Converse laid the several sheets of paper on the table, and after overturning the desk telephone—but gently, in this instance—he placed the instrument just as he had found the one on General Westbrook's desk and so that it reposed on the sheets of paper. Holding it with his left hand, he hastily drew the papers from beneath it with his right. The action produced a slight hissing sound when the sheets of paper rubbed together and as they slipped from between the telephone and the desk surface. At the same time the instrument itself rattled somewhat on the desk.
"Those are the sounds, precisely," answered Miss Carter.
It was only a step to headquarters; but before turning his face in that direction, Mr. Converse paused on the sidewalk and stood for a time in deep meditation. Rousing himself at last, he muttered, "Now for you, Mr. Clay Fairchild," and set off briskly for the City Hall.
Did he expect to encounter the young man there? Was this the meaning of his muttered confidence, when he had signalled from Joyce's window some hours earlier?
It would seem that he now had sufficient insight into the motives and impulses governing the puppets in this double tragedy, to feel rather secure in determining his own movements according to their probable future conduct.
He entered the building in his customary silent manner, and at once occurred one of the many incidents that caused his colleagues to regard him with a sort of awe. He walked directly to the Sergeant's desk.
"Send Fairchild to my office," said he, quietly, and possibly he smiled somewhere within the cryptic chambers of his mind at the picture of blank astonishment confronting him. How should any faculty short of clairvoyance divine that Clay Fairchild had appeared less than an hour previously and asked to be locked up?
The Captain of detectives was tilted back in his swivel-chair when the young man was ushered in a minute or two later; he proceeded candidly and leisurely to take an inventory of Mr. Clay Fairchild, who, considering that he had been an object of diligent search by the police, bore an attitude of admirable unconcern.
Tall and spare, his features somewhat sharp in outline, he was far from imparting an unfavorable impression. The dark, intense eyes, the determined, lean jaw, all suggested Charlotte in many striking details. Although he was slender, an observer could not miss the strength and virility of his individuality. He was undoubtedly a strong, resolute young man, who thoroughly knew his own mind, and was determined not to be awed or moved by Captain John Converse or any one else.
Fairchild contemplated the Captain's huge figure with some show of interest—as if at a loss to surmise what might come forth from a source so doubtful and uncertain. He noted suddenly that the gray eyes were remarkably keen, that they possessed a glint like the surface of polished steel, and that they seemed to be searching out the inner-most recesses of his mind. But after he had detected it, he returned their scrutiny steadily until the enigmatic figure spoke.