ly took in
the sense of these words, his heart went down lower and lower till it
reached his boots. His inscrutable and ever disappointing neighbour 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 hole 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 detective 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 still 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 back. 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 bitter irony from his irate neighbour'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 intere