sherwoman across the court, and what had killed Miss
Challoner. Something visible or something invisible? Something which
gave warning of attack, or something which struck in silence. 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 slightest hint from the powerful brain
controlling it. But was this its whole story. Had he said all when he
had said this?

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 its cover, "You're handy and you're quiet at your
job. Who knows but that I shall 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 empty 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
absent-minded 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 humour from his eyes as he prepared to refuse the glass
which Brotherson now brought forward:

"None 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 s