“I’m inclined to believe him the latter.”

“And so give the whole matter the go-by?”

“Possibly.”

“It will be a terrible disappointment to Sweetwater.”

“That’s nothing.”

“And to me.”

“That’s different.  I’m disposed to consider you, Gryce—­after all these years.”

“Thank you; I have done the state some service.”

“What do you want?  You say the mine is unworkable.”

“Yes, in a day, or in a week, possibly in a month.  But persistence and a protean adaptability to meet his moods might accomplish something.  I don’t say will, I only say might.  If Sweetwater had the job, with unlimited time in which to carry out any plan he may have, or even for a change of plans to suit a changed idea, success might be his, and both time, effort and outlay justified.”

“The outlay?  I am thinking of the outlay.”

“Mr. Challoner will see to that.  I have his word that no reasonable amount will daunt him.”

“But this Brotherson is suspicious.  He has an inventor’s secret to hide, if none other.  We can’t saddle him with a guy of Sweetwater’s appearance and abnormal loquaciousness.”

“Not readily, I own.  But time will bring counsel.  Are you willing to help the boy, to help me and possibly yourself by this venture in the dark?  The Department shan’t lose money by it; that’s all I can promise.”

“But it’s a big one.  Gryce, you shall have your way.  You’ll be the only loser if you fail; and you will fail; take my word for it.”

“I wish I could speak as confidently to the contrary, but I can’t.  I can give you my hand though, Inspector, and Sweetwater’s thanks.  I can meet the boy now.  An hour ago I didn’t know how I was to do it.”

XV

THAT’S THE QUESTION

“How many times has he seen you?”

“Twice.”

“So that he knows your face and figure?”

“I’m afraid so.  He cannot help remembering the man who faced him in his own room.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Damned unfortunate; but one must expect some sort of a handicap in a game like this.  Before I’m done with him, he’ll look me full in the face and wonder if he’s ever seen me before.  I wasn’t always a detective.  I was a carpenter once, as you know, and I’ll take to the tools again.  As soon as I’m handy with them I’ll hunt up lodgings in Hicks Street.  He may suspect me at first, but he won’t long; I’ll be such a confounded good workman.  I only wish I hadn’t such pronounced features.  They’ve stood awfully in my way, Mr. Gryce.  I don’t like to talk about my appearance, but I’m so confounded plain that people remember me.  Why couldn’t I have had one of those putty faces which don’t mean anything?  It would have been a deuced sight more convenient.”

“You’ve done very well as it is.”