the lost road-第76章
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〃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； ascended to the shadow
of the deserted boat…deck。
〃You are sure；〃 he said； 〃you told no one？〃
〃No one；〃 the detective answered。 〃Of course your hotel proprietor
knows you're sailing； but he doesn't know why。 And； by sunrise；
we'll be well out at sea。〃
The words caught Hemingway by the throat。 He turned his eyes to
the town lying like a field of snow in the moonlight。 Somewhere
on one of its flat roofs a merry dinner…party was laughing； drinking；
perhaps regretting his absence； wondering at his excuse of sudden
illness。 She was there； and he with the detective like a shadow at
his elbow； was sailing out of her life forever。 He had seen her for
the last time： that morning for the last time had looked into her
eyes； had held her hands in his。 He saw the white beach； the white
fortress…like walls； the hanging gardens； the courtesying palms；
dimly。 It was among those that he who had thought himself content；
had found happiness； and had then seen it desert him and take out of
his life pleasure in all other things。 With a pain that seemed impossible
to support； he turned his back upon Zanzibar and all it meant to him。
And； as
