Certainly."
The detective wrote on a slip of paper: S. S. Braceway, Willard Hotel. He handed it to Abrahamson.
"Wire me that address, collect," he directed.
Abrahamson promised, smiling. He was pleased with the idea of helping to solve the problem which convulsed Furmville.
"Oh," added Braceway, "another thing. How would you describe this fellow in addition to the fact that he wore the beard and the gold tooth?"
"Very thin lips," replied Abrahamson slowly, "and high, straight, aquiline nose, and blond hair, and—and, I should say, rather thin, high voice."
"Good!" Braceway exclaimed. "Good! Mr. Abrahamson, you've just described the man who, I believe, committed the murder. And I know where he is."
Morley had been pointed out to him in the hotel earlier in the day, and Abrahamson's memory sketched a fairly good likeness of the young man as he remembered him. Why not make certain of it at once?
"You've been very obliging," he continued, "and, I suppose, that's why I feel I can impose on you further. I confide in you, as you did in me. I'm going back to the Brevord now. Could you follow me and take a look at a man who'll be with me there?"
The Jew's eyes sparkled.
"Yes, Mr. Braceway," he said and added: "It may cost me money, closing up the shop, you understand. But if I can help——"
"Don't misunderstand me," the detective cautioned. "There's no charge of murder. Nothing like that. This fellow may be the gold-tooth man, and still not be the guilty man."
"I see; I see," Abrahamson's tone was one of importance. "You go on, Mr. Braceway. I'll follow in three minutes."
"If the man I'm with is the one who wore the disguise, if he looks more like it than Mr. Withers did, make no sign. If he's not the fellow communicate with me later—as soon as you can."
Morley was the first person Braceway saw when he entered the lobby of the hotel. He lost no time, but crossed over to the leather settee on which the young man sat. Morley looked haggard and frightened, and, although he held a newspaper in front of him, was gazing into space.
Braceway decided to "take a chance." He had a great respect for his intuitions. These "hunches," he had found, were sometimes of no value, but they had helped him often enough to make the ideas that came to him in this way worth trying. He introduced himself.
"I was wondering," he said, sitting down beside Morley, "if you couldn't help me out in a little matter."
Morley sighed and put down his paper before he answered:
"What is it?"
"Something about make-ups—facial make-up."
Morley looked at him and felt that the detective's eyes bored into him.
"What about make-up?"
"I had the idea—perhaps I got it from George Withers—that you used to be interested in a matter of theatricals."
Morley coloured.
"Yes. That is," he qualified, "I was a member of the dramatic club when I was in college, University of Pennsylvania. But I didn't know Withers knew anything about it."
Braceway's demeanour now was casual. His eyes were no longer on Morley. He was watching Abrahamson, who was at the news-stand near the main entrance.
"I thought George had mentioned it to me, but I may be mistaken. Did you ever 'make up' with a beard?"
The morning papers had got hold of the suspicion of some of the authorities that a man wearing a brown beard and a gold tooth was wanted because of the murder of Mrs. Withers. Although Chief Greenleaf had tried to keep it quiet, it had leaked out as a result of Jenkins' search for traces of the man. Morley had read all this, and Braceway's question upset him.
"No," he answered; "I never did. I played women's parts."
Abrahamson was shaking his head in negation. He made it plain that he saw in Morley no resemblance to the man who had come disguised to the pawnshop.
Braceway did not press Morley for further information.
"Then you can't help me," he laughed lightly. "Women don't wear beards."
He got up with a careless word about the hot weather and passed on to the clerk's desk. He was thinking: "He was lying. Any college annual prints the cast of the important 'show' given by the dramatic club that year. I'll wire Philadelphia."
He found the manager of the Brevord and inquired:
"How about the bellboy who was on duty all Monday night, Mr. Keene?"
"He's in the house now," Keene informed him. "Roddy is his name."
"Send him up to my room, will you?"
Braceway stepped into the elevator. Five minutes after he had disappeared, Morley went into the writing room. His hand trembled a little as he picked up a pen. He put two or three lines on several sheets of paper, one after the other, and tore up all of them.
The communication which he finally completed he put into an envelope and addressed to Braceway. It read:
"Dear Mr. Braceway: When you asked me about the make-up, I was thinking of something else and was not quite clear as to what you were saying or what you wanted to know. I remember now that, on one occasion, I did have a part as a man who wore a beard in a play given by my college dramatic club. However, I don't remember enough about it to pass as an expert on such make-ups.
“Yours truly,
“Henry Morley.”
Going to the desk, he left the note for the detective.
"I'm a fool," he reflected, as he went to the door and looked out at the traffic in the street. "I believe I'll get a lawyer."
He considered this for a while.
"Oh, what's the use? He'll ask me a lot of questions, and——"
He shuddered and turned back into the lobby, hesitant and wretched.
"My God!" he thought miserably. "I've got to get back to Washington! I've got to! After that, I can think—think!"
But he believed he could not go until the chief of police gave him permission. If he had consulted a lawyer, he might have found out differently. As it was, he stayed on, thinking more and more disconnectedly, eating nothing, his nerves wearing to raw ends.
Upstairs Braceway was strengthening the net he had already woven around Henry Morley.
"I was right." He reviewed what he had learned from Abrahamson. "It's still up to Morley. That pawn broker's off, 'way off. He thinks George Withers resembles the man with the beard, and, although he gave me the description that fitted Morley exactly, he takes a look at him and denies emphatically that Morley resembles at all the fellow with the disguise."
