“But I had an idea in regard to this elusive Brotherson.  I had heard enough about him to be mighty sure that together with his other accomplishments he possessed the golden tongue and easy speech of an orator.  Also, that his tendencies were revolutionary and that for all his fine clothes and hankering after table luxuries and the like, he cherished a spite against wealth which made his words under certain moods cut like a knife.  But there was another man, known to us of the ——­ Precinct, who had very nearly these same gifts, and this man was going to speak at a secret meeting that very evening.  This we had been told by a disgruntled member of the Associated Brotherhood.  Suspecting Brotherson, I had this prospective speaker described, and thought I recognised my man.  But I wanted to be positive in my identification, so I took Anderson with me, and—­but I’ll cut that short.  We didn’t see the orator and that ‘go’ went for nothing; but I had another string to my bow in the shape of the workman Dunn who also answered to the description which had been given me; so I lugged poor Anderson over into Hicks Street.

“It was late for the visit I proposed, but not too late, if Dunn was also the orator who, surprised by a raid I had not been let into, would be making for his home, if only to establish an alibi.  The subway was near, and I calculated on his using it, but we took a taxicab and so arrived in Hicks Street some few minutes before him.  The result you know.  Anderson recognised the man as the one whom he saw washing his hands in the snow outside of the Clermont, and the man, seeing himself discovered, owned himself to be Brotherson and made no difficulty about accompanying us the next day to the coroner’s office.

“You have heard how he bore himself; what his explanations were and how completely they fitted in with the preconceived notions of the Inspector and the District Attorney.  In consequence, Miss Challoner’s death is looked upon as a suicide—­the impulsive act of a woman who sees the man she may have scouted but whom she secretly loves, turn away from her in all probability forever.  A weapon was in her hand—­she impulsively used it, and another deplorable suicide was added to the melancholy list.  Had I put in my oar at the conference held in the coroner’s office; had I recalled to Dr. Heath the curious case of Mrs. Spotts, and then identified Brotherson as the man whose window fronted hers from the opposite tenement, a diversion might have been created and the outcome been different.  But I feared the experiment.  I’m not sufficiently in with the Chief as yet, nor yet with the Inspector.  They might not have called me a fool—­you may; but that’s different—­and they might have listened, but it would doubtless have been with an air I could not have held up against, with that fellow’s eyes fixed mockingly on mine.  For he and I are pitted for a struggle, and I do not want to give him the advantage of even a momentary triumph.  He’s the most complete master of himself of any man I ever met, and it will take the united brain and resolution of the whole force to bring him to book—­if he ever is brought to book, which I doubt.  What do you think about it?”