the lost road-第20节

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State　Department；　and　a　detective　agency　first。　　They　have　the　call。
They　want　him；　or　a　man　damned　like　him。〃　　His　voice　dropped　to　a
whisper。　　〃The　man　wanted　is　Henry　Brownell；　a　cashier　of　a　bank　in
Waltham；　Mass。；　thirty…five　years　of　age；　smooth…shaven；　college…bred；
speaking　with　a　marked　New　England　accent；　andand　with　other
marks　that　fit　Fearing　like　the　cover　on　a　book。　　The　department　and
the　Pinkertons　have　been　devilling　the　life　out　of　me　about　it　for　nine
months。　　They　are　positive　he　is　on　the　coast　of　Africa。　　I　put　them　off。
I　wasn't　sure。〃　

〃You've　been　protecting　them；〃　said　Hemingway。

〃I　wasn't　sure；〃　reiterated　Harris。　　〃And　if　I　were；　the　Pinkertons　can　do
their　own　sleuthing。　　The　man's　living　honestly　now；　anyway；　isn't　he？〃
he　demanded；　〃and　she　loves　him。　　At　least　she's　stuck　by　him。　　Why
should　I　punish　her？〃

His　tone　seemed　to　challenge　and　upbraid。

〃Good　God！〃　cried　the　other；　〃I'm　not　blaming　you！　I'd　be　proud　of　the
chance　to　do　as　much。　　I　asked　because　I'd　like　to　go　away　thinking　she's
content；　thinking　she's　happy　with　him。〃

〃Doesn't　it　look　as　though　she　were？〃　Harris　protested。　　〃She's　followed
himfollowed　him　half　around　the　globe。　　If　she'd　been　happier　away
from　him；　she'd　have　stayed　away　from　him。〃

So　intent　had　been　the　men　upon　their　talk　that　neither　had　noted
the　passing　of　the　minutes　or；　what　at　other　times　was　an　event
of　moment；　that　the　mail　steamer　had　distributed　her　mail　and
passengers；　and　when　a　servant　entered　bearing　lamps；　and　from
the　office　the　consul's　clerk　appeared　with　a　bundle　of　letters
from　the　Eitel；　both　were　taken　by　surprise。

〃So　late？〃　exclaimed　Hemingway。　　〃I　must　go。　　If　I'm　to　sail　with
the　Eitel　at　daybreak；　I've　little　time！〃

But　he　did　not　go。

As　he　advanced　toward　Harris　with　his　hand　outstretched　in　adieu；
the　face　of　the　consul　halted　him。　　With　the　letters；　the　clerk
had　placed　upon　the　table　a　visiting…card；　and　as　it　lay　in　the
circle　of　light　from　the　lamp　the　consul；　as　though　it　were　alive
and　menacing；　stared　at　it　in　fascination。　　Moving　stiffly；　he
turned　it　so　that　Hemingway　could　see。　　On　it　Hemingway　read；
〃George　S。　Sheyer；〃　and；　on　a　lower　line；　〃Representing　William
L。　Pinkerton。〃

To　the　woman　he　loved　the　calamity　they　dreaded　had　come；　and
Hemingway；　with　a　groan　of　dismay；　exclaimed　aloud：

〃It　is　the　end！〃

From　the　darkness　of　the　outer　office　a　man　stepped　softly　into
the　circle　of　the　lamp。　　They　could　see　his　figure　only　from　the
waist　down；　the　rest　of　him　was　blurred　in　shadows。

〃'It　is　the　end'？〃　he　repeated　inquiringly。　　He　spoke　the　phrase
with　peculiar　emphasis；　as　though　to　impress　it　upon　the　memory
of　the　two　others。　　His　voice　was　cool；　alert；　authoritative。　　〃The
end　of　what？〃　he　demanded　sharply。

The　question　was　most　difficult。　　In　the　silence　the　detective
moved　into　the　light。　　He　was　tall　and　strongly　built；　his　face
was　shrewd　and　intelligent。　　He　might　have　been　a　prosperous　man
of　business。

〃Which　of　you　is　the　consul？〃　he　asked。　　But　he　did　not　take　his
eyes　from　Hemingway。

〃I　am　the　consul；〃　said　Harris。　　But　still　the　detective　did　not
turn　from　Hemingway。

〃Why；〃　he　asked；　〃did　this　gentleman；　when　he　read　my　card；　say；
'It　is　the　end'？　The　end　of　what？　Has　anything　been　going　on　here
that　came　to　an　end　when　he　saw　my　card？〃

Disconcerted；　in　deep　embarrassment；　Harris　struggled　for　a　word。
But　his　distress　was　not　observed　by　the　detective。　　His　eyes；
suspicious　and　accusing；　still　were　fixed　upon　Hemingway；　and
under　their　scrutiny　Harris　saw　his　friend　slowly　retreat；　slowly
crumple　up　into　a　chair；　slowly　raise　his　hands　to　cover　his
face。　　As　though　in　a　nightmare；　he　heard　him　saying　savagely：

〃It　is　the　end　of　two　years　of　hell；　it　is　the　end　of　two　years
of　fear　and　agony！　Now　I　shall　have　peace。　　Now　I　shall　sleep！
I　thank　God　you've　come！　I　thank　God　I　can　go　back！〃

Harris　broke　the　spell　by　leaping　to　his　feet。　　He　sprang　between
the　two　men。

〃What　does　this　mean？〃　he　commanded。

Hemingway　raised　his　eyes　and　surveyed　him　steadily。

〃It　means；〃　he　said；　〃that　I　have　deceived　you；　Harristhat　I　am
the　man　you　told　me　of；　I　am　the　man　they　want。〃　　He　turned　to　the
officer。

〃I　fooled　him　for　four　months；〃　he　said。　　〃I　couldn't　fool　you　for
five　minutes。〃

The　eyes　of　the　detective　danced　with　sudden　excitement；　joy；　and
triumph。　　He　shot　an　eager　glance　from　Hemingway　to　the　consul。

〃This　man；〃　he　demanded；　〃who　is　he？〃

With　an　impatient　gesture　Hemingway　signified　Harris。

〃He　doesn't　know　who　I　am；〃　he　said。　　〃He　knows　me　as　Hemingway。
I　am　Henry　Brownell；　of　Waltham；　Mass。〃　　Again　his　face　sank　into
the　palms　of　his　hands。　　〃And　I'm　tiredtired；〃　he　moaned。　　〃I　am
sick　of　not　knowing；　sick　of　running　away。　　I　give　myself　up。〃

The　detective　breathed　a　sigh　of　relief　that　seemed　to　issue　from
his　soul。

〃My　God；〃　he　sighed；　〃you've　given　me　a　long　chase！　I've　had
eleven　months　of　you；　and　I'm　as　sick　of　this　as　you　are。〃　　He
recovered　himself　sharply。　　As　though　reciting　an　incantation；　he
addressed　Hemingway　in　crisp；　emotionless　notes。

〃Henry　Brownell；〃　he　chanted；　〃I　arrest　you　in　the　name　of　the
commonwealth　of　Massachusetts　for　the　robbery；　on　October　the
eleventh；　nineteen　hundred　and　nine；　of　the　Waltham　Title　and
Trust　Company。　　I　understand；〃　he　added；　〃you　waive　extradition
and　return　with　me　of　your　own　free　will？〃

With　his　face　still　in　his　hands；　Hemingway　murmured　assent。　　The
detective　stepped　briskly　and　uninvited　to　the　table　and　seated　himself。
He　was　beaming　with　triumph；　with　pleasurable　excitement。

〃I　want　to　send　a　message　home；　Mr。　Consul；〃　he　said。　　〃May　I　use
your　cable　blanks？〃

Harris　was　still　standing　in　the　centre　of　the　room　looking　down
upon　the　bowed　head　and　shoulders　of　Hemingway。　　Since；　in
amazement；　he　had　sprung　toward　him；　he　had　not　spoken。　　And
he　was　still　silent。

Inside　the　skull　of　Wilbur　Harris；　of　Iowa；　U。　S。　A。；　American
consul　to　Zanzibar；　East　Africa；　there　was　going　forward　a　mighty
struggle　that　was　not　fit　to　put　into　words。　　For　Harris　and　his
conscience　had　met　and　were　at　odds。　　One　way　or　the　other　the
fight　must　be　settled　at　once；　and　whatever　he　decided　must　be
for　all　time。　　This　he　understood；　and　as　his　sympathies　and
conscience　struggled　for　the　mastery　the　pen　of　the　detective；
scratching　at　racing　speed　across　the　paper；　warned　him　that　only
a　few　seconds　were　left　him　in　which　to　protest　or　else　to　forever
after　hold　his　peace。

So　realistic　had　been　the　acting　of　Hemingway　that　for　an　instant
Harris　himself　had　been　deceived。　　But　only　for　an　instant。　　With
his　knowledge　of　the　circumstances　he　saw　that　Hemingway　was　not
confessing　to　a　crime　of　his　own；　but　drawing　across　the　trail　of　the
real　criminal　the　convenient　and　useful　red　herring。　　He　knew　that
already　Hemingway　had　determined　to　sail　the　next　morning。　　In
leaving　Zanzibar　he　was　making　no　sacrifice。　　He　merely　was
carrying　out　his　original　plan；　and　by　taking　away　with　him　the
detective　was　giving　Brownell　and　his　wife　at　least　a　month　in
which　to　again　lose　themselves。

What　was　his　own　duty　he　could　not　determine。　　That　of　Hemingway
he　knew　nothing；　he　could　truthfully　testify。　　And　if　now　Hemingway
claimed　to　be　Henry　Brownell；　he　had　no　certain　knowledge　to　the
contrary。　　That　through　his　adventure　Hemingway　would　come　to
harm　did　not　greatly　disturb　him。　　He　foresaw　that　his　friend　need
only　send　a　wireless　from　Nantucket　and　at　the　wharf　witnesses
would　swarm　to　establish　his　identity　and　make　it　evident　the
detective　had　blundered。　　And　in　the　meanwhile　Brownell　and
his　wife；　in　some　settlement　still　further　removed　from　observation；
would　for　the　second　time　have　fortified　themselves　against　pursuit
and　capture。　　He　saw　the　eyes　of　Hemingway　fixed　upon　him　in　appeal
and　warning。

The　brisk　voice　of　the　detective　broke　the　silence。

〃You　will　testify；　if　need　be；　Mr。　Consul；〃　he　said；　〃that　you
heard　the　prisoner　admit　he　was　Henry　Brownell　and　that　he
surrendered　himself　of　his　own　free　will？〃

For　an　instant　the　consul　hesitated；　then　he　nodded　stiffly。

〃I　heard　him；〃　he　said。

Three　hours　later；　at　ten　o'　clock　of　the　same　evening；　the　detective
and　Hemingway　leaned　together　on　the　rail　of　the　Crown　Prince
Eitel。　　Forward；　in　the　glare　of　her　cargo　lights；　to　the　puffing　and
creaking　of　derricks　and　donkey　engines；　bundles　of　beeswax；　of
rawhides；　and　precious　tusks　of　ivory　were　being　hurled　into　the
hold；　from　the　shore…boats　clinging　to　the　ship's　sides　came　the
shrieks　of　the　Zanzibar　boys；　from　the　smoking…room　the　blare　of
the　steward's　band　and　the　clink　of　glasses。　　Those　of　the　youth　of
Zanzibar　who　were　on　board；　the　German　and　English　clerks　and
agents；　saw　in　the　presence　of　Hemingway　only　a　purpose　similar
to　their　own；　the　desire　of　a　homesick　exile　to　gaze　upon　the　mirrored
glories　of　the　Eitel's　saloon；　at　the　faces　of　white　men　and　women；　to
listen　to　home…made　music；　to　drink　home…brewed　beer。　　As　he　passed
the　smoking…room　they　called　to　him；　and　to　the　stranger　at　his　elbow；
but　he　only　nodded　smiling　and；　avoiding　them；　as