Initials Only | Page 6

Slater was there according to his promise, and after introducing us,
briefly stated that we had some evidence to give regarding the terrible
occurrence which had just taken place in the house.
George bowed, and the chief spokesman--I am sure he was a
police-officer of some kind--asked him to tell what it was.
George drew himself up--George is not one of your tall men, but he
makes a very good appearance at times. Then he seemed suddenly to
collapse. The sight of their expectation made him feel how flat and
childish his story would sound. I, who had shared his adventure,
understood his embarrassment, but the others were evidently at a loss to
do so, for they glanced askance at each other as he hesitated, and only

looked back when I ventured to say:
"It's the peculiarity of the occurrence which affects my husband. The
thing we saw may mean nothing."
"Let us hear what it was and we will judge."
Then my husband spoke up, and related our little experience. If it did
not create a sensation, it was because these men were well accustomed
to surprises of all kinds.
"Washed his hands--a gentleman--out there in the snow--just after the
alarm was raised here?" repeated one.
"And you saw him come out of this house?" another put in.
"Yes, sir; we noticed him particularly.
"Can you describe him?"
It was Mr. Slater who put this question; he had less control over
himself, and considerable eagerness could be heard in his voice.
"He was a very fine-looking man; unusually tall and unusually striking
both in his dress and appearance. What I could see of his face was bare
of beard, and very expressive. He walked with the swing of an athlete,
and only looked mean and small when he was stooping and dabbling in
the snow."
"His clothes. Describe his clothes." There was an odd sound in Mr.
Slater's voice.
"He wore a silk hat and there was fur on his overcoat. I think the fur
was black."
Mr. Slater stepped back, then moved forward again with a determined
air.
"I know the man," said he.

III
THE MAN
"You know the man?"
"I do; or rather, I know a man who answers to this description. He
comes here once in a while. I do not know whether or not he was in the
building to-night, but Clausen can tell you; no one escapes Clausen's
eye."
"His name."
"Brotherson. A very uncommon person in many respects; quite capable
of such an eccentricity, but incapable, I should say, of crime. He's a
gifted talker and so well read that he can hold one's attention for hours.
Of his tastes, I can only say that they appear to be mainly scientific. But
he is not averse to society, and is always very well dressed."
"A taste for science and for fine clothing do not often go together."
"This man is an exception to all rules. The one I'm speaking of, I mean.
I don't say that he's the fellow seen pottering in the snow."
"Call up Clausen."
The manager stepped to the telephone.
Meanwhile, George had advanced to speak to a man who had beckoned
to him from the other side of the room, and with whom in another
moment I saw him step out. Thus deserted, I sank into a chair near one
of the windows. Never had I felt more uncomfortable. To attribute guilt
to a totally unknown person--a person who is little more to you than a
shadowy silhouette against a background of snow --is easy enough and
not very disturbing to the conscience. But to hear that person named;
given positive attributes; lifted from the indefinite into a living,
breathing actuality, with a man's hopes, purposes and responsibilities, is

an entirely different proposition. This Brotherson might be the most
innocent person alive; and, if so, what had we done? Nothing to
congratulate ourselves upon, certainly. And George was not present to
comfort and encourage me. He was--
Where was he? The man who had carried him off was the youngest in
the group. What had he wanted of George? Those who remained
showed no interest in the matter. They had enough to say among
themselves. But I was interested--naturally so, and, in my uneasiness,
glanced restlessly from the window, the shade of which was up. The
outlook was a very peaceful one. This room faced a side street, and, as
my eyes fell upon the whitened pavements, I received an answer to one,
and that the most anxious, of my queries. This was the street into which
we had turned, in the wake of the handsome stranger they were trying
at this very moment to identify with Brotherson. George had evidently
been asked to point out the exact spot where the