Part 36 (1/2)
”It's the only way to look at this work. Without the proper ideals, it's a rotten business. But, with the right viewpoint, it's great, at times far more valuable than the work of lawyers and judges.”
”I'm glad you said that,” Bristow declared; ”very glad, because I'm thinking of going into it myself.”
”You are?” Braceway appeared surprised; or his emotion might have been sympathy for a man driven to the choice of a new profession in life.
”Yes. I was talking about it to Greenleaf this afternoon. I realize--I'd be foolish if I didn't--that this case has given me a lot of publicity.
It has put me where I can say I know something about crime and criminals, although, up until this murder, the knowledge has been mostly on paper.”
”Yes; I know.”
”But now, since I'm stuck down here for this long convalescence, it's the best thing I can do; in fact, it's the only thing. I've drifted through life fooling with real estate and writing now and then a little, a very little, poor fiction. Neither occupation would support me in Furmville; and I think I could make good as a sort of consulting detective and criminologist. There's money in it, isn't there?”
”Yes; good money,” Braceway replied without much enthusiasm. ”But there are times when it's heart-breaking work, this thing of running down the guilty, the sc.u.m of the earth, the failures, the rotters, and the rats.
It isn't all a Fourth of July celebration with the bands playing and your name in the papers.”
”Oh, I understand that. Any profession has its drawbacks.”
”But you have the a.n.a.lytical mind. And, as I just said, there's money in it.”
The glow had faded from the sky, and, with the darkness, there had come a noticeable chill in the air. Braceway yawned and stretched his arms. In addition to his talks with Abrahamson, Roddy, and Withers, he had also interviewed Perry and Lucy Thomas.
”By George!” he said explosively. ”I'm tired. I don't know when I've been this tired. This has been a real day, something popping every minute since I got here this morning.”
Bristow did not answer that. He was thinking of the impression he had received from Maria Fulton that she was still in love with Braceway. He had had that idea quite vividly while talking to her. He wondered now whether he had better mention it to Braceway. No, he decided; the time for that would come after the grinding work in Was.h.i.+ngton. Bristow himself was far from being a sentimental man. If he had been in Braceway's place, he would have preferred to hear nothing about the girl and her emotions until after the completion of the work.
”Are you packed up?” Braceway asked. ”Ready to go?”
”Almost.”
”Well, suppose we drift on down to the Brevord. No; I forgot. You'd rather drive down, wouldn't you? Walking would bother that leg. I'll send the machine up for you.”
”Thanks,” Bristow accepted appreciatively. ”That will be best.”
”All right. I'll have it up here in an hour or so. You can pick me up, and we'll run out to Larrimore.”
He went down Manniston Road, his heels striking hard against the concrete. Under the light at the far corner he flashed into Bristow's vision, twirling his cane on his thumb; his erect, alert figure giving little evidence of the weariness he had felt a few minutes before.
The lame man lingered on the porch, considering Braceway's confident a.s.sertion that he did not ”propose to disregard one scintilla of evidence, one smallest clue.” But, he reflected, that was exactly what Braceway was doing: not only disregarding one scintilla, but keeping himself blind to a great many clues, the evidence against George Withers and that against the negro.
”I can't make out his game,” he concluded. ”What's his idea about scandal, I wonder? The only possible scandal lies in the fact that Mrs.
Withers paid blackmail for years. And the only way to make the fact public is to keep on denying that Perry's guilty. He seems to be trying to dig up scandal instead of hiding it.”
Suddenly, with his characteristic quickness of thought, he realized that he disliked Braceway, definitely felt an aversion for him. When he was in Braceway's presence, influenced by his vitality and magnetism and listening to his conversation, he lost sight of his real feeling; but, left to himself, it came to the surface strongly. He wished he had never met the man. He knew he would never get close to him. And yet, he thought, why dislike him?
”Oh, he isn't my kind. _I_ don't know. Yes, I know. He's just an edition de luxe of the ordinary four-flusher, a lot of biff-bang talk and bluff.”
He laughed, perhaps ridiculing himself. ”Why waste mental energy on him?