil of the day than
in the night's silence and inactivity. He was glad when the stroke of
six gave him an excuse to leave the room, and gladder yet when in doing
so, he ran upon an old woman from a neighbouring room, who no sooner saw
him than she leered at him and eagerly remarked:

"Not much sleep, eh? We didn't think you'd like it. Did you see
anything?"

Now this gave him the one excuse he wanted.

"See anything?" he repeated, apparently with all imaginable innocence.
"What do you mean by that?"

"Don't you know